#seer reader

[beware-of-pity]

Pythia Hiereia - I

Masterlist I Ao3 link I Prologue - Chapter two

Harry James Potter x Reader

Summary :

Dreams we can’t remember are reality that we crave

Chapter I: Oh, who is she? (A misty memory, a haunting face)

. ⚯ ͛

Dreams, such a fickle thing they are. Up until three years ago, Harry thought dreams could only be that, mere dreams. No more realer than the idea of Ron finally confessing his feelings for Hermione. Unimaginable things, those were what he believed them to be.

However, by his fourth year, everything had changed.

He believed his vision of Barty Crouch Jr., whose identity he did not recognise, accepting his new mission from the considerably weaker Dark Lord was simply a terrible nightmare.

He simmered over it all summer; he spoke of it to very few, and no one had proved helpful in clearing his mind of the doubt it lingered with. Until he had watched the very same man be exposed for the snake he was, in one of Dumbledore's memories, swimming in the pensive which he had stumbled upon. The moment it was revealed by Igor Karkaroff that Barty Jr was a death eater doing the Dark Lord’s dirty deeds and that he had a hand in the capture and torture of Neville’s parents, he knew then that that dream was no dream but rather reality, a passive memory that someone had witnessed.

Since then, he has rarely experienced peaceful nights as he once had. His scar would throb all the same, the burning sensation of the scarred flesh on his forehead intensifying the pain caused by the visions he was forced to endure by his other half. Last year, they had nearly driven him mad, reaching levels of exasperation he had not known until then. When he was made to watch that serpent attack Mr Weasley at the Ministry, it all culminated in his breaking point.  He was handled like a fragile, overfilled, vase about to break— pale and scared out of his mind he was, and probably looked the part.

The reality into which his dreams had twisted was the cataclysms that led him to believe that Sirius was indeed being tortured by Voldemort, as well. But he wasn’t, and he paid the price of believing so first-hand.

The isolation he endured because people refused to believe that Voldemort was back, the judgmental glances that his defensive behaviour got him, the murmurs and whispers following him along the halls he walked in loneliness. Everything was too much for him to handle, to the point where everything could get the best of him and lead his senses astray. That was his plan all along. He realised too late. He wishes he could go back and tell himself not to listen to what was meticulously presented as the perfect bait for the taking.

The moment he snapped, everyone around him became aware of his predicament.

Everything about him could never remain a secret, nothing of his could ever be privy to his persona. Somehow, everyone had to know, either for their protection, to get further help, or they found out in the worst of times. Nothing of Harry could truly be his and his alone.

His life was not his; he had to share it with the man who had killed his parents so he could kill him, too.

How tiresome it could get to be him. There were times when Harry wished he was anyone but Harry, that he could, one day, get to live a life that was his own, of his design, one of his choosing. His life had been so hectic, so chaotic, so all over the place, that were it up to him, he would choose a calm, quiet life, a domestic one, filled with the people he cared about most, with those he loved most, where the light shines bright in the sky and where darkness did not exist. Where he was content, and no trouble would find him. Where he could do as he pleased, walk where he pleased, breathe the open air. 

Think, sleep, and dream freely without worrying about his mind being filled by some unknown entity.

He had tried to struggle against whoever was trying their hand at entering his mind, a fight for dominance he realised much too soon that he could not.

His hands were tied, his resistance not strong enough. His adversary was leagues ahead of him in this department, someone with much greater experience.

But strangely, or thankfully enough, they had not proved a threat to him, for now at least. That did not mean he enjoyed their presence, flanking about his mind. Memories of all the unpleasant times he’d been unable to withstand Professor Snape’s violation of his mind for him to grow stronger against the Dark Lord were just as reminiscent of what he was enduring now. What the man had taught him seemed to not work this time.

The mind and the dreams filling it were two different things, forecast by his senses, senses he had no control over, therefore, whilst he could counter at times, by sheer luck, the legimency spell, he could not, to his misfortune, counter back whatever this natural state he fell to was.

He did not possess neither the instruments nor the mastery on how to handle such a thing.

Nonetheless, the first time he had felt the gushing forth of another presence in his mind had not been a pleasant ordeal.

He had been able to catch only a brief sight before he woke in a cold sweat; his shirt dumped around the collar from both the nightly summer heat and his body having a natural, convulsing reaction to him trying to get as far away from his dreamland the instant he realised what was happening. That time, he’d been able to escape the imminent, the second, he had not been so fortunate.

He had practically fallen off the bed, waking Ron in a frenzied startle, who was sleeping in the corner beside him, making him jump out of his wits. He had stood from the floor, with his head convulsing in pain from the hit he got the moment he met the floor and his stomach churning from the sudden fall. He must have been trashing in his sleep, and as panic rippled through him as he felt a shuddering breath run at the nape of his neck as he urged to pull away from the avalanche coming his way, he must have also flipped himself off the comfort of his bed.

"You look like hell." Ron had pointed out one of those mornings after, at the breakfast table, snapping Harry out of his silent thoughts. Ron glances at him over the cup of orange juice he held up in his face to sip.

Harry shook his head "i'm fine," he said "It's just the hìeat”

“Yeah, the heat” replied Ron, not at all convinced by Harry reasoning for looking like crap.

"You know you can tell us if something’s wrong, Harry," reassured Hermione, from where she sat beside Ron. Ginny, who sat beside Harry, eyed him curiously, but she, too, was concerned about the way he was continuously spacing out of reality and into his mind.

Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah, mate. We're here for you.”

“I know, guys, but I’m fine,” he said as he grabbed his fork to indulge in the food that had gone too long untouched. Ron and Hermione look at each other with the same understanding of the situation.

Alas, perhaps pushed by his curiosity, on his fifth or so night, he wasn’t sure, he had stopped counting a long time ago, of restlessness, he had decided to be the brave Gryffindor he was supposed to be and face whatever entered his mind at the darkest times of the night and the deepest hour of his sleep. He had faced worse things in the years since he had begun attending Hogwarts, what could be the worst that could happen to him?

Usually, each night, as a lump rose his troath, the fog in his mind became thicker, and his body convulsed slightly, twitching as if he were a ferret, and then he would wake. This time, it would wait it out, awaiting that which he had begun to fear.

And there he found himself, with nothing but darkness surrounding him. No one in sight, but he knew they were there — they always were, the shadows enjoying themselves as they chuckled and murmured to themselves, watching him as if he were a prey ready for the taking.

But, even as his heartbeat to a pace it only did when the worst circumstances presented themselves to him, Harry wasn’t met with horrible visions of the times that pained him most or with images of the dark doings of his other half —rather, little balls of light, white and as pure as freshly laid snow on a cold winter morning at dawn, flocked around him, one by one, attaching themselves to his body, in all places, as they ‘helped’ him through the darkness and vastness that succumbed this strange place he found himself in. They tugged, pulled, the force being their actions stronger than he thought them possible.

He did not know where they were taking him. Despite this, the warmth the balls of fuzz emanated around his skin had an almost soothing effect on him.

He tested how far he could go with them when he tried to touch one, but the vibration it emitted, caused by the strong energy inside it, did not permit him to get too close to its core. Harry’s feet slushed through the apparent dark waters he had sunk into, sometimes stumbling into nothing at all, as his senses began to grow weary of the journey he was being taken on. The cold seeped at him through the freezing waves entering the palm of his feet that felt almost chilling at the contrast it created with the warmth of these little creatures, surrounding him like the gentle embrace of an old friend.

At the end of the tunnel of darkness, he found the light he’d hoped to meet.

The one that would keep him safe from the murky gloom that had led his senses astray. The same warmth those creatures stuck to his skin emitted blinded him. It was calling him to approach, beckoning to be followed.

He was safe.

Waiting for him there, there was no darkness. No shadows of the past, no pain, no ghosts coming back to haunt him. No, instead, staring back at him, standing in the light, there they were, his parents, James and Lily Potter, looking as young as the day they were killed, healthy and unmarred. They smiled, waving to him warmly and invitingly.

He could hear his mother calling his name, smiling the same way she did in those photos he spent countless nights flipping over. However, her voice was distant, far away, static, and muffled as it reverbed through the hall of light they were standing in and into his body.

Nonetheless, he could feel the sweetness and melody of it. He stumbled as his feet began to charge him forward.

“Mum” he whispered, his eyes wide in disbelief.

The voice grew louder, beckoning him forward. They were waiting for him, after all, and they didn’t have much time. Lily called once more, her voice clearer now, her tone of voice urgent. "Harry, come here."

James was also waiting for him, standing beside Lily and looking just as young and handsome as his wife. "come to us, my boy”

"Mum, Dad," his feet rushed him forward against the protest his mind urged him to listen to. This could be a trap, well planned by whoever was entering his mind to trick him. But Harry had thrown all caution out the window the moment his eyes seared the figure of his parents standing before him.

Both James and Lily had wide smiles on their faces as they watched Harry approaching them. James held his arms open wide by the minute as Harry grew closer.

"Harry." They called together.

He crushes into their awaiting arms, clinging to their form like a lifeline, as if the moment would end soon. He knew that regardless of whatever this way, he didn’t have much time with them, and he wanted to savour all the time he would be given.

James held him close, pressing his cheek against Harry's hair. "We're so happy to see you." Lily pulled him into her arms, kissing the top of his head.

He had grown so much since he had begun his journey at Hogwarts; he had been dealt a hand in so many tribulations that no one before him had ever had to, and yet no matter how stronger or weaker he grew, how older and wiser he became, he was still a boy, who missed the parents he had never got to know, the ones he wishes he had, those that had died when he was just a baby. The man and woman he wished been there to raise him instead of the Dursdley, the two most important people in the world that he knew would have raised him with love, would have never had him want for nothing and would not have made him sleep under the cupboard beneath stairs. The ones that would have never hidden the existence of magic from him, that would have introduced the world they were well known in ever since he could talk, where he could have thrived even more under their guidance.

James chuckled, shaking his head as Harry sobbed. "Oh, you're all grown up now, aren't you? So much older." He said, looking Harry up and down. James stroked Harry's hair lovingly as he held him. "We've missed you so much." Lily buried her face into the crook of Harry's neck.

There was a moment of peace as the three of them embraced, a peace Harry was unfamiliar with, but one he wished he could always have. James eventually pulled back to look at Harry.

"We're so proud of you.”

"We always have been." Lily chimed in.

"You've accomplished so much," James said a proud smile on his face.

"Not enough" Harry crocked "I still have to.... fight and defeat him," he said "I have to avenge you two”

"You can do it, son," James said softly.

"You're a strong boy," Lily added, patting his shoulder. “We’ll always be beside you, Harry. Remember you’re not alone”

The reassurance of his parents felt like a balm soothing the ache his soul had been carrying ever since the events that scarred the end of his fifth school year. The hard knot in his troath clenches around the soft flesh, and he tries to gulp it down. He smiles at them, but it’s a smile that carries along the pain that he always tries to shield others from. The one he feels he has to carry to protect others from the cause of his pain.

Lily, ever the intuitive one, smiles in turn, noticing the pain behind her son’s smile.

“It’s okay to feel pain,” she told him." but you must not pain yourself any further than you're already been, baby”

"We don't want to see you hurting" James added, rubbing at Harry's back gently, "let it hurt, that's okay, but don't bury it inside.”

"Feel your pain, but don't let yourself drown in it" Lily instructed. “Make it your own, master it, and wield it against those that have hurt you”

With each reassurance, Harry began to feel his parents slipping from his grip, their once clear and homogenous forms beginning to fade, turning ghastly white, almost transparent beings he could see through.  He knew he would wake soon.

"We love you," Lily said, "remember that always.”

"no" he murmured shaking his head "No, don't go!" his tone held the urgency of the adrenaline pumping through his body as he felt his parents slip away from him.

"You have to let go, Harry," the regret in his father’s voice was strong. No parent would wish to see their child in such a state of distress.

"We have to leave," Lily said, her voice laced with sorrow. “but she will bring us back to you, don't worry”

Harry wanted to ask, to question, to plead with his mother for the meaning of her words. He wanted more time; he deserved more time. Was it so bad for him to ask? Why had life been so unfair to him? What had he ever done to deserve such a thing?  And who is 'she'? What did his mother mean that 'she' would bring them back?

"Trust us, sweetheart," James said, pressing a kiss to Harry's head. "She will take care of you”

"She will look after you, I promise," Lily assured her son. "just, don't fight her, let her into your mind” “She means no harm” reassured James “Trust us, Harry”

“Now, wake up”

Harry's eyes snapped open in a frenzy, his breath growing rugged with each broken breath that left the confines of his ribcage. His sight was a blurry mess of smudged blotches of colours that ran his mind wild. The images of his mother and father faded, to be replaced only by the light coming from the lining window atop his bed. The pain in his chest, however, still lingered. The warmth from the light had disappeared, and only the cold of the night remained, despite it being morning. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that had drizzled down his temple as he slept, while his other reached for the nightstand for his glasses.

Once on his face once more, he squints at the suddenness of the light from the window. The sun looked too high for it to be early morning and the fact that Ron’s bed was empty of his presence and even made, a feat most time he was reprimanded for not doing, meant that he had overslept.

“Blimey, Harry” he heard a voice comment from the doorway, etched in concern and a hint of judgment. He must look a mess with the way that Ron’s eyebrows were raised and the slight shock that crossed his face. To say that the sight weirded out Ron would dismiss the fact that this would not have been the first time Ron had seen Harry this way, which it wasn’t, but Ron also didn’t make it a habit to get used to it.

“What time is it?” Harry stammered as he composed himself.

“It’s well past eleven” blurted Ron “didn’t want to wake you cause I know you haven’t been sleeping well, but when both mum and Hermione said you had not come down even after me and Ginny had finished training, I got worried and came to make sure you hadn’t somehow died in your sleep”

“Well, I’m happy to tell you that I’m still alive” Harry felt sticky, both his shirt and pyjama pants were slicked to his form in a way that made his wiggle in place once he stood from his bed.

“And, sorry about training, I should have been there”

“Oh forget about it,” dismissed Ron “Don’t think I’ll improve enough for the tryouts anyways, with you or not training me”

“That’s not true,” Harry chided back “I’m sure there’s nothing that a little more training can’t fix” Harry felt Ron look away from him as a blush began creeping up his neck. Harry could tell there was more on his mind.

"Are you okay?”

"i'll make a fool of myself" Ron whimpered in exasperation "I won't make it, and even if I do, I don't think I could get either myself or the broom on the pitch in my first match”

He tried, he really did, to hide the laugh that threatened to escape his lips, but the image of the time when Fred and George had enchanted a Quaffle bounced off of his head, was too clear in his mind for him not to find amusement as it reenacted in his head. Ron, however, didn’t find any amusement whatsoever, even if his own face tried not to break into a sheepish grin.

“You’ll do great,” Harry said, smiling at Ron. “You always do.”

“Like hell, I will!" Ron cried out "I heard Cormac is going for Keeper as well. How can I compare to Cormac of all people? Have you seen him? The guy's the size of a wardrobe!”

“So?” Harry replied, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the doorframe with a smile on his face. “Cormac is also a bit of a prat.” He said playfully.

"as long as he keeps the quaffle out of the rings, who cares about how much of a twat he is!”

“The team will care,” Harry sighed “You can’t have a keeper that can’t keep the team together,” At Ron’s raised eyebrows, he added. “I don’t mean physically. Besides, Cormac is a hot-head, you can’t expect him to be able to control his temper when playing against a team like Slytherin who won’t play nice”

Harry knew he wouldn't be able to convince Ron anytime soon. Anxiety coursed through his body, travelling along the vein connecting his foot to his brain. Moreover, Harry wasn't particularly concerned about persuading Ron; he understood Ron's strengths and where his weaknesses lay, and as long as he put in his best effort, he could prove to be a convincing beater. He would just need to calm himself for that to happen… an impossible feat for Ron to achieve.

He also had other things to worry about, like the dream he had just woken from.

Ron’s expression relaxed as he stood. "C'mon, you need a bath, mate,” he said with a cheeky smile, adding swiftly, "You stink,” which earned him a playful hit on the shoulder.

“You cheeky slit” murmured Harry “I'll meet you there in a bit,”. He shook his head. He needed a bath right now.

A cold one.

[yandereunsolved]

Doomed to be Silly Anon

Woe is me, let me lament in Harrenhal like a widow.

Anyways,

Do you think they'd make a religion or cult around Seer!Reader?

Yes, silly anon. And you are in no woe. Unless it is woah.

Oh, yes.

The yanderes would call it a religion, but it would function like a cult. Seer reader is sort of the leader. They are more of the leader until it's inconvenient for the yans. They hold a lot of reverence towards reader. They just don't like listening.

