#''To hell with blood relatives! Chosen family is literally all that matters! Blood relatives can eat shit!''

[moongothic]

You know we all meme about how Luffy doesn't give a shit about his parents/Dragon, how he seemingly has no interest in learning about the man or meeting him at all, and like yeah that is a Luffyism

And for a long time I figured Baby Luffy would be the same too; that Luffy in his naïvete just accepted he must've spawned from the ocean itself into Garp's care or something, not realizing he should in fact have parents, thus Luffy's seeming disinterest in them

But you know what

Luffy did spend most of his early childhood alone

Sure, he had Garp, but it seems like Garp wasn't always there to look after him every day, he had his duties as a Marine too. Had Garp been there 24/7 all year then Garp would never have allowed Luffy to interact with Shanks (a filthy pirate) to begin with. So yes, Luffy had his grandpa, but not all the time. And sure, Luffy also had Shanks, but Shanks didn't spend all his time in Fuusha Village either, he came and went whenever he pleased too until his final departure when Luffy was just six years old. And yes, there was everyone else in the village too, people who cared about Luffy and were helping look after him. But Luffy's early childhood was one without a stable family.

It wasn't until Garp yeeted the child into Dadan's care that Luffy actually gained a proper family, where after months and months of trying Luffy managed to win Ace's trust and gained Sabo as a brother too. But as we know, by that point Luffy already hated being alone

All of this to say; Luffy growing up essentially orphaned would explain why he's so afraid to be alone, the way he clings onto people

In some ways Luffy's POV is meant to be the reader's POV, to some degree Luffy's feelings and thoughts are meant to be how we the readers feel and think about whaveter is happening in the story. Not a 100% by any means, but somewhat at the very least.

Perhaps Luffy's lack of interest in Dragon isn't just "Luffy not giving a damn about blood family because chosen families are better" nor "Luffy is too stupid to understand where babies come from". Perhaps Luffy, who may have assumed he didn't have parents at all (as in "might've assumed they were dead or had intentionally abandoned him"), doesn't know what to think about the fact that he does have a father out there, one whom he has never as much as met. Because yeah, Luffy doesn't know why Dragon left him with Garp, why he never got to be with his dad. Should he be angry at Dragon, hate him for being left alone? Or did Dragon have a good reason for it, does Dragon wish things could've been different?

Perhaps Luffy's seeming disinterest in Dragon isn't because he doesn't care about blood family, but because much like us the readers, Luffy doesn't quite know what to make of Dragon, and figuring those feelings out hasn't been relevant to the plot yet.

[vrishchikawrites]

About YZY leaving YMJ/JFM with her kids Post-WWX Arrival

Dear Dee, feel free to delete or ignore this or post it, whatever floats your boat. This just stuck in my head after those posts and I had to blurt it all to someone. Thanks for taking the time to read my word vomit.

So I had to do this instead of an ask because it got long and I wasn't sure how many asks it'd need or how short I could cut it down without losing parts of the argument. And then other things came up as I was writing and, well.  Well..... >_>;;;; 

But you know, after that post/ask you had about YZY fics saying 'Fuck U' to YMJ/JFM & leaving both with her kids, I had a sarcastic 'yeah right' attitude about it. Mainly due to a lot of negation emotions to such an abusive (and delusional) bitch, partly due to how she wouldn't do that since it doesn't seem to be something her sort of character would consider either because she'd think of it as 'losing' (losing what, IDK, it's why I consider her type of person crazy) or she legit wouldn't think about such a viable action.

But then later, in the shower, I seriously went 'Wait, she can't fucking do that' and it wouldn't be about how MXTX uses her as a part of the narrative but entirely about the/their culture in the novel; the actions that have and would be taken in response; and her entire toxic personality as well.

1) We already know that the sects and the cultivation world in general is sexist, elitist and so Capital T 'Traditional' to the point that it's starting to petrify and any deviancy from this is an exception rather than the norm. YZY might be a madame of a great sect (for what that's worth considering how shit of a madame she's been and the titles she's chosen for herself) but she's still a woman even with her high rank and the things she's personally accomplished.