[razzmatazzy-blog]

Masterlist: Pear Wood Wands & Hag Stones Make Loyal Companions

AO3 link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/64548817

PS: Completed CoS: Completed PoA: Completed GoF: Currently Writing OotP: TBD HBP: TBD DH: TBD Post DH: TBD

synopsis : It only takes one person to cause a ripple effect... when an orphan who remembers nothing from her past receives a letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she assumes she is getting pranked. But when Rubeus Hagrid shows up, she realizes quickly that not only is magic real, but she is a witch. Little does she know she is joining a class with the famous Harry Potter, the boy who lived, which will most definitely disrupt her education. Determined to catch up and maybe even discover who she is and where she came from, the young witch throws herself into everything with an open mind and passionate heart. However, sooner or later she must choose, will she cling to a past she's long forgotten or fight to save her hopes for the future?

warnings : canon-typical violence, eventual major character death

notes : Cross-posting from Ao3! It's my first fic, so any feedback would be appreciated! This is a reader-insert fic, where the reader is written as a cis girl with she/her pronouns. AO3 updates first on Fridays, I will update here afterwards.

Year One

THE GIRL WHO FORGOT 

DIAGON ALLEY 

THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS 

THE SORTING HAT 

TEA AND TROUBLES 

HALLOWEEN 

THE MIRROR OF ERISED

NORBERT THE NORWEGIAN RIDGEBACK

THE FORBIDDEN FOREST

SUMMER BECKONS

Year Two

AT FLOURISH AND BLOTTS

SHRIEKS AND PIXIES

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

POTIONS AND THE POTION MASTER 

THE DUELING CLUB

THE POLYJUICE POTION

THE VERY SECRET DIARY 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS 

THE HEIR OF SLYTHERIN

Year Three

THE LEAKY CAULDRON 

THE DEMENTOR 

TALONS AND TEA LEAVES

THE BOGGART IN THE WARDROBE 

INTO THE INNER MIND 

CLOSING IN 

A FROSTY HOLIDAY BEGINS

LEGAL DEFENCES FOR FEATHERY FRIENDS 

EXAMS AND PROPHECIES  

CAT, RAT, AND DOG

THE WOLF’S RELEASE

THE LAST PRIVATE LESSON

INTERLUDE: NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM 

Year Four

BACK TO THE BURROW

[aventurineswife]

Helloo!!! I get terribly nervous when sending a request so hopefully I'm doing this right

Anaxagoras, Mydei and Phainon (separate) with a reader who's based on the Greek prophet Tiresias? Nothing much (hopefully), just the same attributes like: blind but can see the future and past, all ominous and shit but can be unserious if wanted to etc etc. (I'm too lazy to write down everything)

And could you make the reader male aligned if possible? Thank you!!! :3

Kissed by the Future, Held by the Damned

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Romance, Angst With Comfort, Male-Aligned Reader, Blind Seer, Prophecy, Tragedy, Emotional Intimacy, Slow Burn, Found Family, Mysticism, Subtle Flirting, Reader Sees Past And Future, Pre-Established Relationship (Anaxa), Enemies To Confidants (Mydei), Sunshine X Cryptid (Phainon), Philosophical Themes, Destiny Vs Free Will.

Warnings: Death And Rebirth (Mydei), Implied Body Horror (Anaxa), Religious Trauma, Prophetic Madness, Mentions Of War And Violence, Emotional Distress, Grief, Sacrifice, Unstable Time Perception, Non-Explicit Intimacy, Casual Language, Swearing, Mental Strain From Foresight.

It was late—always late—when Anaxagoras came to you. Not as the Great Performer, not as the Demised Scholar, but as a man unraveling at the edges of his own brilliance.

He didn’t knock. He never did. The doors opened for him, as they often did for men who had torn open the veil between what is and what ought never have been.

You sat cross-legged atop a dais of moss and moth-wing tapestry, blind eyes fixed on a point he could never see.

“You've been poking holes in the firmament again,” you said mildly, tilting your head. “I felt something scream.”

He scoffed. “A Titan soul ruptures, and you reduce it to screaming fabric, Freak.”

“Gilded heretic,” you replied with a lazy grin.

The tension held, then broke—he laughed. Rare. Like stormlight caught in glass.

“You saw it, then?” he asked, quieter now. “What I tried to become?”

“I saw the truth clothe itself in your skin,” you said. “And I saw it burn you alive from the inside out.”

He knelt before you, his eyepatch gleaming like a sigil of failed divinity. “Would you have stopped me?”

“No. I love you too much to lie, and too little to save you.”

His hands found your face, reverent despite the tremor in his fingers. “You could see the future. But you chose me anyway.”

You leaned forward until your forehead touched his. “I didn’t choose you. I recognized you.”

He kissed you like a man kissing a funeral pyre—because some things burn and illuminate at once.

You first met Mydei on a battlefield, surrounded by smoking corpses and shattered prophecies.

He had just felled a Strife-Born, its Coreflame bleeding into the earth. You walked barefoot through blood to reach him.

“You're late,” he grunted, eyes narrowing. “The gods said you’d arrive before the battle.”

“I did arrive before the battle,” you said, tapping the side of your head. “You’re just behind in perception, Last Prince.”

He almost struck you. Instead, he laughed—a dry, rusty sound.

Later, when the campfires burned low, and his warriors slept with swords under pillows, you sat beside him.

“Mydei,” you said, voice softer now. “You wear your survival like a curse.”

He didn’t look at you. “It is.”

“I saw you in the Sea of Souls. Nine lives torn from your body. You screamed like a star being born.”

“Then you know why I cannot rest.”

You touched his arm, feeling the heat of him—always burning, always aching. “You could. If you let yourself be seen.”

He turned. His golden eyes bore into your unseeing ones. “By you?”

“Only I can look at your ruin and call it holy.”

He didn’t answer. But when his lips met yours, it wasn’t a kiss of romance—it was surrender. A prince bending not to fate, but to a man who read eternity like a book he’d grown bored of.

Phainon was fascinated by you from the moment he met you. You were sprawled upside-down on an altar, humming off-tune and sipping wine from a broken goblet.

“You’re the prophet?” he asked skeptically.

“I’m the visionary, thank you very much,” you replied, raising your goblet in mock salute. “Prophet sounds too responsible.”

Yet when his team entered the Black Wastes, it was your voice that guided them. You whispered warnings of collapse, mimicked the laughter of Titans, and wept for futures you couldn’t change.

He watched you—between battles, during moments of stillness. You unnerved him.

“You speak like you’re already dead,” he said one night, sitting beside you as stars blinked out above.

“I’ve died more times than you’ve drawn breath,” you said cheerfully. “Time’s weird.”

He looked away. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I remember to be human.”

A pause.

“Then be human with me,” he said.

You blinked, blind eyes widening. “That was... surprisingly romantic for a man in silk armor.”

He flushed.

Later, in the heart of a temple collapsing around you both, he shielded your body with his own, dragging you from falling debris.

“I saw this,” you whispered, clutching his shoulder. “I knew you’d protect me.”

He gritted his teeth. “Then you should’ve warned me I’d fall in love with you.”

“I didn’t need to,” you said, smiling. “You’re Phainon. You fall in love with light.”

[godricgryffinsnore]

Kinda tough:

Numerology.

Seer Reader/ Harry Potter

All Signs Point to You ♡ | H.Potter ⋆˙⟡

“You read the stars. I just read your face when you look at me.”

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!seer!reader

summary : When a gifted Seer starts noticing a strange pattern in her readings, Harry Potter makes it his mission to turn fate into flirtation—and maybe something a little more magical.

warnings : Fluff, teasing, light swearing, romantic chaos, smug Harry, magical themes, Use of Y/N. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Okay so this was tough! But I managed to open my books and get any dripping information about numerology, lmao. Hope you like it though lovie <333

word count : 0.9k

navigation <3

banners : @/uzmacchiato and @/roseschoices

“Harry James Potter, don’t you dare open your bloody mouth right now.”

Harry, of course, opened his mouth.

He leaned back in his chair in the corner of Grimmauld Place’s library—feet up on the table, glasses slipping slightly down his nose—and grinned at you like he’d been waiting all morning for this. Which, knowing him, he had.

“Just saying,” he drawled, smug as ever, “it’s not my fault the number seven happens to represent divine love, destiny, and…” he paused dramatically, “…soulmates.”

You glared at him over the stack of parchment you were scribbling on. Your Seer’s journal was open in front of you, quill ink smudging faintly on the paper. The glow from the fireplace made your eyes sparkle—something Harry would never, ever get used to. Not now. Not after everything.

He tilted his head. “And you pulled a seven. Again.”

“By accident,” you hissed.

“Right,” Ron cut in, sprawled across the rug with a Chocolate Frog stuck to his sock. “Because pulling the number seven fourteen times in a row is definitely an accident.”

“Numerology is not a game,” you said, nose in the air. “The numbers choose you, not the other way around.”

“That’s exactly what I said last night,” Harry muttered, loud enough for only Ron to hear. Hermione smacked him upside the head with Hogwarts: A History without looking up from her chair.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“You lot are absolutely unbearable.”

“Oh, come on, Seer,” Harry teased, getting up from his chair and walking around to stand behind you. His hands found your shoulders and gave them a gentle, rhythmic squeeze. “Don’t look so tortured. Isn’t it fascinating that every single reading you do involving me somehow links to fate? Eternal love? Cosmic union?”

“Fascinating,” you deadpanned.

“Coincidence,” Hermione said, not even glancing up.

“Or,” Ron added, mouth full, “she’s in love with you and the universe agrees.”

Your eyes snapped to him.

“You—!”

Harry snorted, tightening his grip on your shoulders. “Thanks, Ron. Always knew you were the cleverest of us.”

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, cheeks glowing.

But Merlin help you, Harry was right. Every time you tried to do a numerology reading on him—whether it was just for fun, to calculate his life path number, or to ask a quick question—somehow the numbers 7, 11, and 33 popped up. Over and over.

Powerful numbers. Soul-tied numbers.

Master numbers.

Worse still, when you ran your own numbers? Your chart mirrored his. Not just with compatibility but alignment. Seven with seven. Eleven with eleven.

The universe was screaming. And it was laughing. Laughing like Harry was laughing now—low, smug, boyishly amused.

You hated how much you loved that sound.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” you warned, as Harry leaned closer to your ear. “Not a word.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he whispered, his lips brushing your cheek. “I’m just standing here. Breathing. Being your cosmic match.”

You groaned again.

Later that night, you were curled up in Harry’s room at Grimmauld Place, wearing one of his oversized jumpers (okay, the jumper—you knew the one, the one that smelled like him and had the sleeves that swallowed your hands).

You were sitting on his bed cross-legged, parchment in your lap, quill twirling between your fingers.

“You’re still trying to prove the universe wrong,” Harry said, watching you from the doorway.

You glanced up, playful fire in your eyes. “I am trying to prove that the universe is biased.”

Harry laughed, walked in, and flopped down beside you.

“Biased in favor of me being wildly in love with you? Biased toward you being unable to resist me? Biased toward fate throwing you into my arms over and over again?”

You swatted his arm.

“You are the most arrogant chosen one I’ve ever met.”

“Mmhmm,” he said, catching your hand and lacing your fingers together. “And yet, here you are. Wearing my jumper. In my bed. Numerologically doomed to love me forever.”

You stared at him, and that teasing smile slowly softened into something gentler. Warmer.

“I do love you,” you whispered.

Harry’s smugness melted in an instant.

His eyes softened, and he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Really?”

“Really.”

His voice was hoarse when he said, “I love you too. More than every seven and eleven and thirty-three in the universe combined.”

You grinned. “That’s not how numerology works.”

“Don’t care.”

He kissed you then, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that made you forget about destiny, numbers, prophecy. All you could feel was Harry—his hands, his warmth, his love. Not written in stars, but etched into your skin and bones.

“Alright,” Ron said the next day, glaring at the tea leaves you’d just read. “Now that can’t be real.”

“It is real,” you said sweetly. “You’re going to fall in love with someone whose name starts with a B.”

“B for Bloody unlikely,” he muttered.

Hermione, beside him, blushed faintly but kept quiet. Harry caught your eye and grinned.

You winked.

Ron looked between you, suspicious. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Just that Y/N—sorry, The Seer of Grimmauld Place—has never been wrong before.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron grumbled, crossing his arms. “Hope the universe gives me as good a match as it gave you two.”

Hermione smiled behind her book. You and Harry just beamed at each other.

And in your mind, the numbers danced.

7. 11. 33.

You’d stopped trying to prove them wrong.

Because honestly, if Harry Potter was your destiny?

You’d let the universe win.

[125bluemachine125]

Conquest has never been a husband or a father, but he is a grandfather, and the emperor was taking that from him.

He is feared, called a monster, unstable. Even his "wife" was afraid of him, leaving as soon as she got pregnant.

Over time, he forgot about the child until he was informed that his "wife" and "son" had died, and he would be in charge of his granddaughter.

Conquest has been his name for so long…

—Grandfather?

Until this tiny thing called him softly.

He does not show his fondness, but he takes care of her, trains her, and on strange days, braids her long hair… so different from other Viltrumite women.

Maybe that’s why Thragg chose her.

She is not pure, but her blood is royal on her mother’s side, even if foreign.

—They say the royal house of Thalandria is blessed, —Thragg laughs, and Conquest says nothing— but she has your blood. She will give me strong children.

Ah, that's why.

So Conquest says nothing about her powers, these blessed gifts of Thalandria. He has ordered her to hide them.

He gives his granddaughter to Thragg and looks at her for a brief second, he has not forgotten his promise. She will suffer but endure until her grandfather returns.

So Conquest takes his leave, destroying a new world in record time, and then flying to Earth.

He finds Nolan teaching his son how to fly, a weak, pathetic thing.

—Conquest, —he shows no fear— my mission is still in progress.

—I have been hearing rumors about how fond you are of your pet.

—Dad?

—Go home, Mark.

—No need, —says Conquest— tell me, Nolan, do you love your child?

There it is… his doubt. But he pushes anyway. In a blink, he takes Nolan's child by the neck.

—Or I can play with him? —he laughs as soon as he feels his hatred— ah, so you love him, maybe even your pet —he frees the little thing, who breathes hard for air.

—Why are you here?

—An alliance. Thragg has taken my granddaughter from me.

There is surprise on Nolan’s face.

—You are rebelling, —and maybe a little hope?

—Thragg is going to breed her until she breaks, —he says with all his fury— so I ask you, do you love your family?

If not, then he will have to kill Nolan and his pest.

—And when we kill Thragg? How do I know you will not betray me?

—My granddaughter will marry your son.

—You are rebelling to free her, and you propose marriage?

—She knows what is required of her, and your son doesn't look like someone who would use her like a bed slave.

—No, he is… kind, —admits Nolan— if she has a child of Thragg, we will need to kill it. She knows that?

—Yes, she knows. She has the means to keep herself infertile for two years.

—Dad, what is going on? —asks Mark.

—You will have my answer tomorrow, —says Nolan— let's go, Mark.

[mysticalserenity-tarot]

:¨ ·.· ¨: `·. ୨୧ Your relationship dynamic with your future romantic partner ᡣ𐭩 (boyfriend/girlfriend, future spouse, etc.) (Pick a pile)

{How to pick a pile? First, take a deep breath with your eyes closed to clear your mind. When you open your eyes, don't hesitate – pick the image that immediately grabs your attention or stirs up a memory. Remember, you can pick more than one pile if you feel called to. If none of the images stand out for you, it means there's no message for you at this time. You can always come back to it later.}

ԑঙ<💙>ԑ̮̑ঙ ~ ԑঙ<💙>ԑ̮̑ঙ ԑঙ<💙>ԑ̮̑ঙ ~ ԑঙ<💙

Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3 (from left to right)

Hello, and a huge thank you to everyone for your incredible support. It means a lot!

In this collective pick a pile reading, we'll explore the relationship dynamic of you and your future romantic partner. Let's see where your energy takes us.

Disclaimer: This is a collective reading I picked up on multiple energies, so please only take what resonates and leave the rest. When something resonates you usually feel a light energy and in your heart you can feel it's your message, and the pic that attracts you is a clearly sign.

ԑঙ<💙>ԑ̮̑ঙ ~ ԑঙ<💙>ԑ̮̑ঙ ԑঙ<💙>ԑ̮̑ঙ ~ ԑঙ<💙

PILE 1 ᡣ𐭩

8 of Swords Rv, 3 of Pentacles, Knight of Wands (Knight of Pentacles)

Hello Pile 1, and welcome to your reading. Let's dive in!

You and your future romantic partner will free each other from any burdens, past wounds, and betrayals. I keep hearing the message 'teamwork makes the dream work,' which is confirmed by the repeated appearance of the 6 of Pentacles, the give-and-take card. This pile has a more calm energy compared to others, yet there is a hint of passion and an abundance of love, as indicated by the 2 of Cups. I see a lot of collaboration between you two, which will propel your relationship forward and allow you to learn valuable things from each other.(About that message, many of you (not all) that chose this pile are or were armys - BTS fans for those who don't know).

This energy is pretty similar to romantic sitcoms, a very lighthearted energy. I see you having fun with each other, making jokes and doing quirky things together. You'll find joy in the little things, such as organizing enjoyable activities together, whether it's at home or outside. I feel that one or both of you might have had bad experiences with past lovers, so finding comfort in each other's arms is important. You're free spirits with stable principles, and you both seek stability in your relationship with a touch of fun to ease your minds after a tiring work day.

Your dynamic is special, and there may be challenges and communication issues, but facing them head-on with determination is crucial for both of you. Patience and loyalty are also key themes in your love dynamic, with grounding elements confirmed by the dominant brown color in your spread. Brownish or reddish tones may also be significant for one or both of you, based on what I'm getting.

To summarize, your relationship is built on teamwork, give-and-take, stability, and fun. You'll find joy in the little things, such as creating fun moments together, and find comfort in each other's arms, despite any challenges that may arise. Patience and loyalty are essential, and your energy has a calm yet passionate feel to it.

Thank you for allowing me to read your energy, Pile 1.

Note: -If you enjoyed this and my other readings, and you'd like to support me further, you can do so on my ko-fi , I'd greatly appreciate it. It's not mandatory.

-For further guidance or a personalized reading, feel free to book a reading through my Tumblr DM or email [dvinecrystl@gmail.com]. I'm here to help you navigate life's challenges and find clarity. We can decide the price together. [I will be providing more details on my paid readings in the future. Keep an eye out for it]

PILE 2 ᡣ𐭩

2 of Wands, 2 of Pentacles, Knight of Swords (King of Cups)

Hello Pile 2, and welcome to your reading. Let's dive in!

Is this my staying in the comfort zone pile? We're going to say goodbye to it and fasten your seat belts, dear, because this won't be lasting much longer. Your future romantic partner will pull you out of that cozy comfort zone you've been in for who knows how long, and you're going to love it - it's what your soul truly needs, not a sedentary life and the 'I'm afraid to fail so I don't even try' mentality. Your mind is just trapping you into thinking you want that. Now, the love dynamic with your future romantic partner is mostly about adventure, trying new things, and learning because that's what your partner wants for you and for themselves. They have Gemini energy and will bring excitement and intellectual stimulation to your life. They'll be supportive and encouraging of your goals and aspirations, just like a cheerleader, and they'll provide a much-needed emotional balance and practicality to your relationship.

You might be the more timid and fearful one at first, but your soul craves a partner like that and, while it may feel uncomfortable initially, you'll soon realize how grateful you are to have found someone like them. They'll celebrate your achievements and goals with you, including the small ones, and they'll be very nurturing and compassionate towards your needs. The relationship will be balanced between your heart and their mind, and you'll both be devoted to each other.

22/222 may be significant and you may see it often, and ironically this is also pile 2 😁

In summary, the love dynamic between you and your future romantic partner will revolve around adventure, pushing your comfort zone, and finding a balance between excitement and practicality. Patience, support, and devotion will play major roles in your relationship. They'll be your biggest fan and help you overcome indecision, while you'll provide emotional support and stability.

Thank you for allowing me to read your energy, Pile 2.

Note: -If you enjoyed this and my other readings, and you'd like to support me further, you can do so on my ko-fi , I'd greatly appreciate it. It's not mandatory.

-For further guidance or a personalized reading, feel free to book a reading through my Tumblr DM or email [dvinecrystl@gmail.com]. I'm here to help you navigate life's challenges and find clarity. We can decide the price together. [I will be providing more details on my paid readings in the future. Keep an eye out for it]

PILE 3 ᡣ𐭩

3 of Swords Rv, Ace of Cups, The Wheel (5 of Wands)

Hello Pile 3, and welcome to your reading. Let's dive in!

Compared to the other pile's this is way longer and there is a sense of tension in this energy, but it's nothing that you and your future partner cannot work. To sum it up, the relationship dynamic with your future romantic partner will be karmic or have karmic elements which requires patience from both parties, many ups and downs at least at the beginning (like while adjusting to your new relationship together). The relationship dynamic is marked by alternating moments of gloom and joy, and it seems some past wounds haven't been healed yet. You may want to consider doing some shadow work. I get the feeling that some of you may be reconnecting with exes or entering into relationships with karmic partners before finding “the one.” However, this PAC is for the person you're inquiring about, regardless of whether they're a future bf/gf or spouse. Even if they're a karmic partner (for some of you), it's okay because not every karmic partner is necessarily a bad person. They might just be there to teach you lessons and help you realize what you truly want in a partner so you can move on to a healthier/better relationship. Your relationship dynamics with your future partner will be one of growth and expansion, deeply spiritual, and aimed at helping you grow mentally, spiritually, and even physically. You'll start to feel more confident and radiant, both within and without. The real beauty lies within, and embracing it will make you shine even more.

The relationship will be anything but boring. You'll find new ways to communicate and inspire each other, strengthening your bond. There will be moments of intense emotion, but also comfort and care for each other. It's possible they will even want to have children with you. However, consent is crucial. There's a youthful, child-like energy, but it's not negative - just refreshing. Everything about this relationship feels divinely guided, meant for a higher purpose that you'll discover together.

Some of you may feel confused about something, which could be a sign this is your pile. There's a mix of energies. However, your relationship will be for the stronger hearted - especially Scorpio babies, given the transformative energy. The number 10 may be significant, potentially signaling completion and even a twin flame dynamic. You'll mirror each other's qualities and flaws.

Whoever you're inquiring about will likely sweep you off your feet. Whether it's a positive or negative experience depends on your perspective and situations. Generally speaking, the relationship dynamic will have a positive outcome. For some, this could be your first relationship or your first serious relationship, so everything will be new and exciting. There may be some tension due to inexperience, but it's a normal part of growing and adjusting to this new relationship. In the end, you'll find fulfillment and growth together.

In summary, the relationship dynamic with your future romantic partner will have karmic and potentially transformative aspects, requiring patience from both parties. There may be alternating periods of gloom and joy, which might stem from unresolved past wounds. Some of you may reconnect with exes or get involved in karmic relationships before finding “the one.” Shadow work could be beneficial for everyone. The relationship will be rooted in growth and expansion, and there's a strong spiritual component that will help deepen your connection. This relationship serves a divine purpose that both of you will uncover together. Thank you for allowing me to read your energy, Pile 3.

Thank you for allowing me to read your energy, Pile 3.

Note: -If you enjoyed this and my other readings, and you'd like to support me further, you can do so on my ko-fi , I'd greatly appreciate it. It's not mandatory.

-For further guidance or a personalized reading, feel free to book a reading through my Tumblr DM or email [dvinecrystl@gmail.com]. I'm here to help you navigate life's challenges and find clarity. We can decide the price together. [I will be providing more details on my paid readings in the future. Keep an eye out for it]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ANY LIKE/REBLOG/COMMENT IS APPRECIATED, ALSO IF YOU LET ME KNOW IF IT RESONATED.

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

ALWAYS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EACH ONE OF YOU'S SUPPORT, I'M GRATEFUL 🤗🤍

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please note that I used AI language bot to help improve grammar and spelling in my readings, as English is not my first language. However, the interpretations and insights provided in my readings are all my work, based on my intuition and the cards' symbolism.

Disclaimer: Tarot readings are for entertainment purposes only and are not meant to predict or dictate your future. The cards provide insights and guidance, but the ultimate power of choice lies with you.

[a018233]

ೀ Identity v men with a s/o that sleeps naked.

Characters: , Eli Clark, Norton Campbell, Naib Subedar. Edgar Valden

content warnings: gn!reader, mostly sfw. Not really yandere, but can be read as one. Established relationships. Cockwarming in Norton's but it's not really sexual.

A/N: almost at 100 followers so I kinda wanna do a special. Someone should commission me and I'll write you whatever you want, give me sanrio photographer or buffy and my life is yours‼️‼️

Eli was surprised after finding out, he's a little traditional and modest when it came to clothes, but oddly enough, he wasn't against it. Eli can't help but think it's a little cute and endearing, though. Mainly because he thinks he's at the point of your relationship where you're comfortable doing 'weird' things with him. His biggest concern is you catching a cold. Eli prefers to keep his sleepwear on, so he won't join you in sleeping naked. Though, maybe on a hot summer night, he'd strip down to his boxers just so he can spoon you comfortably without overheating the both of you. Eli likes having you relying on him whether you realize it or not, so he prefers to stay up until you've fallen asleep so he can cover you with a blanket, it's more an act of love and reassurance that you won't accidentally catch a cold.

After you started doing it, It didn't take Norton too long to follow. He likes the close intimacy he gets from cuddling nude with you. Norton is aware he's high maintenance as a lover, to him, it's total reassurance that he's the only one for you. Reassurance that you love and trust him no matter what. The type of intimacy only he and he alone can have with you. It gives him a little pep in his step the next day. It's something looks forward to each night. He looks forward to your shared nightly routine just as much as waking up with you. I'd think at some point you two decide to kick it up a notch with cockwarming, something to keep you two locked in place together. He finds nothing as relaxing than burying himself nice and deep inside you while his arms keep you in a tight embrace.

Naib already likes sleeping in his boxers, so he doesn't really have a reaction. At least, that's what you think when you go under the covers on your shared bed. He's internally questioning himself. Is it okay to hold you? Where does he even put his hands without it being weird? Is he even allowed to look? For the first couple nights, he doesn't hold you like he usually does. But after a while, he gets used to it. Although, he won't join you in going full comando unless he just got out of the shower and dried himself fully, but he's keeping his boxers on when it comes to sleep. Naib isn't one for opening up or heart to heart conversations but having your head against his chest, and your limbs entangled with his provides comfort for him. He's a mercenary, someone who has killed for his own benefit. So it's complete solace when you ramble in a sleepy voice about your day knowing you trust him wholeheartedly.

Edgar can't help but scoff when you join him nude under the covers, he's seen your nude form before. You're his lover and muse, of course he'd seen every inch of you. As much as you're breathtaking, he's annoyed. He bought you a whole collection of all sorts of sleepwear made from the most richest material money can buy. Only the best for his lover, he can't have his muse wearing cheap clothing. Linen, silk, cotton, satin, and chiffon. With all sorts of designs he commissioned personally. Tailored to your exact size, some with your favorite colour's, colour's that match you. He even made sure the fabrics were light and breathable, and yet you choose to sleep naked? When the initial annoyance settles, he begins to feel a little flustered, yes he's seen you naked before, he has done full body portraits of you. But somehow this feels different. He can't explain why, but it feels more intimate than any canvas he's painted of you. Now, to him, it cements your love for him. That in the dead of the night, that you aren't his muse right now. But his lover. The one you love the most.

[lady-of-tearshed]

Blinded

Azriel x Reader

Summary:

Word count: angst, feeling worthless, yelling, cursing, betrayal, jealousy, big sad people, pregnancy (Elucien), injuries, violence. Yup.

A/N: Honestly? Be prepared. 🤣💕

Again, thank you @sarawritestories for always giving me to kick in the butt I need when I'm stuck! 💕 Thanks @milswrites for the moral support too ily 🥰

Azriel was staring at your lips. Those full sultry lips painted with that same shade of pink Elain loves to wear.

Only, you weren’t Elain.

He tried to convince himself that he could get over it, get over Elain. He could love, praise, and touch another female without thinking about her.

Could he?

“Az?” You whisper, each one of your rapid breaths formed a cloud that filled the small gap between yours and Azriel’s face. His grip on your hips loosened as he snapped back into reality. He gulped down his shame. Shit. Your eyes, so soft, and loving, and pure filled with concern, Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Are you alright?” She stroked his face, his lips. His lips were still swollen from the kiss…

From the kiss that he fantasized about sharing with another woman.

He tried to shake the thought of Elain away, tried to ignore his shadows whispering wrong, wrong, wrong in his ears. He could do it, he knew it. You were kind, very pretty, caring… “Yeah,” He whispered, before attacking your lips once again. The kiss was feral, rough. His lips were crashing hard against yours, teeth clashing, as he tried so desperately to forget about Elain’s softness.

Your heart was beating in sync with the loud, yet distant busy chatting of the crowd at Rita’s, situated not far from the gloomy alley you and Azriel had stumbled out to. The frenzy was too intense for you to wait before touching him, tasting him, smelling him. Your lips parted when the exposed skin, compliments to the deep cut of your dress that barely covered your body, collided with the cool surface. The earthy and vigorous taste of the wine you had imbibed earlier that night filled his own mouth as his tongue caressed yours.

Elain would’ve drank something sweet, or fruity.

He slowly pulled away from you, his thumb grazing the exposed skin on the small of your back. It sent shivers up your spine, and your nipples hardened. He stared at you, observed how red your cheeks were, how his lips had smushed your lipstick, how the smell of you changed from your arousal. But the love and adoration that shone into those eyes, your eyes, felt like a stab in his cruel heart.

He couldn’t do this.

“Let me fly you back home,” His voice was raspy. He tried to give you a genuine smile, and pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, his fingers combing through your now very disheveled hair. “Will you be staying?” He wanted to drown in the cauldron and succumb from his sorrows at the sound of your pleading, hopeful tone.

“Another night, when we’ll both be sober.” He lied. They had talked and danced more than they had to drink, he was far from drunk, and you too. But you just shrugged, offering him a kind and comprehensive smile. “Okay,” Was all that you’ve answered, before he picked you up into his arms and led you through the clear night sky.

He dropped you off, bowed his head, and said “Thank you, for tonight,” before flying away without another word. He didn’t even kiss you goodnight.

—

The sky was clear, and the weather started to warm up in Velaris. You had gone shopping for lighter dresses today, and couldn’t wait to come back home and swirl in them for your Illyrian to see, since he had been too busy to spend the morning with you. There were always piles of paperworks lingering on his desk, you couldn’t blame him.

You turned on yourself in the mirror, admiring the last dress you had to try on. It was the prettiest, the deep blue fabric instantly drew you in. It was the exact same blue of Azriel’s siphons. “So, what do you think!” You beamed, spinning around to look into those pretty shades of hazel dancing in his eyes. Your toes were curling in your shoes, excited to get his reaction on your newest, and now favorite, piece of clothing.

“Mhm,” He hums absent-mindedly. Your face dropped, and your eyes turned a tad more glossy than normal. You lifted your chin up, and instead of exploding with rage, or bursting in tears, you cleared your throat as a last attempt to get his attention.

Desperate, pathetic.

Azriel lifted up his head at last, his eyes quickly scanned you, and he gave you a tiny smirk of approval, accompanied by a small nod of his head. “You look good, baby,” He adds, only for good measure.

Good. Not stunning, not flawless, not delightful, not ravishing… Just good. You noticed how Azriel’s eyes drifted back to whatever paperwork he was doing the second you turned back around to face yourself in the mirror, you noticed how his gaze did not linger on any of your features for one second. The shadowsinger had always been a man of few words, showing his love mostly through actions. But lately… lately he was also a man of few actions.

You gulped down your tears, maybe he was just busier than usual, you thought, and yet… You pinched your arm, mentally scolding yourself for being so selfish. Azriel worked hard, he always bought you anything you’d wish and ask for, even more. He had to work a lot to get you all that. You concluded that you simply needed to be more grateful and understanding.

Maybe he needed space. Maybe you were too clingy. You inhaled, trying to get all of the possibilities of why Azriel was acting this way around you out of your mind, and you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled. You repeated the action a few times, and once you were sure that your voice was steady enough to talk to him, you did. “I'm going out to see Elain today,” You said, your eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror, secretly analyzing how his body reacted to the second Archeron sister's name.

Azriel barely reacted, only the slight twitch of his fingers around his pen proved your point. Something about Elain was upsetting him, but what? “Have fun,” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand. Azriel tried so damn hard to not think of how Elain’s scent would linger on your clothes for hours, maybe even days when you'll come back from your stupid little play date with her. Tried to ignore the insufferable truth that Elain, even when she belonged to another male, even when himself belonged to another female, to you, still haunted his memories every day, noon, and night.

“I will.” It took every ounce of your self-control to not snap at him. It was getting so hard to ignore that pull, that painful throb in your chest that kept screaming at you more, more, more! But deep down, you knew that Azriel would probably never be able to give you more.

To give you his heart, completely.

—

“How is Azriel?”

Elain's melodic voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Your fingers still plucked at some invasive weeds competing with Elain's stunning flowers for the nutrients, sunlight, and water. But you didn't dare lift your eyes to meet hers, knowing she'd see the lies dancing in your eyes. “Good. Busy, but good,” Which was true, in some ways.