Even if she was in her rights to leave a 'bad' marriage, she'd be the one who'd get scolded more instead of JFM by her natal family, her former husband's family and by their entire society at large even if she had a few singular supporters. Because That's Not How Things Are Done in their society and I do believe that such a thing was rare even when it was accepted method by the upper echelons. Especially since it would have to be done by more than YZY simply deciding that She Wants Out and just- goes and Gets Out. With no serious allegations that would allow her to divorce or separate from YMJ/JFM without the input from her family, JFM's family and, I think, possibly some measure of compensation as well. And no, having or bringing in a 'bastard child' is not a serious enough offence for such a humongous decision. I think something more along the lines of treason or crimes against multiple, high-ranking parties would be more along the lines. Maybe.

And even if she does this, she'd be considered 'Used Goods' (such a terrible comment) and there'd be no other good/proper marriage prospects for a divorced woman with children let alone a woman like YZY with her entire abrasive personality and attitude put off even easy-going JFM.

(If she'd been widowed then it'd be more forgiven but I consider that a Real Bad End since, IMO, it would lead to the sudden and inevitable decline of YMJ either via mass exodus of disciples and/or residents of LP; being merged with another sect due to it's unstable leadership; or create an internal political war 'cause I bet you anything that the YMJ Elders/relatives (if they have any) Would Not Want YZY in charge of YMJ when she's already proven herself such a shit betrothed let alone madame.)

2) Speaking of families, while YMJ/JFM/LP as a whole might be glad to see YZY's back, I don't think her natal sect, MSY, will be glad to see her come storming back after all the effort they put into getting that particular marriage alliance with YMJ. And if she brings her children with her? Oh man, oh boy- mother or not, that could be considered as kidnapping or line theft (is that a thing?) especially if YZY is also seriously considering divorce proceedings and raising them as Yu and not Jiang. That could give leave to, for anyone more unforgiving and maybe JFM if he's pushed enough, disown both JYL and JWY from the Jiangs through no fault of their own (though I'm sure YZY would make it so as well as blame JFM for her own decisions and mistakes).

Therefore, any inheritance or benefits they might gain for being legitimised children of a great sect are forfeited. JYL will likely lose that betrothal with JZX because JGS will drop it like a hot potato and JWY won't be a sect heir because YZY literally decided to remove that by deciding to raise JWY as a Yu, no matter their blood relation to JFM. They leave him, they leave YMJ and everything attached with it. Which is if YMJ/JFM doesn't demand MSY to give back their heir/ess and to punish YZY for her actions. Or send all three of them back for the appropriate reactions/decisions.

Their society would demand no less in reaction because, to them, it would seem like YZY had gone mad and JFM would look weak (or weaker) and imply that YMJ is vulnerable and exploitable if JFM doesn't do something in response to her actions. That's not even getting into what the other smaller sects may try to do in an attempt to curry favour with YMJ or what LLJ or QSW would try in order to destroy or diminish YMJ. And whether JFM chooses to demand his children back or not, it may not change the fact that this may give him reason enough to choose a nephew or niece to be the new sect heir especially if, even after getting rid of YZY's poisonous influence, JWY grows up to be his mother's child more than his father's or even his own person.

Either way, such a thing would bring great backlash on YZY, and MSY as well as the collateral. No one would want to give face to her or her children because it would bring up some very uncomfortable questions and scenarios to the other sects- specifically, what would happen if the female members of their clans/sets decided to follow the footsteps of YZY and leave with their children and heirs. Especially if they use it as an excuse to leave for their own comfort and whims and not some legitimate wrongs and dangers. That would create some more restrictions on women thanks to YZY

3) And lastly, if any one of those idiot YZY stans think that she'd ever give up the status of being a madame of a great sect they'd be as crazy or crazier than her. YZY is all about status and power and face. Specifically, her status, power and face and how people in her reach reflect her or 'insult' her. She is a selfish, terrible, abusive and toxic person and can only see people in regards to how they would benefit her and the elevation of her and in no other way. Especially her family. They cannot be their own person, they can only be an extension of her and gods forbid they go against her.