He kept telling you he was fine, and it was true that he was busier than usual, but deep down, you knew he wasn't doing “good”. Elain nodded, the chestnut curls that escaped her bun bouncing on her forehead as she did so. She knew better than to press the topic with you.

“You're… pale,” Her stunning doe eyes burned with concern, and you felt so bad for lying to your friend, even if it was only partially a lie. “I'm fine.”

Suddenly, the air shifted, and a cool breeze ran at the back of your neck, leaving a veil of goosebump on your delicate skin. The sound of Elain's gardening tools clashing to the ground made you jolt. You rapidly lifted your gaze, and gasped when you took I'm the sight of her once brown eyes now turned completely white, the wind flowing through her hair. It was as if she commanded the air itself.

“Leave him,”

Her voice didn't sound like her own, it sounded like nails on a blackboard, scrapping your soul. You hissed, covering your ears, your eyes wide with fear. But you could still hear her voice, and her face was so close. Your body was frozen in place, as if you were hypnotized by those cold white orbs, and your mind screamed at you to back off, to call for help. To call for Lucien, Elain’s mate.

“The shadow male is bound to be blinded.”

The shaddow male could only be Azriel. Was he okay? What was happening? You hated riddles. “Blinded by what?!” You pressed, begging for answers and yet begging for the kind Archeron to come back to her usual self.

“The seer… The shadow male is bound to be blinded by the seer.”

“Elain!” You hadn't heard the grass sweeping against Lucien's fancy leather boots. Nor his hurried footsteps, and breathing, as he not so delicately moved Elain away from you. You landed on your butt, but you didn't take Lucien's actions personally. After all, he was only reacting instinctively as a newly mated male. You swiped a hand on your face, your brain reeling from the information.

Rage, jealousy, despair.

“Y/N…” You faintly heard Elain's voice, her real voice, call out for you. You didn't even realize the tears that rolled down your cheeks until you felt her soiled hands brush against your damp skin. “I need to go,” You didn't wait to be granted your leave before you hastened back inside the River House.

You almost tripped on the marbled floors, your shoe soles were now slippery because of the dew that had coated your heels. You shoved them out of your feets, the coldness of the floors not bothering you for one bit as you kept running, and running through the halls.

Rhysand’s office doors slammed open, making the Shadowsinger, and the High Lord startle slightly. You felt your heart being ripped open when you saw his eyes, on you, filled with worry.

It has been years since he last looked at you, truly looked at you.

“What is this about?” Azriel rose from his chair, his steps towards you careful, his shadows swirling around you frantically. “Elain,” He froze in place, and his pupils shook. “Is she alright?” Her. It had always been her. Her safety, her well being, simply her. It would always be her before you.

The shadow man is bound to be blinded by the seer, not you.

“She is,” You gulped, swiping away your own tears, the tears he yet hadn't noticed. He reached his hand to touch you, but you smacked his hand away, and he frowned. “I am not, Azriel. I am not alright. This is not alright,” You gesture between him and you. “I'm done.”

The bond snapped into place only for him to tug on the crumbling thread, watching as you reject the one thing Azriel longed for most in this life. A mate.

He fell to his knees, his hand curled at his chest as he looked up desperately at you. “What have you done…” His voice shook, his face red with anger, shame even. “What have you done!” He screamed, desperately trying to hold onto the hem of your dress, trying to keep you here, with him. He was angry, furious, at himself, at you, at Elain, at the cauldron that kept torturing his fate over and over again.

Rhys ran to Azriel's side, holding him back. You stumbled back, ripping the hem of your dress out of Azriel grip. He sobbed, and screamed as his soul was being ripped in half. Yours was too, but the damage had mostly been done throughout those years of being ignored, unloved and denied. Your soul and heart have been broken for a while now. You winnowed away, far away, and never came back.

Good riddance.

Taglist: @berryzxx @thelov3lybookworm @sidthedollface2 @favsrachz

[meowordeath]

A/N: I love Identity V!! especially Eli Clark!! I attempt to make it as gender ambiguous as possible, besides one having the word boob just replace it with pec! i didn’t know a gender neutral term for boob, sorry! :3 btw I'm not sure if someone else has already done this!

Characters | Eli Clark , Ganji Gupta , Naib Subedar and the lovely lady Patricia Dorval

Content warning : fluff , reader with boobs but no specific pronoun, not too inappropriate, jack the ripper And Breaking wheel if those count?

Identity V characters reacting to their s/o clothes getting ripped! :3

Eli Clark

Before the match started Eli got to view your new costume. It looked very ninja like, the clothes were very skin tight. You two chatted while preparing for the match “Remember, just called out and I'll send brooke to your aid, okay?” He whispered to you laying his gloved hand atop yours. “I know, don't worry if I need you I’ll shout”

You smile before pecking him on the cheek. Brooke hoots happily, as Eli gives you one more loving look, before everyone's sight fades.

For first few minutes of the match you had been decoding. Feeling more relaxed as Luca shouted the hunter was on him, making him first kite. Your cipher was a little over half way done, as Luca started kiting toward you. At first you assumed he was just kiting in the area so you didn't bother to get off the cipher.

Your heartbeat started to get more prominent, but you were still very lax, thinking Luca and whoever the hunter was were just getting closer, when a shout rang out through the map. “Beware! Hunter has changed target!” You lifted your head abruptly from your cipher, accidentally messing up a calibration in the process making you shield your face from the explosion.

Soon after you messed it up you felt blades run from your back to your side. You cry out in pain bumping into the cipher as you sprint away, unfortunately the cipher snagged one of the slashes he had made in your shirt. A dark chuckle sounded behind you as you ran.

“This chase is already way more exciting than chasing that decoder,” Jack said licking the blood from his blades. You ran vaulting windows, throwing pallets for distance, you even led him back to Luca. Luca had a flustered look watching you pass him.

Eli knew you were currently kiting and trusted that you’d call out for help, so he didn't want to waste his spectate. “Help me!” Your shout rang out through the map. Eli was quick to send brooke to your aid. Looking through brooke's eyes he was shocked at the condition of your current costume. His face turned a little red.

Jack had only meant to slash your back, but since you messed up the calibration his slash went down your side, slicing open your shirt. It would've been fine with thin slashes, if your crash into the cipher hadn't caused your shirt to snag. It tore and your right boob was pretty much exposed.

You were trying to hold onto some dignity pulling the shreddings of your shirt over to cover it, but vaulting and pulling down pallets. You needed both your hands. Jack definitely had a great view of you each time you pulled down pallets. Eli was quick to find the teams other assist, William, and asking for his help to get The Ripper off you.

William was quick to assist. He stunned Jack allowing you to escape and hide, forcing him switch targets. Eli set brooke to find you, so he could help.

When he did find you, you were crouched behind a pallet, making a pathetic attempt to save your shirt. Eli crouched in front of you, not looking at your chest, instead checking over the wound. “It’s gonna be okay s/o, you can have my trench coat” His voice was slightly flustered, as he shed his coat.

He was left in his white long-sleeve button-up and black tie. You couldn't be more thankful for him wearing his recluse costume. “Thank you, Eli. God, this is pretty embarrassing!” Both your guy's faces have a faint blush, as you button up his trench coat finally covering your exposed flesh.

Eli's nervousness faded as he smiled. Lifting his hand to cup your cheek. “Don't worry, if they say anything, I'll have brooke rose peck out their eyes” he jokes, brooke hoots in agreement.

Ganji gupta

You and Tracy are both hanging out in the manors workshop. She was originally tinkering until you came in, wanting to show off your new costume to her. It had this futuristic theme, and Tracy was quick abandoned her invention to mess with the small gadgets they stuck to you as accessories.

On the front-side of your shorts, you had some sort of tablet with buttons and fun looking controls. It was attached to some belt that had other gadgets, they were all locked to the belt, which was attached to the shorts. Tracy was crouched down messing with them all.

“How mad do you think Miss Nightingale would be if I started taking this stuff apart?” Tracy said with a small grin. You look down and it seems she had already took her screwdriver to a few things. “Well, I guess we will find out” She laughed at your words.

Everything was going fine you were standing as you watch Tracy dismantle each piece of futuristic tech on the belt. Ganji knocked before entering the workshop. He sighed looking at Tracy crouched next to you. “How much longer are you gonna keep my s/o, Reznik?”

Ganji was told this was only gonna be a quick visit to show off the costume. Yet He’d been left waiting out there for at least 20 minutes. “Calm down ‘Gupta’ your s/o came here to show off their costume to me not you!” Tracy taunted, while saying his name is a mocking tone. Ganji scoffed, setting his cricket bat down at the door.

“Who do you think they showed it to first, Reznik.” Ganji sounded like he was subtly bragging, at being the first person to see you in the new costume. Tracy rolled her eyes. “Darn, the screen to this thing just doesn't want to come off!” She said trying to get the screen off, to get the wiring.

Ganji started to walk toward them reaching to pull Tracy off his s/o. “Okay Reznik, I’ve had my fair share of sharing my s/o.” Before He could reach Tracy she had fell back as her force caused your shorts to rip.

Tracy honestly didn't see anything with how fast Ganji was to cover you, He scowled down at Tracy. “I'm sorry...?” She said with a sheepish smile. “Find my s/o something to cover up with Reznik” He said firmly. She was quick to bolt out of the room. “Right! I'll be right back!”

She didn't look back in fear of seeing Ganji's harsh gaze. You could help but rest you forehead against his back laughing. “What are you laughing at? You’re currently in your underwear, if you hadn’t noticed.” He said turning toward you with a slight frown.

“I can’t help but laugh at the silliness of this situation my love. I never expected Tracy to rip my shorts, all so she could get the tablet!” You found this situation pretty funny. Ganjis frown turned into a small smile with your amusement.

“Glad you find this amusing. Though I’d rather be the only one to see my lover without pants on.” His words made your face slightly red. “Okay, perv.” His gaped slightly. “… I’ll remember that the next time your clothes rip. I won’t cover you.”

You smile squeezing his cheeks. “Yes you will, because you love me!” He sighed as you squeezed his face passive-aggressively. “… Yes I will.”

Naib Subedar

You know your lover hates Murro with an burning passion. Mostly because he hates boars, but you thought Murro’s boar was kinda cute.

Unfortunately Murro stayed very far away from you, making it so you barely saw his boar outside of matches.

It was a very nice day at the manor, survivor matches going smoothly, not that you had any matches to participate in today, Naib had about one or tw. With him on the team you didn’t doubt they would win.

In the manor there is an outdoor area, and due to you not having any matches today you want to go walk around in the sun for a bit.

On your way out you were wearing loose fitting loungewear. Not being in a match you didn’t want to put effort into putting on one of your usually costumes.

The sun felt good especially after being inside for most the day, you would take what you can get before Naib decides to ‘lowkey’ glue himself to your side. The outdoor part of the manor was pretty big enough to have a small forest, with a gate surrounding the whole area of course.

In the distance near trees you saw a tail and decided to investigate. Upon getting closer you realized its nust Murro's boar.

“Oh, I wonder why you’re out here by yourself. Is Murro around?” You said crouching down in front of the boar. It kind of just stared at you chewing on grass.

“Right, you’re an animal you can’t talk…” You felt a little awkward as the boar stared you down. “Well… I’m gonna go back that way…?” You stand dusting yourself off. As you stand the boar approaches you. You got back down wanting to pet it.

It did let you pet it for a moment, you got to even rub its stomach. It was fun, until you decided to go back inside and it grabbed ahold of the back of your shirt.

You and the boar had a short staring match. “Hmm, as much as I would love to spend more time with you Murro’s boar i’m sure my boyfriend is done with his match.” You said trying to tug the shirt from its mouth.

The boar refused turning it into a game of tug-a-war. “Let. go!” You huffed out fighting against the animal, you could hear the fabric starting to tear from you two pulling on it.

With one last tug you fell backwards, grunting in pain. It had a good chunk of fabric in its mouth as its trophy. You heard hurried footsteps. looking up you saw Murro. “I’m sorry! I didn't realize my boar had wandered away, forgive me!” He reached out to help you.

Unfortunately Naib had just arrived at the scene to see Murro’s boar with some of your shirt in its mouth, and Murro himself standing over you. In a moment a blade whizzed past, slicing Murro’s cheek causing him to fall on his butt in fear.

Looking behind you, he could see a very angry Naib hauling ass toward you all. In fear he quickly abandoned you. Hopping on his boar he left, running in the opposite direction.

Naib almost ran past you to chase Murro if you hadn’t gotten up quickly to grab the back of his shirt. “Wait, don’t chase after him!” You struggled to hold on to the man.

“I’ll gut him and that boar. How dare he sica damn animal on you.” His voice wasn't a shout but he was definitely furious. He was very strong actually draggjng you as he tried to pursue Murro.

You pull on his ponytail dragging his head back. “Hold your horses, who said anything about him siccing his boar on me?!” You let go of his hair as he stopped for a moment. “What do you mean, his boar was standing over you with some of your clothes in it mouth. How could that not be an attack on you?” He finally turned toward you head tilted slightly in confusion.

Sighing, you lightly pat Naib's cheek. “I wouldn't say it was an attack, I was originally playing with the boar. It only was trying to stop me from walking away, and Murro said he ran over after noticing it was gone.”

Naib’s eyebrows were still furrowed, eyes slightly closed, as of he was trying to see if you were lying for the sake of Murro. “Fine, I won't chase after him, for now.”

You grin pinching your lovers cheek. “Good! Now lets go inside you smell like shit” You say looping your elbow with his to lead him back to the manor. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever dear.”

Patricia Dorval

“Breaking wheel...! That son... sons? Of a bitch!” You say irritated, cursing his name to the sky quietly. He had been chasing you for most of the match before you lovely, kind, sweetheart patricia, took kite.

Inside your head you gushed about your girlfriend as you were trying to remove his spikes from not only your clothing but from your skin, as it had penetrated through the cloth into you.

Pulling them out was a huge pain, It hurt like hell. If only someone could help. You couldn't reach the ones in your back. Your mind drifted to Patricia as you pondered how her kite was going.

“You need help?” A raspy voice spoke out from behind you causing to yell and jump. Quickly turning around your faced wth the sneaky bastard who turned out to be Kreacher.

“Damn it Kreacher, you don't just sneak up on people like that!” You shout at the man hand over your heart. Other one raised as if you were going to hit him.

He back away from your shouts ready to coward out, and run away from your aggression. “Wait! Yes, I need help...” You say embarrassed about having to ask Kreacher of all people, to help you.

He was a little hesitant to come toward you, he had a sketical look toward you as you were just shouting but he did anyways. “Stay still and Ill get them removed” He said hand already painfully pulling one lodged in your back.

You try to hold in your pained shouts, refusing to show that this bothered you in front of Kreacher. They were pretty thin the spikes, but very sharp with tiny barbs that makes sense them hard to get from your skin.

Kreacher doesn't exactly have the gentlest hands while removing these from both your clothes and skin. You couldn't tell if he was trying to hurt you or help you.

“You could slow down damn it! Stop removing them fast you asshole, It hurts!” You hiss pulling away as he pulled another one carelessly out.

“Maybe if you could actually dodge breaking wheel..” You heard him mutter under his breath. “What did you just say!?” You say ticked off. “Nothing!!” He quickly says pulling one out to distract you.

He was pulling out the last one when both your hearts started to beat slightly, though it was barely anything to make you fret, polun didn't even know where you two were.

Coward freaking Pierson on the other hand grabbed ahold of the last spike dragging it down your back as he pulled away, bolting.

The specific spike he pulled was at the top so it tore all the way down, making the shirt go forward almost exposing if you hadn’t held it up with your hands. You grind your teeth slightly, turning to curse out to Kreacher.

As you turned your eyes met Patricia's, who had wacked Kreacher down with her ape skull, making his head bleed as he dizzily sat on the ground.

“Sorry I wasn't here sooner s/o, but at least I crushed this roach.” She said walking past him to you. She pecked you on the cheek getting her lipstick on your face, before looking at your back which was now exposed.

You had some blood drops rolling down from the sprike removals. She cut some more of your shirt so that she could tie a not in the back so it wouldn't fall off.

“I would take Kreachers jacket and give it to you, but I'd rather none of his filthy items touch you” She said as she gently caressed your back, careful of the small wounds.

You blushed at her caring gesture. “I should've warn a different costume one with a jacket, that's my bad.” She put her arms around your neck. “Well, I for one really like this costume, too bad it gonna be temporarily out of commission”

She makes it so hard for you not to swoon when shes this sweet. Kreacher groans reminding you two he was there.

Patricia unhooks her arms from around your neck. “Let's leave that thing and go decode the last cipher. Polun will find and kill it” She says loud enough for him to hear.

She grabs your hand pulling you away toward a cipher, while you follow her happily. Patricia was right about Kreacher as he was found & killed after Ganji led the hunter to him. At least the 3 of them escaped!

PLEASE I REALLY TRIED HARD TO MAKE THEM ALL SIMILAR LENGTH!! Hope you like this :3

[beware-of-pity]

Pythia Hiereia - III

Masterlist I Ao3 link I Chapter Two - Next

Harry James Potter x Reader

Summary :

In my restless dreams, I see that castle. Hogwarts.

Chapter III: But then she noticed me glance at her (I had no choice but to dance with her)

. ⚯ ͛

Harry was certain it wasn’t good for him to think so much. He was frying whatever last sane thought he had left in his mind, and it wasn’t helping his shaky belief about what he, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had witnessed a few days ago in Knockturn Alley. He pondered it repeatedly, twisting and turning it in every possible way, yet he could not shake that he always arrived at the same conclusion: that Draco had become a Death Eater.

His anxious looks — constantly turning his eyes to watch his back in case he and his mother were being followed — twitching demeanour, and a sense of unwillingness in whatever he was lead into could indicate that whatever he and his mummy were seeking out of Mr Bourgins was no average day-to-day incanted necklaces or dragon skulls, that Harry would rather not like to think how Mr Bourgins got his hands on, request of customers willing to pay a petty penny for whatever they were there for.

To add to his annoyance of the matter, it was the fact that neither of the other witnesses of this event seemed as bothered by it as he was. Harry thought that Ron and Hermione, who were more than familiar with Malfoy’s antics, would be the ones raising eyebrows over what they had seen, and yet he barely got a reaction from them — not what he had hoped for. Neither shared an interest in discussing the many possibilities leading to and resulting in Draco and his mother’s actions.

Nor could he hope to turn to Ginny either. As the one often kept out of the trio’s adventures for obvious reasons, mainly her safety, she could not understand the seriousness of Draco’s unusual change of character. The most she knew was that he was a prick, but that was public knowledge to anyone familiar with Draco’s name. If anything, Ron and Hermione had grown more than annoyed by Harry’s insistence on the matter and his constant blubbering over the theories he came up with. It came to a head on afternoon, where after the last of endless dismissals, Harry got the point and decided he would not share his conclusions until he was certain of them. He didn’t feel heard, and he wasn’t sure even the adults would be willing to listen to him.

Sure, he was just a boy, but no boy his age had faced the things he had. He possessed a maturity unbecoming the nature of his boyhood, and yet it was one he could not rid himself of. No, he stunk of it; he carried it within him like heavy baggage weighing down his shoulders. Always at his back, pushing down, as a reminder that he would never be normal and he would never be given the normalcy he craved and deserved.

But for how much he wishes for someone to hear his opinions, even he was uncertain of his thoughts. After all, for whatever reason would a boy of Draco’s age even become a death eater? But for Harry, many, many reasons would ditto so.

For one, Lucius’ imprisonment following the guilty verdict of his trial. Draco had always been one to hold onto his feelings. Harry was sure that injustice was swelling within him as his father was carried out of the room, soon to be thrown into Azkaban. He could not dismiss the fact that Draco and his family had taken it upon themselves to ensure they lay their own perverse sense of justice in the matter. Revenge is a dish best-served cold, or so they say, but Draco’s rage may be surging too intensely through his body for whatever he was planning not to have a greater impact than what his initial impression of the situation suggested.

What happened to Lucius wasn’t an injustice by any means. If anything, Harry had wished he’d faced a much grander show of humiliation. Had Harry had his way, he wasn’t sure if Lucius would have met a more deserving conviction or not. As much as he craved to hurt those who had hurt him far more than they had him, he did not have it in him to hurt others.

The cruciatus curse he had failed to throw at Bellatrix Lestrange was testament enough to that.

He had to mean it; he had to, and yet he did not. The woman had killed his godfather, the man he viewed as a second father, and yet even when given the opportunity, he could not bring himself to hurt. He wished to see her writhe in pain, begging him for mercy, hearing her screams echo through the halls of the ministry as his magic coursed through her body, injecting her with the same pain he was hurled constantly by the man she was devoted to.

And yet she did not. It hit her, but all the red blast of magic coming from the tip of his wand did was startle her in slight shock, if not anger at the audacity he had done so with, and him to a degree. All because he did not mean to. He spoke it, directed it at her — but as they say, if the heart does not mean so, then, even as the mind screams against it, it could not carry itself to complete what his nerves had begun almost automatically. Hurting Bellatrix would not bring Sirius back, that he knew.

Poor Harry. Even when given the opportunity, the opening, into a situation where he could have had every right to act upon his feelings, raging inside of him like a storm, as his heartbeat to a mile, and adrenaline rushes through every crevice of his body he could not but face the true nature of his self.

And despite everything that life threw at him, Harry could not, and would not stray, from who he was. No, he could not allow it. If he loses himself, what else would he allow himself to lose? It all begins with him, and if he ends up ending himself before everything is to come to an end, what will remain when everything is gone and done?

He wants to be tender and merciful because if people like him did not exist, then who would battle the wretchedness of mankind? He was sure it sounded overly valourous.

‘Sounds like penance’ he could almost hear a certain someone resound in his ears. But it wasn’t you, not it could not since you had not appeared in his dreams following the night he came to face you in the dark woods of the burrow.

He spooked you, perhaps? But you had sought him out, led him to meet you there. Angered you? He’d asked if he would see you again, and your absence could not be a clear answer to the question that had been left unanswered. As if he needed more things to trouble himself with, this wasn’t it. 

It... bothered him. How empty his mind was without you swimming along the banks of its river, at the edge between the living and the surreal, the real and the fake. It came to the point where he’d come to imagine the sound of your voice speaking his thoughts to himself.

How pathetic. How low had he stooped? How high had he risen in the first place? This wasn’t normal, but then again, whatever was normal in his life?

You... heard him in ways others did not. Perhaps it was the fact that he could not hide anything from you, or maybe it was the fact that you did not judge him for some of his... darker thoughts. No, no, you never did. You never judged; you just listened, heard, watched, perhaps because there was nothing more you could do.

His thoughts, of all kinds, open and secretive, light and dark — you knew of them.

If he speaks, you listen. If he thinks, you hear. If he asks, he shall receive.

Dreams, altered memories, visions of those lost souls he wished he could mend unsaid and unfinished business with, have one last talk with. He’d never been denied an open ear or shoulder to bear his worries to by you, and that made him feel more welcome to express himself to a practical stranger, like you, rather than his friends and guardians of years.

As so, he dreams. Sometimes, he thinks that’s the right thing to do. Dreams — places where he can envision whatever he wants with no consequences. Where he can ask for anything if he’d so likes, and it will be given to him.

Every night, as he lay in bed, he drew the curtains open to let the light from the outside in. As the candles by the bedside tables are flicked off, he hopes that as he closes his eyes, he’ll see you.

He wishes to see you again. He has so many things he still has to ask, your last and first conversation ending before he could truly say, elaborate, articulate, and speak what he desired to open his mind about. You knew that Draco was up to no good; if there was someone who would listen to his intuition, he knew it would be you.

But without you in his dreams or your magic surging through him, his nightly escapades into his dreamscapes were far less grand and... comfortable for him to enjoy. Boring and unvaried scenarios playing in his head were leaden in the far bigger scheme you and him had ended playing into with your games. He felt that it did not matter who he was when you riddled him with confusing words and unravelling truths, even as he understood that they played along with what you were there for —him.

There was Harry before there was ‘The Chosen One’, but how many will remember him as just Harry if he dies at the hands of his fated enemy before he fulfils the prophecy his mother and father died as a result of? But then again, was there ever just Harry? Or had it always just been Harry Potter?

Harry Potter ‘The Boy Who Lived’; Harry Potter ‘The Boy Who Escaped Death’ when drawn against him when he was just a babe? He was the Harry Potter before he knew who he was in the eyes of many. Had he ever come to know who he was apart from who others told him? Apart from what he had been turned into? A spectacle for all to behold. A freak of nature or the result of a freak accident. No other babe in their cradle could have withstood what he had; that alone made him special, and yet Harry did not feel special. He felt exhausted.

In the end, it would not matter. All that did was that he would finish what with his survival he’d been tasked to end. His feelings never mattered because what if he just disappeared and was given the task of being the chosen one by someone else? Selfish, he was sure to be called upon many things, but at this point, Harry would not mind being selfish, even if he could not bring himself to be. All he had ever known was to save people; how could he run from what came naturally to him?

He grew up knowing he had no choice in the route his life led down. The question was, where would it end?

So young and so doomed. A boy, he was, and yet here he was contemplating his possible, perhaps imminent death. He did not want to die. No, he did not.

Afraid, that’s what he was, when the thought would rise like a wave and wash over him in the most random of moments. It would choke him out of the air he breathed and clog his throat and senses in the worst ways possible, making it so that he could not think of anything other than the images his mind conjured up.

The normalcy you provided him with cleared his mind of such troubling feelings, and when even you left him with nothing to distract himself with, he had Mrs Weasley endlessly fussing over him, Ron, Hermione and Ginny about their upcoming return to Hogwarts. Just a few days before he was set off to the place he called his own home, he got to meet an old acquaintance of his, Fleur, engaged to Bill, Ron’s brother. The same Bill that the whole family had gone to visit in Egypt just as Sirius had first broken out of Azkaban. Lovely as always, Fleur was a delight to reacquaint with; Ginny and Hermione thought otherwise, especially the latter, who could not but roll her eyes every time Ron would lose himself in his brother’s fiancee, juvenile puppy love swirling along his irises.

They were planning a wedding, or so he was told, around his birthday next year. That meant he would likely spend it at the Weasleys, and Harry could not see a better way to spend the day he was celebrated.

On the night of the 31st of August, Mrs Weasley had let everyone know that she would not have the evening go in any other way than to see everyone’s truck well filled and planted at the doorsteps within the hour of their bedtime, well-meaning into getting a good inspection out of them, always worrying if anyone had missed something on their list or if they had just not packed well enough in her opinion, which was often the case for Ron, never good at fixing his own mess.

“It’s going to get messed along the way anyways!” He argued as his mother laid his truck bare open on the living room area’s floor, her hands skimming along his strawn-together robes and books neither in order nor pilled, the lighter ones falling on everything along the surface before them.

Both Harry and Ginny stared in amusement as Hermione only shook her head at what he had chastised Ron to be the outcome of the dismissal of the warning she’d given him as he just threw everything in the trunk. Despite the assail of the evening before, the morning of the 1st had been smother than the other six years past had been. Waking up early had always been a sore, he would always complain about so, but he could very well catch on it on the train the sooner he got on it.

The Ministry cars glided up to the front of the Burrow to find them waiting, trunks packed, their personal belongings and animals delicately picked from the bunch.

But as smooth as their early morning had been, the same could not be said for the latter half of it. No cheerful Hagrid awaited them at King's Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced Aurors dressed in Muggle suits made quick work of escorting them into the station. Harry was not fond of being manhandled up to the barrier, but so was protocol, and he only gave a sign of his displeasure on the new order of things as he reminded the man in front of him of his rather exceptional ability to be able to walk by himself, on his own two feet, something he’d mastered since he was a baby, thank god.

The scarlet Hogwarts Express stood belching before the crowd of old and new students as it did every year, steaming over them, ready for departure any minute. With one last farewell to Mrs Weasley, he hopped onto the train, followed by the others, his eyes skimming over the overcrowded compartments to find one empty for them, but he realised that such a thing would be futile when Ron and Hermione had prefect duties to fill into and that Ginny had already left to join Dean wherever he was.

People stared shamelessly as he passed, some pressing their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a better look at him. He frowned at the desperation of many, finding no reason whatsoever of why he would be the cause of such reactions — but he could not complain; it was far better than the cold reception he received upon his return last year. He supposed it was to be expected. His face had landed on every possible surface a witch or wizard could land their eyes upon, and the infamous battle he had taken part in was sure to be the cause of the upswing of gaping and gawping he would have to endure as the so-declared "Chosen One" gazettes like the Daily Prophet were spreading around.

His fame had reached an all-time high, but even then, he did not enjoy the sensation of standing in the bright spotlight he was thrown into.

He sat alone in a lonesome section of the train, yet to be filled by the overly enchanted first years wanting to explore it all and the older students in search of their friends. But the loneliness of where he had ended did not keep him company for long.

First, it was Neville, same, good, old Neville. Round-faced, a bit skirmish, and struggling his way through the hall before he stopped at the door of his compartment. They chatted a bit, caught up in each other’s summer before they were joined by, none other than, Luna. A pair of spectrespecs stood high on her head as she clutched to her a few copies of the Quibbler she’d been handing out throughout the train. Harry took one cheerily, always sharing a fodness for the magazine since he’d given them a private interview last year.

Despite her more than serene outlook, as he spoke, Luna’s attention was anywhere but on him. Instead, her eyes skirred all over the packed hall of the train as if in search of someone.

“Waiting on someone?” He asked. She smiled with the same loopiness as always.

“I am. A friend, or so she insists. My roommate. You see, I was looking for her, but it was quite useless. She’s everywhere all at once; I could never hope to find her, so I wait until she comes to me,” she hummed. “She always does, after all. I envy that of her—being always able to find her way back. You know how lost I get at times.”

Harry’s brows furrowed at the vague mention of a friend from Luna. A friend? Luna wasn’t exactly sought after as a friend by others, even if he considers her one of his, very dear and understanding despite her odd nature.

“Did you change roommates?” He asks, trying to hide his curiosity but failing to do so.

“I have. After an accident at the end of last year, I’ve been allowed to share a room with the sixth-year girls. The others kind of stray to let me have space to myself, but she’s been the only one I feel like being something of a friend with.”

Oh? Well, if that is how it is, he could not question it. It made sense that Luna would feel more comfortable with an older girl, one who could understand her quirks and oddities.

Luna is simply Luna, and he appreciates her for that and he trusts her while at it. With her, there’s no need for deeper meanings or hidden intentions buried within her words — unlike a certain someone he can think of. He wondered if you were around here, with someone, in one of the many train compartments occupying your ride.

He bid both Neville and Luna farewell once Luna seemed more than eager to continue her distribution of the Quibbler, Neville proposing his help in the endeavour as they both walked away at the same time as Ron and Hermione joined him in the compartment he had made himself welcomed to.

As he asked how their roundabout of the train went, Ron passively said, “Malfoy's not doing prefect duty. ‘Sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed. Quite the sight he was”

Harry’s eyes followed Ron slumping into the seat cushion, before moving to Hermione’s in front of him.

“Unlike him, don’t you think?” He commented, a hint of sarcasm unbecoming of him laced with his words. “I’ve been telling you. That day, at Bourgins and Bourke, it was a ceremony. An initiation-“ “I know where you’re going with this, you’ve been muttering about it all week.”

Hermione’s exasperated tone overruns him, but that doesn’t stop him.

“It’s happened. He’s one of them”

“One of what?” Asks Ron, confused by the banter.

“Harry is under the impression that Draco Malfoy is now a Death Eater”, sighs Hermione as she straightens the copy of the Daily Prohpets in her hands.

“You’re barking. What would You-Know-Who want with a sod like Malfoy?” Ron is incredulous by the assumption laid before him. Harry can see it; he doesn’t believe in it at all.

“His father’s a Death Eater. It only makes sense. Besides, Hermione saw it. With her own eyes.” Insists Harry.

“I told you. I don’t know what I saw.” It’s almost like Hermione’s voice is about to rise at her last spoken words. She does not want to argue about this any longer than they’ve already had. But she’s cut off by a knock on the screen of the compartment’s door.

A third-year girl stepped forward, a scroll of parchment paper held high in her hand.

“For Harry Potter?” Her voice is uncertain as her eyes travel from Ron to Hermione and finally to him “From Professor Slugghorn”

She rushes out the moment the scroll lands in his hands. The paper is almost heavy with whatever's written on it.

He pulls at the purple ribbon holding the paper together. The silk of the string is unlike the velvety cord he pulled from your hair at the Joke shop, always nestled tight in his pocket. He seldom parted from the possession —sometimes, when in the solitariness of his own self, he would twist and turn the line of thread over and over in between his fingers. When without a pocket in hand, he would secure it around whichever wrist was free of confines, the many turns of the fabric adorning his skin like a bracelet, such as now.

The words written on paper read :

‘Dear Harry,

I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.

Sincerely, Horace.’

“Well?” He heard Ron ask as he stared at the sea of letters.

“An invitation for lunch” he tucks the letters in the back pocket of his pants as he stands from his seat, “I’ll be back in a short while. I don’t expect this to last long”

Lying was something he would not easily do unless the occasion required it of him. This was one of them. A simple, white lie meant in good riddance — and anyway, if he were to say he later got caught up in something to cover up for his abnormal absence, he would not have been lying earlier, would he?