We can see this in how she treats the people she supposedly loves. JFM? Arguments day in, day out along with accusations and slander of cheating, having one(1) supposed 'bastard' and being 'in love' with CSSR. Which all seems sus as hell. And that's when she's actually there and not out 'night hunting'. Even her 'training' seems to border on unhelpful rather then helpful if my vague recollections of juniors fainting from exhaustion can be relied upon (please call me out if they're not or find proof).

JYL? Berated by not being 'strong' but not helped at all to be 'strong'. It doesn't help that YZY seems to believe in the same standards strength in their society- that is, of martial masculine strength which does not and should not apply to JYL who has been said to be sickly. Which means h should have been learning a different way of cultivation/fighting anyway.  If that was something she wanted and had been offered in the first place- which I doubt. That isn't even getting into her repeated generational trauma mess of a betrothal which was decided only by those 'sworn sisters', accepted by her as a way out of her terrible home life and puts her squarely within reach of JGS who we know to be a womaniser, rapist, predator and a possible ephebophile considering we don't know the exact age of his youngest 'conquest' or the age of MZY's mother when they met which could be anywhere from 14 to 21.

JWY? Gods, so much meta on him and his(non-) relationships with his parents that I don't think I can contribute more to it. It's been all said and done. Unless people want me to stir the pot by saying that, maybe, just maybe, YZY resents JWY as much as she 'loves' him.Either because he's her son and yet never manages to 'accomplish as much' as WWX or because he's a boy and therefore, more benefits and allowances than a girl/woman- more than anything that YZY ever got without either a fight or screaming at someone about. *shrug*

So, in conclusion to this sudden an unexpected essay that I wrote(I'm so sorry about that, I thought it would be shorter -.-;;;;), YZY leaving YMJ/JFM with her kids? Impossible. Not without some sort of personality transplant or a complete AU. She's too prideful, too bitter, too angry, too everything negative and little positive. She's a resentful product of the values and restraints of her society taken to the extreme negative with a willingness to inflict her pain on others to an abusive degree. But she's also too obsessed and reliant on those same values and restraints to keep up the image of her status. So her? Giving those up? You'd be more likely to see WRH as a doting grandfather than that.

---

Dee - All of this is true and yes YZY leaving YMJ is highly unlikely. While there will be consequences if she decides to leave, she does canonically lives separately from her husband. They seem to be in a situation where they are married but living separately, which was a common way to end a marriage (at least in spirit) back then. She essentially had all the perks of being Madam Jiang but fulfilled none of the responsibilities.

Afaik, her training the Jiang disciples is a donghua thing? I may be wrong but I recall she spent most of her time nighthunting.

As for taking her children along with her- that's completely impossible. At that point, children were the property of the father. She could leave but she would've never been allowed to take JC.

[agusvedder]

I DON’T CARE if this doesn’t get any notes. I need to vent.

My name is Agustina, I’m 27 years old. I’m a nonbinary, queer, latinx person, parent of a 4 year old, non-verbal authistic child. I suffer from depression and anxiety.

I’m 9 thousand kilometers away from the woman I love.

I’m not a victim. I am a minority. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

I started watching Supernatural in 2015, you know, being a stay-at-home parent, who dropped her career and her job to live the first years of their child, there wasn’t much I could do in my free time but to watch a show. I caught a few episodes of season 11 on tv and then I decided to start from zero. I always acknowledged how problematic it was in terms of representation, but always saw small threads of light filtering in the message it sent, recognizing how its writers were trying to shed a little light, creating a jenga tower of storylines and new characters, only to be thrown away by poor, useless deaths and the erasure of said characters.