"Good luck?" Ron says with a chuckle.

Hermione does not seem as amused as her friend is. "Be careful, will you?" she tells him, her expression worried.

Harry gives them a small nod before making his way out of the compartment and into the hall.

That’s why he had slipped the invisibility cloak right from beneath Ron and Hermione’s eyes as he walked out of the compartment, stowing it messily under his shirt, to be careful, no?

The corridors were overflowing with people on the lookout for the lunch trolley. He pushed past them despite his inability to avoid all the staring from passersby and lingering students.

He continued until the door to Compartment C stood in front of him. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for what lay beyond him, then pushed the door to the side and entered the railcar.

"Harry, m’boy!" His reception was most welcome, especially from Professor Slughorn, who made a grand show of greeting him. He stepped forward to take Harry's hand, shaking it as if they were long-lost friends reconnecting after a long time.

Stepping beside him with the old man’s hand patting his back, he was presented to the professor’s fellow guests. A lovely assembly, for sure — he was surprised to see both Ginny and Neville among the callers of this soiree.

Neville squirmed in place while Ginny looked like she didn’t know how she’d ended there, sitting at the table right beside Neville, with only an empty seat dividing the two. Beside Neville, McLaggen, of all people, sat there; the wiry-haired youth raised a hand to Harry, who nodded in turn. Marcus Belby sat in between McLaggen and Slytherin twins sisters Flora and Hestia Carrow, the youngest of the bunch, a quiet duo, not much for words. It seemed as if the girls were making Marcus as green-sick as if he were on a ship.

And then…

Slightly off the others, just beside Zabini, who sat at the other end of where Ginny did, sat you, clad in a smooth, fancy, vest dress in a dark blue with a rich, white dress shirt underneath. Peaking through the collar of your shirt was a string of pearls, the same as the ones adorning your ears.

Your eyes pierced through his with the same old intensity he had come to know them by.

He gulped down a knot castrating his airway, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding that had caught in his troath when he first landed his eyes on you.

“And here he is," Professor Slughorn boomed, clapping Harry on the back. "Our very own Harry Potter! Now, now, let me introduce you to everyone.”

But Harry heard none of it; he was far too entranced by you to be able to focus on anything else.

You smiled, but it lacked the warmth smiles usually held. It is subtle, never apparent. It is not cold but as still and firm as a painting, like brushstrokes, firm and steady, perfectly detailed the upturn of the soft, plump, rosy skin of your lips. Your eyes, as sticking and downturned as always, are endless pits he could not but lose himself in. Mirrors for his reflection to stare back at him. A gentle sort of horror, the one that haunts and remembers, that sends trill down his spine and back to the nape of his neck and makes every nerve in his body shiver.

So pleasant to those who look upon you, you appear, and through your eyes, a sweetness touches the heart that cannot be understood by those who do not feel it, except for him, because he knows, deep down, that it’s reserved only for him. A beauty that appeals only to the withered eastern lilies and white bellflowers, dry and gone but begrudging in their demise. One that resembles the edge of a sharp knife, myrrh on wrists and wood — beams of moonlight protruding through the trees of a forest, which he gazes up at as he lies in the vastness of the wastelands that is the ground. Damned, knowing he is damned, but living still, prevailing through the doom. Magdalenian, divine and... sad.

There was a sadness in your expression, a profound melancholy that spoke of a heartache too severe to be named. It was as if you had seen too much, known too much, and carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. It mesmerised him, like an inexplicable pull that he couldn't resist. He was drawn to the rawness of your pain.

Prophet girl,

Chosen by the moon,

Did you cry when the gods whispered words of solemn stardust in your ears?

It was a feeling he was all too familiar with, but it still had the power to make his skin tingle and his heart beat just a little faster.

He tried to maintain his composure, to act as if nothing was amiss, but his palms were becoming clammy and his heart was thundering in his ears, but it was futile. Once you’d caught his gaze, you held it until it hurt.

“And, of course, here we have, Miss Y/N Gaunt!” introduced Slugghorn once he arrived where you sat. “A fine addition to this gathering, if I do say so myself.”

So, that was your name, the thing he’d been chasing for a month on end. He had never heard of anyone with the name “Gaunt”. He tried to school his features, hoping to hide his confusion, as he watched Professor Slughorn gesture towards you. Despite this, It seemed to ring a bell, but he couldn't quite place it. He had a face, a name, and a person to which to look in time and space, and yet he could never place you anywhere. He tried to recall if he had ever read the name before, but nothing stood out in his mind.

“Such a pity your brother could not join us, Miss Gaunt,”, said Slugghorn “but so generous of him to send us Mr Zabini in his steed. Ah, but alas, I understand, prefect duties, we all must do our part for this school, no?”

Harry couldn't help but notice the change in your expression as Professor Slughorn mentioned your brother. There was a subtle shift in your gaze, a hardening of your features. It was brief, but it was enough for him to pick up on it.

"Of course, professor" Your voice was light, unconfrontational and agreeable as you spoke, but void and empty as if you were agreeing for the sake of agreeing, not really because you agreed with Slugghorn. But despite how captivating it was, there was something a bit unnerving about it as well. It was almost too polite, too agreeable. It lacked any sort of emotion or enthusiasm, and it felt like you were just going through the motions.

“We all have our part to play,” you added, and the word struck him to his very core. And in a moment, he was transported back to that moment in the forest. The memory as vivid as the rays of sunlight coming in the window beside you — he felt it — the cool night air against his skin and the dampness of the forest ground filling his nose. It was as if you had just spoken those words to him once more.

He found himself unable to respond, his mouth suddenly dry and his mind racing. He could only stare at you, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Indeed", agreed Harry, voice choked on the edge. Slugghorn looked between you two, trying to decipher the edge that laced the shared moment. A beat, then -

"Well now, this is most pleasant," said Slughorn cosily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on liquorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things... Pheasant, Belby?”

The boy looked pale, Harry now realised, as Marcus took what looked like half a pheasant. He was eagerly moved to sit between Neville and Ginny, the latter sending him a furrowed look, which he dismissed.

Slugghorn set on about talking of each most prominent trait or fact he could find about his guests. Marcus’ uncle, Cormac’s uncle, Zabini’s mother, the twin’s family prestige and so on and on and on he went.

It was as Dumbledore had said and as he had come to understand on their first meeting. Everyone here seemed to have been invited because they were connected to somebody well-known or influential. Neville didn’t fare too well under Slugghorn’s interrogation, and by the end of it, Harry had the impression that Slughorn was reserving judgment on Neville, yet to see whether he had any of his parents' flair and place in the world.

He noticed that you didn't seem to be offering much in terms of conversation, but you were following and listening intently to what the others were saying, unlike him who had grown restless and rather annoyed by the professor’s interest in slithering his way into the secret of each of them.

“Of course, I don’t have to spare introductions between you and me, Miss Gaunt” teased Slugghorn, all too excitedly. "Of course not," Professor Slughorn continued, "Miss Gaunt is sure to become one of my brightest.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Professor Slughorn's enthusiasm. He knew that the professor was known for his preference for ambitious students, but this seemed just a little excessive and he couldn’t help but frown at the familiar nature the professor seemed to share with you and your family.

“my father would be pleased to hear you say so, professor," you said, with the same monotony as always, but it was neither passive nor annoyed. It is a calm and rather natural kind, one you seem to wear like a second sleeve — a stark contrast to the warmth and enthusiasm that Slughorn was displaying.

"your father, of course! Dear Abelar, I always knew he was destined for great things. I expected nothing more than for his children to follow in his footsteps," exclaims Slugghorn, bumping his leg up the table ever so slightly it made everything on the surface tremble. Ginny and he readied to stabilise their cups filled with pumpkin juice.

He bristled at Slughorn's words. It was one thing to be placed on a pedestal for a legacy one shared with someone; expecting you to live up to your father's legacy was another. He had seen firsthand how such expectations could weigh heavily on someone's shoulders. He wondered if the professor was being sincere or merely pandering to you. Nevertheless, the sympathy coursing through him for you was very much real. The way he spoke of your father was certainly over the top. He stole a glance, just with the tail of his eye, but then again, he didn't expect to see anything but the same impassiveness as ever. Of course, you would be, it was your father they were talking about, he was you knew best what Slugghorn was talking about. What he was most curious about was the fact that now, he could place another piece to the puzzle he’d been building in his head. Perhaps it had been his fault that he’d not asked more of the man he’d seen conversing with Narcissa just before the whole fiasco with Draco blew in their faces. But you were the daughter of the man who had deserted the order in exchange for a life far away from the reach of the dark lord.

You were Sirius’ cousin. He realized. Or something like that…

That explains the resemblance, he mused inwardly. But your demeanour was the complete opposite of Sirius’s. He was loud, impulsive, rash, and quick to emotion, especially anger, while you were calm, aloof, and composed, almost cold, your face betraying nothing. It was like night and day.

"Ah, so you see, I had the pleasure of teaching Y/N's father" said Slughorn as he chews on a roll "I might say, perhaps the best of the best I've had the pleasure of teaching. Sad to say, he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth! I was hoping to catch his eye this morning but it seems he didn't accompany you and your brother?”

“My father is a busy man” you explained, as simply as that “but he’s aware just how hard you've been trying to contact him, professor, so he's asked me to send you his regards”

"Oh, of course, of course, how kind of him" Looking rather pleased with himself, Slughorn continues "Tell me, my dear, what is he up to these days? Last I heard, he was in Albania.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on your face, Harry noticed with curiosity. “still there. He’s gotten rather invested in the magical creatures found within the Albanian forest, doing some research as always.” You took what seemed like a dainty bite from your roll, chewing slowly and in silence for some moments before adding, "he’s doing fine, though”

Slughorn nodded, slightly confused and…nervous, almost guarded, as if he knew something about your father that he wasn't sharing "Well, who would have thought that of him”

“he’s always been a curious soul, my father, as I’m sure you know,” you took the cup in front of you “Always been an enthusiast of the less common creatures," you said, with a hint of a smile in your voice, as you took a sip from your juice, looking across the table as if you were searching something - or someone. Your gaze met his, and he looked away quickly. "I’m sure he’s discovered all sorts of things about the forest; it is a very untamed place.”

There was a fondness in your voice that betrayed your otherwise indifferent tone. He wondered what Abelar Gaunt was like as a father. Had he helped build that strong exterior you so easily hid behind, or had it been the result of a childhood lived in solitude? And if you loved him, then what about your brother? Harry shook himself, trying to focus on the conversation at hand rather than the questions swirling in his head.

“Oh, yes, untamed, alright’” Slughorn nodded along his word, but anyone could see he was eager to change the topic of the discussion. He meandered off into a long-winded reminiscence of his prime as a professor and how eager he was to teach once more so many prominent and able students like them.

He was growing tired, if he may say so himself, all this talking and waste of time was truly getting to him, and he could see from the others that he was not alone in his sentiment. Except for you, who continued to indulge blissfully and unawarely in the food in front of you, ever so slowly raising a bit of your choosing to your lips.

The afternoon wore on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom had been delighted to join what he called the "Slug Club" at Hogwarts. Harry could not wait to leave, but couldn't see how to do so politely. Finally, the train emerged from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looked around, blinking in the twilight.

"Good gracious, it's getting dark already! I didn't notice that they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on dog tails. Harry, Blaise ... any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he twinkled at Ginny. “And Miss Gaunt, do tell your brother I want him there for our next meeting. No compromises! Well, off you go, off you go!"

Harry was one of the first to rise and almost ran to the compartment door - and then remembered that he was supposed to wait for everyone to leave so that he could, well, sneak off without being noticed. He cursed himself and tried to make the best of waiting for everyone to go first as he stood by the side of the door outside, as everyone passed him, his muscles itching to move.

But then, he heard a pair of soft footsteps behind him. He didn’t have to turn to know it was you. You closed the door behind you with one last goodbye to Professor Slughorn before you turned to him, the quiet and silence of the hall making this all the more….intimate.

Your expression was unchanged, but there was something in the way you looked at him - no, through him - that made his skin tingle momentarily.

“Be careful” you say, as soft as a whisper “he’s scared and watching all the time”

"how do you know?" he muttered back, his fingers clenching and unclenching involuntarily.

You smiled the same as you had before, your eyes wandering all over his face until they landed on the ceiling as if you could see beyond it. "How would I not know?"

He swallowed dry, racking his brain for a response, but his mind came up blank, as white and empty as paper. Instead, he stared back, as if trying to decipher the riddle behind your words.

"Right," he responded weakly. "Stupid question."

you hummed "I'd think not”

He felt the edge of his lips turn ever so slightly upward. He might have found comfort in your words if he weren't so unsettled by your gaze or…wording.

"You seem to know a lot," he said, his voice quiet. "Too much, if you ask me." he breathed in "I'm...glad to see you....somewhere that's not my head”

The words had slipped out before he could stop himself. He felt the blood rush to his face, his checks coming alight, and he closed his mouth as If that could take his words back but it was far too late. He braced himself for your reaction, hoping you hadn't heard the double meaning he had only just realized himself.

“As am I” you breathed gently, and for a moment, it was like he was dreaming again. Your breath fanned his face, and his nose whiffed with the scent of vanilla and candescence coming from your hair.

You sounded sincere, and a part of Harry hoped you were. He wanted it to be, needed it.

"You...you are?" he found himself asking, his voice low and hesitant.

You hummed once more and nodded along. Your simple gesture of acknowledgement was like a small flame of hope that flickered within him. He wanted to say more, to ask you more questions, but he felt strangely tongue-tied.

"Is it...?" he started "Why-" he found himself pausing, feeling a lump in his throat “Never mind.”

He cursed himself inwardly, feeling foolish. This wasn't how he wanted to present himself in front of you. He should be confident and suave, not stuttering like an idiot. But you disarmed him, made his walls come down, leaving him vulnerable.

Maybe that’s how you liked him…

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. "how do you know where I'm going?

“I saw it” you only said "You'll get hurt, be careful. But..don’t worry I'll come back to get you"

He certainly did hope that you would come back to get him since he couldn’t move a muscle, and the train would soon leave to return to London. He’ll be damned if he didn’t get his comeback for this. The Invisibility Cloak he laid under hid him from the bare eye, and perhaps, maybe, it was for the better with the way his face must have looked now. The blood seeping from his nose flowed, hot and wet, down his nose and over his lips, throbbing and pulsing heavily with each breath.

He didn’t know for how long he’d been lying there, but gosh, did he hope someone would just notice how long he’d been gone.  Ron and Hermione would think that he had left the train without them. Once they arrived at Hogwarts and took their places in the Great Hall, looked up and down the Gryffindor table a few times, and finally realized that he was not there, he, no doubt, would be halfway back to London.

He just wanted to prove his suspicions right, was it so wrong of him? He always chanted in his head that the end would justify the means — he didn’t know if to regret it now.

His head was pounding from the adrenaline, but most of all, from the kick that little blonde git had thrown at him.

He’d never hated Malfoy more than as he lay there, like an absurd turtle on its back, blood dripping sickeningly into his open mouth. What a stupid situation to have landed himself in... and now the last few footsteps were dying away; everyone was shuffling along the dark platform outside he thought himself doomed.

Until he wasn’t. The cloak had been pulled from him, and there again, true to your words, stood you. And for a moment, he could move once more. Like a fish out of water, he breathed hard, trying to open his lungs to the not-so-fresh air of the compartment. He tried to stand, but you placed a hand on his chest as you knelt before him, pushing him back down.

“I told you to be careful, didn’t I?”

He wanted to snap at you, to tell you that it was no fault of his that he'd ended up in this position.

But you had warned him. You'd warned him, and he had been too stubborn to listen. That, and maybe a bit too intrigued by you.

He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah," he groaned, wincing as pain shot through his head. "You did.”

"where else are you hurt?" your eyes scanned over his blood-soaked face, trying to see if he'd been inflicted any more damage.

"Just my face," he muttered. "I think my nose is broken."

He reached up to touch his face, but you batted his hand away, surprising him. You gently placed your own hand on his cheek, and he couldn't help but shiver at the contact of your warm skin on his cold one.

“You blasted fool” you whispered “he didn’t know you were only bluffing”

"Yeah, well, I couldn't just do nothing", he grumbled, looking away from your intense gaze. He knew he’d been foolish, but his anger and frustration at Malfoy had gotten the best of him. He didn't want to admit it, but he too was disappointed in himself for his recklessness.

"I was sure he was up to something" he muttered. "I just had to find out what.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, a small disapproving look in your eyes.

"But at what cost, Harry?" you asked quietly. "Look at you now."

His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but not at the fact that you were right, but rather, at the way you’d said his name. So different coming from you, it rolled in a way that was so pleasant to the ear it could send waves of pleasure through him., his chest twisting in just the right way.

"Come," you said "we must get off before the train leaves”

He nodded, feeling a twinge of pain coursing through him as he tried to sit up. His head was spinning, but he gritted his teeth, pushed on, and did as you said. With your help, he managed to get to his feet, if unsteady and wobbly.

"I can walk" he protested weakly, as you put a hand under his arm to support him.

“Just let me help you”

Help. Harry never often asked for help. Most times, it was people asking Harry for help, not the other way around. And yet, he didn't protest as you took his arm in yours, clutching it in between your hands. Instead, he almost melted into your touch.

You held him tightly, keeping him upright.

"Easy," you murmured.

He let out a shaky breath, grateful for your steadying presence.

“It’s rotten work”

“Not to me” you argued, “Not if it’s you”

The castle glitters as you two finally arrive at the front steps, where the gates limit the access to the school grounds. Harry, face blood-spattered, nose slightly off-centre, has now steadied himself on his feet but hasn’t said a word about the feel returning to his legs, as he embraces his arm with yours, fingers silently intertwined with the others.

“I’m sorry I made you miss the carriage” he murmurs as he daps at his nose with the handkerchief you’d given him with his free hand.

“It’s alright”, you smile faintly “I’m very fond of walking. Especially when in good company"

He smiled in turn, feeling a strange flutter of warmth in his chest. He had never been in this position before - walking arm-in-arm with a girl, and he found himself strangely comfortable with the situation.

"I'm glad..." he muttered, still dabbing at his bloody nose. "That you like walking, I mean.”

“Sure,” you said “Perhaps you could join me for some time,” you said, passively, as if you'd not given your words a second thought, as you always did, it seems.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at your words. The thought of walking with you - just the two of you - filled him with anticipation and nervousness. Although, he couldn't help but feel a small bubble of excitement at the prospect.

"I'd...I'd like that" he replied, trying to sound casual, although he was sure his voice had betrayed him.

"We have much to talk about, you and I, don't you think?" you tilted your head as you turned to look at him.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "I think we do.”

Just then Professor Flitwick rushes forth clutching a long roll of parchment bearing all students’ names, finger pointed and tone inquisitive.

“About time! I’ve been looking all over for you two. Names.”

Harry turns to look at you for a moment before saying “Professor, you’ve known me for five years”

“No exceptions, Potter!” He then turns to you “And you, Gaunt, you were lucky we didn’t have to perform tonight. The disaster it would have been without you in the choir. Can you imagine?!”

Harry stifled a chuckle as Professor Flitwick chastised you. He was surprised to hear that you were part of the choir, but it made sense given your penchant for singing.

"I can only imagine," he said dryly, suppressing a grin, which garnered him a look from you as if you were asking him not to encourage the man.

"Forgive me, professor. It will not happen again" You sounded apologetic, if not, that your face said otherwise, or rather, nothing at all. You looked past the little man, or just...looked ahead "Who are those people?”

Harry turns and sees you staring into the darkness, where shadows drift eerily like ghosts.

“Aurors. For security.” Responds Flitwick in chill distaste.

A voice not far ahead catches the attention of the three of you. Draco, standing amidst a mountain of trunks, owl cages and other animals alike, eyes Filch intently as he passes a long security detector over a…stick.

“It’s not a cane, you cretin. It’s a walking stick!” Just as things seem to tense between student and caretaker, out of the shadows emerges Snape, coming to Draco’s defence.

Snape watches Malfoy carefully wrap the stick in felt and lay it back inside his trunk.

“I’ll vouch for Mr Malfoy” simple words from a simple man, but Harry knows the implications of those words are not simple at all. If he’s vouching for a walking stick, he cannot imagine what he’ll have to vouch for in the coming school year.

Draco eyes Snape warily again, then begins to slouch off, catching you two staring at him.

“Nice face, Potter” he comments smugly before he turns to you, eyeing you wearily “Cousin” he sneers, a mix of emotions underlying the title he used to address you before he turns his back to walk away.

His blood boiled at Malfoy's words. He’d opened his mouth, about to say something in rebuttal, when he felt a hand on his arm restraining him. He looked over to see you shaking your head slightly, silently telling him to let it go.

He wanted to argue, but the pleading look in your eyes made him hold his tongue.

“Cousin, huh?” He asked dry sarcasm in his tone.

“It’s a long story”

Harry felt like there was always a long story with you. He wanted to know more, but before he could ask, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"Alright, everyone to the castle, chop-chop.” He said “And, Miss Gaunt? Your friend Lovegood is waiting for you on the way. She’s got your bag.”

You nodded and gave him a soft "thank you”

Luna, good old Luna, was indeed not waiting far from the gate, with your bag in hand. She smiled and greeted him as if they had not talked last on the train before it journeyed to Hogwarts.

“Whatever happened to your nose? Nasty thing, if you ask me”

Harry chuckled despite himself. Luna's blunt honesty was always a breath of fresh air. "Yeah, it is a nasty thing" he agreed, gingerly touching his nose. "Got a friendly greeting from Malfoy.”

"Fix it for him, will you, Luna?" you asked as you dabbed with the handkerchief his nose, even as he gently prodded you off.

Harry felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, as Luna took out her wand.

“I’ve learned a few spells, you know” she mentioned off-handedly, flicking her wand at his face “Episkey.”

Harry felt the bones of his nose realigning, but the pain still lingered. He groaned out before releasing a little breath “Thanks, Luna,” he muttered, giving her a grateful smile.

Reluctantly, he turned to you and asked "How...do I look?”

You took a few steps closer to him, tilting your head slightly to examine your and Luna's work. “perfect,” you said decisively.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat at your words. "perfect" he repeated softly, his cheeks feeling warm.

He couldn't help but feel like the adjective wasn't just referring to his nose.

[runforthestars]

hi! I was wondering whether you could write Tom Riddle getting close to his fellow Ravenclaw Prefect, a boy with what could be described as having "divination crystal ball" eyes and no pupils? He's super duper talented in divination, some would say he's a seer. thankyouu! -🔮

From the Eyes of a Seer

Pairing: Tom Riddle x seer!male Ravenclaw reader

A/N: I appreciate the request, and this was such a fun one to write. Hope you enjoy!

Pt.2

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As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a golden glow that gradually surrendered to the deep blues and purples of twilight, the castle's usual hustle and bustle began to fade into a quiet stillness. Only a handful of souls remained awake to embrace the enchantment of the night: Argus Filch, ever watchful with an air of grumpy vigilance, and his ever-loyal feline companion, Mrs. Norris. The occasional daring student dashed through the dimly lit hallways, their hurried footfalls echoing off the stone walls, punctuated by bursts of barely suppressed laughter driven by adrenaline coursing through their veins. And of course, there were the prefects, like yourself, dutifully undertaking their nightly patrols.

Tonight, your assigned route led you to the first floor—a middle ground where you were paired with the enigmatic Slytherin prefect.

The muted swish of your robes filled the silence as you emerged from the shadows that clung to the staircase. Observing the dark-haired boy ahead, you noted how tension tightened his posture, an uncharacteristic moment of surprise flashing across his face before he steeled himself, turning to meet your gaze. You couldn’t help but feel a spark of amusement at how easily you had caught him off guard.

Although he seemed visibly startled, he quickly masked it, hands clasped firmly behind his back and shoulders squared in a commanding stance that underlined his height. His regal bearing, reminiscent of a royal, hinted at a certain pride in his lineage.

Noticing his intense gaze fixed upon you, a faint smile crept to the corners of your lips. “No need to apologize. I'm aware I can be quite startling,” you remarked, a seriousness to your tone that veiled the teasing nature of your words.

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” he countered with an air of princely authority, his voice dripping with sophistication. “You’re late,” Tom Riddle continued briskly, pivoting sharply and starting down the corridor, confident that you would follow, his tone implying that the apology should rest squarely on your shoulders.

Matching his determined stride, you unconsciously mirrored his straight-backed posture and clasped hands, earning yourself a disdainful glance as he lifted his chin slightly higher, as if to convey that he was above such things.

“A seer arrives precisely when he means to,” you replied with a casual ease.

Tom shot you a prodding glance, suspicion lurking in his gaze, but you didn’t return it. The slight twitch of your lips indicated the the phrase he vaguely recalled from his childhood spent in the Muggle world, had been intentional.

An enveloping silence fell between you, but it was a comfortable companion. You had much to ponder.

The reason for your supposed tardiness, trivial though it was—a mere minute—stemmed from a strange vision that had caught you unawares.

Most adept in divination received glimpses of the future through their inner eyes, some stronger than others. But for you, your “inner eye” had manifested itself in the physical sense, bringing with it vivid and often disorienting visions.

Some of these fleeting glimpses were forgetful, mere whispers of impending good fortune or minor inconveniences—an unusually high mark on a test or a last-minute change of plans. All things you had long anticipated, often accompanied by a strong sense of déjà vu that had become a familiar friend.

However, tonight’s vision was different. Within your mind's eye, darkness enveloped you, followed by the eerie echo of scales dragging against rough stone. A soft hiss penetrated the silence, and although fear should have gripped you, you found an unexpected calm instead. The smooth scales scraped your skin as the viper curled around your forearm, offering a weight that both entrapped and grounded your mind.

The night unfolded without much excitement and even fewer words, especially from Tom. But the uneventfulness hardly mattered; this was merely the beginning of many encounters to come.

You soon found that you were frequently assigned to patrol with him. With each meeting, you grew more aware of his presence, like a persistent echo that could no longer be ignored. You came to notice where your schedules intertwined within a handful of mixed Ravenclaw and Slytherin classes.

Usually lost in distant thoughts and daydreams, your attention frequently drifted, causing you to take only a shallow note of your immediate surroundings. Yet Tom—despite his reserved demeanor—was remarkably hard to ignore once he appeared on your radar.

So prominent was your inner eye—that wasn’t so inner—you often found yourself lost between worlds, an intensely stern look painting your features as you pioneered the future, slipping between realities long passed or those that had yet to pass. What could be, what would be, the endless paths that were constantly changing and growing wider. So many options, so many fates. How fascinating it was that such small changes could cause an immense domino effect, that many were never aware of. You thought that if your peers were as interrwined with fate as you were, they too would marvel at it, sometimes forgetting to ground themselves in the moment.

Tom, oddly enough, became that grounding point for you. He himself was an anomaly, someone of interest that it always paid to be aware of. And so, as you began to notice his strange habits and patterns, your visions began to orbit around him as well. You saw many private matters, hopes and goals, but you were used to it. You already kept so many secrets of students who had no idea of you awareness.

He stood out starkly in the fact that, there didn’t seem to be endless possibilities for his future as with others. It was a much narrower path, with only two destinations.

It happened one day that, during Divination, you succeeded in reading your assigned partner’s future, something they were simply ecstatic about, and Tom was there to witness it, eyes sharp and not missing a thing.

That night, you were once again at his side. He was distant, more so than usual, which you had come to realize was his reaction to being deep in troubled thoughts.

You could sense the restlessness from him, like a caged beast, stirring and pacing in a confined space, tail lashing and teeth bared anxiously.

Letting the silence drag on, you were perfectly content to let him breach the subject on his own time. You didn’t question it when his path lead out to the courtyard, him slipping through the shadows as if they drew to him without him quite realizing it, while you walked on the outeredge, slices of moonlight catching your eyes and causing them to gleam on the occasion, brimming with magic, possibilities for what was to come.

By the time Tom noticed this reflection, the two of you were already on the worn dirt road beside the Black Lake. Feeling an intense gaze on you, you glanced over just in time to see his head turning sharply away.

When you gave up trying to catch his eye and let your eyes wander, it seemed that your attention leaving him was what finally got him to talk.

“Tell me Seer, what do you know of my fate?”

You took note of his anxiety, if that was what it really was. His worries presented in a strangely calm manner, and you more so felt his concern rather than saw any physical signs of it. A sudden premonition came to you, prompting you to say the words he needed to hear before you had time to ponder them.

“Yours is no better or worse than anyone elses. Death is the only promise… Why do you ask?”

You got the strangest certainty that he must’ve done something, or had some idea that he thought would change his life drastically.

“What is to become of me?… Do I want to know?”

Casting him a curious look that he didnt meet, you were intrigued by the latter tone that you could only assume was meant to be a grim joke. “Only you can decide that, Tom, nothing’s set in stone— it never is.”

That finally seemed to calm his worries, if only a bit. He gave a jerky, single nod that endearingly reminded you of a hummingbird. You didn’t need supernatural foresight to know that the observation wouldn’t be appreciated.

Still, he persisted, hands nearly ghostly white with how hard he was clutching them behind his back, and when he turned to look at you there was a glimmer of something that stood out starkly in his usually so guarded eyes.

Fear? No. Concern… guilt, maybe, or curiosity, like he was searching your eyes for an answer he didn’t want to voice the question to.

He was looking at you with the desperation of a child shaking the magic 8 ball to tell it’s chances of getting dessert. The thought made you draw in a controlled breath, your features frozen in a serious expression as not break into laughter. There would be time to concern your roomate with seemingly unprompted giggles in the middle of the night when you’d remember the thought. Now though, was too fragile of a moment to break.

“Does what you see about me… disturb you?”

Your head tilted thoughtfully at that, eyes brimming with contained amusement that baffled him until you spoke. “I wouldn’t stray to such a secluded place with someone I didn’t trust, Tom,” you pointed out gently with a gesture to where you now walked on the far side of the lake.

Neither of you were hardly doing your job, but you had a feeling any students sneaking out would appreciate the sentiment.

Your answer had caught him off guard. Trust was a strange thing to be given away so easily, to him of all people. Sure, Tom was used to earning trust with charming words and the such, but he’d been intentionally keeping his distance—maybe just a little put off by your abilities—and you’d still deemed him worthy enough.

The silence grew as he mulled over your words, and it was that stillness that gave you the opportunity to notice something you might’ve missed normally.

A fate shifting. His, specifically. The narrow and complicated paths now had two occupying ones, and as you paid attention, another possibility joined them. Unable to hold back a small grin at the rare sight, you gave him a curious glance, realizing he must be considering his future in a new light, coming up with motivations and wants in real time.

You seemed to have that effect on people, causing them to look within themselves as more than just what the world saw of them. That in itself was a better gift than any amount of predicting large events.

“What do you think, of my future?” His sultry voice once more cut through the silence.

You were well aware that most people liked to hear about themselves, though Tom’s motives seemed different, something you couldn’t entirely put your finger on.

As such, you allowed yourself a minute of quiet to consider his inquiry. Tom didn’t seem to mind the wait, anyway. On the contrary, he almost appreciated the genuine thought behind your answer, even if the prolonged silence did vaguely worry him, preparing for the worst.

Noticing his mild unease in the way he rolled his shoulders or cast his gaze around your surroundings more often, a sudden strange feeling tugged at your heart—some want to sooth his weariness—almost as if something lay coiled around it in your chest. The impromptu realization brought the baffling dream to light, and you connected the dots in an instant.

A pleasant smile grew on your lips when you tilted your head to face him. “I think it’s a good one to have. A very interesting one, at that.”

The answer was met with a long stare that you couldn’t read as the two of you came full circle around the lake. He paused abruptly and you halted belatedly a few steps ahead, turning to give him a puzzled look.

Tom took a deep breath in through his nose as if he were preparing to speak, couldn’t find the words he was looking for, and finally decided actions were a stronger voice anyways.

Resuming his stride, his arm carefully interlocked with yours as he passed, feeling your forearm uncertainly before his hand slipped into yours with the caution of a man fearing getting burnt.

Biting back a delightful laugh, you swiftly fell in step, eyes narrowed in mirth as you resumed the diligent patrol once more, two lone silhouettes bound by the words that remained unspoken between them.

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[scenesniper]

May i request Eli nsfw headcanons (I really enjoy your work and also no pressure!!)

☆ eli clark ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / eli clark x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / (brief) mention of clothed masturbation, biting, (brief) mention of jealousy

word count / 1,075 words

author's note / eli clark based on the identity v stageplay! thank you for enjoying my work and requesting. this is definitely the most tamest set of smut headcanons that i've ever wrote. i love gertrude but she won't be existing in this because i'm uncomfortable writing about cheating.

SFW

☆ eli clark, many would say, is an admirable, respectful man. he’s devoted and virtuous, righteous. he knows exactly when and how to break the ice in a dutiful manner and despite many suspecting his position of work to be all but naut, there’s something about him that anyone who has met him can tell of his genuinity.

☆ he’s practically perfect, an affable groomed man raised for success with that chiseled face of his. he was obviously very popular and liked by the women in his town.

☆ he’s very friendly to all the survivors the moment he stepped foot in the manor, nodding his head and adding any input in a respectful manner. despite appearances, that occupation of his makes you doubtful of him. whether its’ his cooperation that you’re hesitant on or his true nature, he seems awfully too faultless.

☆ to be frank, you can’t tell from eli’s behavior if he’s only being peculiar to you or if its’ just your imagination. he’d always find unspoken excuses for his hands to linger on yours, moving his head and giving you his utmost attention every time you join in on the conversation.

☆ but don’t think you’re overthinking it because you’re right. he admires you of your strong personality and your unfaltering resolve. he’ll always his eyes on you, his gaze hidden by his blindfold. despite being a social person, he doesn’t have a single idea on how to approach you. he’s always (subtly) flustered around you, hoping that his hood covers a waking blush appearing. he’s very thoughtful over his choice of words and is always giving you compliments on your appearance.

☆ of course, eli clark already had a vision before reaching the manor. a vision of you and him and truly, that was the final push for him for accepting the letter to the manor. despite being a man who seemingly has his entire self figured out, his aspirations are unwaveringly simple and feeble to anyone else that has accepted the letter of invitation.

☆ eli clark is a very subtle lover but everything about him is truly genuine. every act of love comes to him naturally, whether his hands on your shoulder or waist, you could just start dating and he treats you like as if you’re a married couple of many decades.

☆ eli is a very good kisser, it’s short and fleeting, almost as if you’re pressing your lips in a cloud from how smooth it is. every physical act with him, he’s always asking you beforehand if it’s okay to kiss you. not doing anything until you give him verbal permission.

NSFW

☆ if we are being literal in his visions of you, they’re more of flashing images and “memories” that aren’t quite yet present. he locks himself in his room, grinding his cock in his pillow to try to get off of from the friction. all he feels is guilt, relief, and pure pleasure. guilt of the way his visions showing him of you in that manner since you’re far from dating each other just yet. he knows that these visions ate coming much soon which terrifies him with both excitement and anxiety.

☆ he’s still fully clothed as he grinds himself to his pillow, his head hung by shame and imagining his hands are on your waist and thrusts in a desperate, pathetic way to get himself off. his visions are vivid and constantly flashing him views of your body. him deep inside you, your back practically arching and your bodies sticking together.

☆ getting to finally do the deed with him, he’s a virgin to be short. he’s never have sexual intimacy with anyone and has never really fantasized (nor his visions giving him extremely vivid visions) of sexual acts.

☆ but your very first time with him, he’s very clumsy. he knows this moment and memory all too well already by his visions and remembers that sinking shame and yet, he can’t stop his eagerness. you’re stripping him slowly off his layers of clothing and oh god, his gaze on you never wavering. he’s seen this moment over and over in his head but still, he doesn’t want to miss even the smallest of things.

☆ he’s a sensual lover in bed, your level of comfort being the highest of his priority. and in these enclosed spaces will he ever let his blindfold off. he’s intimate and wants to let you know by his actions that every act with you will be only with and for you. he’s an intense lover in an ambiguous way and he wants you to know that well. his pace is slow and dragging very long in you but he can’t help it. he loves to feel your bodies pressing with each other and the sounds of you and him intertwining.

☆ he loves to give you little kisses everywhere on your face, especially with your eyes closed or a simple forehead kiss. that little habit of his that he loves dearly also extends to your body. he loves to nibble and bite you near your crotch area and he absolutely loves to fondle your breasts, the center of his pointer finger pressing deep down the bud of your boobs.

☆ but don’t get me wrong, when he’s jealous, he becomes harsher. eli is not one to be jealous but when it comes to his partner, he’ll try to shrug it off when someone shows a complete interest in you. after all, he’s the person you decided to date he tells himself but as it bubbles up inside of him, he can’t stand it anymore. he wants to show you on how deeply he feels and loves for you.

☆ aftercare with eli is calming, him always starting a small conversation about you of an absolutely random topic. he’s always wiping you clean or starting a bath to help clean you off if wanted or presenting you a cup of water. he loves to be in bed with you after, his hands around you and facing your side as he whispers of all the things that he loves about you and his gratefulness.

[rosemaze-reveries]

― enclosed with love

spending valentine's day with you eli, mary, michiko, naib, norton, percy, philippe

i adored this year's vday café designs so i wrote some hcs for them ^^

⚠️ modern AU

♡ Mary

With a delicate and highly sophisticated palate, Mary is always searching for something new to satisfy her. For Valentine's Day, she books a private tour at a high-end champagne house.

Her driver is scheduled to pick you up in the early afternoon. She arranged your date so “late” to give herself ample time to settle on an outfit. Her room is littered with hat boxes and empty hangers and piles of ‘maybes’. Everything must be perfect for you. But, every second without you feeds into her restlessness, and she ends up calling you to fill the time. Hours go by on the phone & she still refuses to hang up until she pulls outside your residence.

When she first greets you from the backseat of her car, her hands are on you immediately. She smoothes out the collar of your jacket and peppers a couple of warm kisses all across your face, somehow never quite landing on your lips. She quickly dabs away all the lipstick stamps she left with her handkerchief and apologizes for being so forward,,, only to end up doing it again.

Mary takes high pride in her outfits and never compromises on looking classy. But somewhere in the back of your head, you think: All white? To a wine tasting? What if she gets red stains on her dress? From anyone else, this comment would insult her ― she doesn't take kindly to the insinuation that she's a klutz. Coming from you, she laughs it off saying she's always looked better in red anyway.

She waits until arriving for your tour to present her gifts. Mary gives VERY generously. There's an entire table prepared for you. Mountains of roses, desserts, tickets to that trip you've always wanted to take, luxury spa packages -- she has everything.

♡ Norton

This Valentine's Day is the first Norton will be spending with someone. He'll act like he's not that invested in it, that he's just indulging you.

He keeps up a haughty smirk when you first meet for your date. You had a love letter delivered to him that morning, and he's 100% taking the opportunity to tease you about it. You wrote some pretty embarrassing things about him. How's the real deal living up to your expectations? Dying to bring some of those thoughts to life already? Unfortunately, you insisted on having a traditional date for Valentine's, so you'll have to keep yourself in check until tonight. ← He knows he makes you crazy & he loves having that effect on you.

He gives you chocolates as a gift. They're clearly homemade, shaped like rocks of various sizes with a little gold-dusted heart hidden among them. But just in case you wouldn't be able to recognize them as rocks, he also provided a little toothpick "pickaxe."

Presenting something homemade is a little embarrassing, even if he hides it with that big grin of his. He gives your present a little too fast before switching back to teasing you again.

♡ Philippe

As a perfectionist, Philippe starts planning for Valentine's Day very early. He experiments with all sorts of gift ideas. You're not sure what's going through his head, but he has a highly specific vision and won't rest until he achieves it. He seems to find it important that he gives you something handmade.

Matching photo lockets? A decoden case (if you're into fun phone cases)? Not meaningful enough. A flower vase modeled after his own hand, to sit on your desk? Too tacky. A wax figure? Maybe, but that's too predictable on its own. Maybe he should learn guitar to serenade you.

His final choice is ambitious, but Philippe always is. He builds a little table out of resin, and preserved inside it are your favorite flowers, with detailed wax figurines of you and him dancing among them. It sits in a corner of his favorite room, where he often does dance with you ♡

On the day itself, Philippe would prefer to stay home. It's one of the rare times he gets to have you to himself free of work constraints.

He's the type that always needs to be doing something with his hands. He'd enjoy making chocolate sculptures together -- it's a cute idea, he thinks, to watch you make something so passionately. Whatever your skill level, he loves anything you make.

In the evening, he'll take over all the cooking. A quiet night with steak and good wine (or your preferred drink) is a little cliche, but you both deserve it. Plus, he loves nothing more than casually chatting with you while he works in the kitchen.

♡ Naib

Naib isn't really into the idea of Valentine's Day. He might not even realize it's coming up unless you tell him about it. You'd have to be explicit that you're looking forward to spending the day with him, and even then, he's totally unprepared.

Gifts have never been his forte. Neither have grand romantic gestures. But he's good at working his pragmatic side into the little things: so rather than push himself to be this lovey-dovey, chocolates-and-roses type of lover for the day, he focuses on being 'present' for you.

He brings you breakfast in bed. He's a mean cook, and knows all your favorites. Everything he makes tastes like home, warm and full of love.

Most couples give each other flowers, he knows that, so he goes shopping for one. You're surprised when he presents you with a bouquet of lemons. In his mind, they're cool and refreshing like you, everyone could find a use for some lemons, and personally he finds the colors to be appealing. It doesn't occur to him that lemon bouquets might be an unusual thing to give.

He relies on you to direct the date. Whatever you say, he'll agree. In public, he never leans in for kisses but wouldn't oppose yours. You can try to stand closer to him & he'll slink an arm around your waist briefly, as if to reassure you that he'll always have a secure hold on you, but he'll pull away again before long.

♡ Percy

In spite of all of his eccentricities, Percy is surprisingly traditional when it comes to romance. He invites you to a nice dinner date & arrives much earlier than you, waiting with a bouquet and chocolates. When he first sees you, he wraps a secure arm around your shoulders to tenderly kiss your forehead.

Getting to see this side of him is the payoff of building such a deep relationship with him. Percy is a difficult person to get through. He's obsessive to a fault and cloisters himself away in his studio for days at a time ― no one else would have been able to breach his heart like you have. He will take proper measures to express your importance to him.

His first real kiss leaves tiny particles of something on your lips, but they're sweet in taste. He laughs at the startled look on your face and reassures you it was just a sugar cube. At first he says he was just fishing for a reaction, but later confesses: he was afraid the lips of an undead man might have an odd taste, so he crunched a sugar cube to sweeten it.

♡ Eli

Eli spends the morning delivering roses to other couples on his bicycle. People tend to get especially flattered when their flowers arrive via owl, so his services are very popular this time of year.

He enjoys the little bouts of happiness he can bring to others, but of course you are the one he wants to spend this day with most. With every bouquet he delivers, his mind wanders to you, imagining your reaction when he finally gets to deliver his gift.

He asks you to meet him at an ice cream parlor when his shift is done, around noon. Before you even see him, Brooke Rose flies over to tuck a thornless rose behind your ear, and you turn to find Eli already waiting at a table.

He gives you a small homemade cake and a letter he won't let you read until he's gone. He's a pretty sappy guy even in person, so you aren't sure how his letter will be much different. But having something to be excited about, even after you have to say goodbye, makes it worth it.

His bike rides have left very familiar with all the best spots around town. After splitting ice cream, he takes you for a ride to all the little places he thinks you'll love. A flower meadow, a bridge with a superstition attached: if you whisper the name of your love while crossing it, you'll be bound for life. Part of you suspects he made that up, but the way he says your name over and over makes your heart skip a beat.

Once the sun goes down, he brings you to a forest. Somehow he manages to time it just right. He gestures for you to stay very quiet, gently takes your hands, and suddenly you're encircled by hundreds of fireflies.

♡ Michiko

Since losing her ex-husband, Valentine's Day has become a bitter thing for Michiko, especially since it's so close to their anniversary. She has treated it as a day of mourning for some years. Of course, she keeps up a smile for you ― it's not in her character to impose her struggles on others.

The morning goes by slowly and comfortably. You wake up to a gentle massage and the smell of fresh baked pastries. She writes you a sweet letter in her neat script, and she adorns her letter with pressed flowers & a mini bouquet of your favorite candy.

She makes sure to get you a proper gift, too. She follows a rule of getting 1 indulgent and 1 practical thing: a box of luxury chocolates alongside a fine new coat.

Her ideal date would be something intimate and relaxing. Maybe the theatre, in a box reserved for two, or a shaded flower garden where you can enjoy a cup of tea.

[yandereunsolved]

Isekai'd reader would probably get called a Soothsayer.

I'd personally embrace the mystical and uncertain aesthetic, like the goat lady from Kung Fu Panda, just say oddly ambiguous things.

Probably would get along tremendously with Helaena. Take tarantulas for a walk for the lolz- ohmyfuckinggod I mage Gomez Addams

I love that for you, anon. 🫶

Especially if you have consumed a lot of media. You do know the future (technically, really, yes, you do).

Seer, but like in the fortune cookie way.

"You can never escape your future. And yours is not bright."

"Stay away from crowns. Any gold encrusted thing in general."

"You must hope you are hung, because otherwise you'll be hung in the not fun way."

"Allies are worth more than grievances."

"Be careful of stairs, Viserys."

[hollyskywalker]

The wrong one

Pairing: Qimir x Seer!reader (hinted future Qimir x Seer!reader x Osha) Warnings: none

Seer!reader who, no matter what she did to try and make it stop, kept getting visions of dark figures and ominous shadows since she was a youngling. She’d always been prone to Force visions, but as she got older, the visions became darker. It scared her. 

Seer!reader who told her master, trusting they would help her. She didn’t expect the wary glances that followed. There were plenty of Force users who had glimpses into the future, but for some reason, hers were the only ones filled with darkness and death. 

Seer!reader slowly getting shut out by everyone. Distrustful gazes followed her wherever she went. She slowly came to the realization that they believed the darkness she saw wasn’t from the future but was coming from her. 

Seer!reader not being able to take it anymore and leaving the Order. She waited for the guilt that would follow, but it never came. Taking a ship and traveling for days until something made her stop. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew she was meant to find it. 

Seer!reader traveling to a planet she’d never been to before and hiding the ship deep in the forest. Spending days trying to pinpoint where the feeling came from before ending up close to the coast, just as her rations were about to run out. 

Seer!reader spending the next few hours watching the view, finally feeling at peace—even with the unknown pair of eyes burning holes into the back of her head. Someone was watching her, and though her brain told her to hide, that the presence was shrouded in darkness, her instincts told her she was exactly where she was supposed to be. 

Seer!reader catching glimpses of something silver between the rocks. Almost like a helmet? She reached out with the Force but found herself blocked from sensing the figure’s thoughts. She decided to let the masked figure come to her. 

Seer!reader watching a ship fly in and a man walk out, almost tripping over a rock before his gaze met hers and his eyebrows raised in surprise.  “Oh, hello,” he greeted. He had pale skin, brown eyes, and greasy black hair, which hung down both sides of his face.  “Did you get stranded here?” he asked. “There aren’t many people who know of this planet, let alone visit it.”  She shook her head. “No,” she said simply, looking between him and the place where the masked figure had been earlier. Something was off. 

Seer!reader figuring out Qimir’s persona within minutes, catching him off-guard. He had been immediately suspicious of the woman who looked lost but perfectly calm at the same time. When she explained to him why she was there, he scoffed. The future was always changing and nothing is permanent. He had no use for her and told her as much. He thought for a moment she might punch him but she pressed her lips firmly together, torn between offense and amusement.

Seer!reader refusing to leave, setting up camp close to the coast to give the stranger space but still staying near him. She knew he was watching her, suspicious of her. But unlike when her old mentor and fellow Jedi had done that, it didn’t bother her. She could feel him breach her mind multiple times a day, trying to catch her off guard and reveal anything incriminating. 

Seer!reader slowly gaining his trust. Any questions he had, she answered honestly. She knew what he was, and was learning bit by bit who he was. She never judged him, never questioned his goals, never doubted him. By the time he allowed her to stay in the cave with him during a storm, she had become a vital part of his life without even knowing what that really meant. Her visions didn't lessen but the darkness didn't scare her anymore.

Seer!reader being the one to kiss him first, feeling nervous for the first time since arriving on the planet. Slowly pulling away from the kiss and anxiously studying his face for any reaction. Before she knew it, his hand was on the back of her neck, hauling her mouth to his. She stayed with him in the cave from then on. 

Seer!reader knowing something was missing. They belonged together—she knew that much. But it was like trying to light a fire with no air. Like having a solar system of moons and planets but no sun. They were missing that one specific, final piece of the puzzle. 

Seer!reader meeting Mae, a vengeful girl with a strong connection to the Force, and immediately disliking her. Mae couldn’t know Qimir’s true identity, and she was glad to protect that secret. She waited until the aspiring acolyte was gone before draping herself across Qimir’s lap, mumbling, “She’s the wrong one.”  Qimir asking her to explain, but she simply shrugs and repeats her statement. 

Seer!reader barely tolerating Mae’s presence and being glad any time she left for missions The Stranger gave her. The only downside was that when Mae left for a mission, so did Qimir—disguised as an unassuming former arms smuggler for the Hutt clan, supplying Mae with the intelligence and equipment needed to defeat her foes while keeping tabs on her. 

Seer!reader watching Qimir return from Mae’s mission to kill four Jedi with an unconscious girl in his arms. It wasn’t Mae, though they looked exactly alike. A smile pulled at her lips. 

“You found her.”