Since my first run on season 1 I related to Dean. I saw myself on him. (I will never be as brave and cool as him tho, never ever, but his personality traits, some of his family issues, his self worth issues, his loneliness, his unaddressed childhood trauma, his growth in a circle of violence, his reticence to address his feelings until he explodes?... Yeah. There are days where my girlfriend makes fun of me saying “Ok Dean”). I kept looking up to Dean in his geekiness, in his way he always put his life on the line to protect the people he loves and put them always first… even in the supernatural side of the storyline, he still was profoundly human and abnegated to the people in his life. Also because I’m deeply in love with Castiel but that’s another subject. Thanks to this show, I’ve found people in my own country who now I recognize as my family beyond SPN, who helped me accept myself the way I am, who are always there for me. My found family, my chosen family. Because family don’t end in blood, because family cares about you, not only for what you can do for them, because that’s what all of us have in common, and why this show resonated as strongly as it did for us. That’s why we found each other and ourselves in the process, in a circle of love, support, non-judgement and willingness to find a family in ourselves when our own blood relatives ignored us, abused us, refused to recognize us. We’ve found love and family. I’ve found the woman with whom I wanna spend the rest of my life with because of this show.

That’s the power of this story. I know my small circle is not the only one who lived this, who continues to live it.

I can talk about this forever, but there’s something I wanna talk about specifically here. When the ending aired.. what I felt was… like a bucket of cold water was thrown over my head. You know when your parents come home, or call you and give you the devastating news that someone you love died? that exact feeling. The adrenaline, the heartbreak, the feeling of loss. 

The whole season 15 and 15 years of storyline were completely overturned. The misogyny the writers tried so hard to erase, it was there again, in a faceless woman who was supposed to represent the person a lead chose to spend the rest of his life with, reduced to a lilac dress, a blurry face and a uterus. We never seen acknowledged the existence of Eileen Leahy, Sam Winchester’s romantic interest since season 11, his perfect partner whose disability wasn’t an obstacle for her to be a badass hunter. (BUT COVID!! <- No. Eileen Leahy appeared in two episodes this season without Shoshannah being on set: Last Holiday and Despair. If they wanted to include her, they would have. They didn’t because they don’t give a FUCK). Sam Winchester is an academic, a witch, a leader, a powerful hunter, a kind human being, and the ending that was given to him was living an unfulfilled life, dying at a ridiculous young age, having a son only to replace his dead brother? It was sad. Sammy deserved better. He always did.

My beloved Dean Winchester, who I love so deeply, who taught me a lot about myself, about life, love, family, about *ejem* VICIOUS CIRCLES and the power of breaking free from them, of learning to embrace one’s self, our real tastes, our real identity, to come out of a shadow of being reduced to someone’s caretaker instead of having an identity of our own, to spend life loving family the healthy amount.. well, he was killed in a ridiculous way, on a milk run of a hunt.  After being eager and ready to kill himself so many times. After all he’s been through, after saying he’s good with who he is, after considering retirement, after standing up to his dad, saying he already has a family, ready to cut the “I’m Okay” bullshit, address his feelings, his trauma, don’t letting those define him. He deserved better. He always wanted a family, he always wanted to break free from the version of himself he was created to be, “daddy’s blunt little instrument” (For fuck’s sake, he even said it in the same show 10’ before dying, man. If we don’t keep living, the sacrifice the people who died for us did, was for nothing). Are you telling me this man really would refuse his brother to call an ambulance? Refused his brother to get the first aid kit even knowing it was more serious than his brother thought? He was ready to live. He CHOSE life, and at the end his choice was stripped away from him. He clearly was a bisexual man and they never explored it.

Cas. The misfit. The fish outside of the water. Ambiguous gender and sexuality. Finally makes a homosexual declaration of love after all he’s been through. After being brainwashed, used, suicidal, isolated. After telling Sam and Dean he loved them more than once, that they meant everything for him. After confessing he’s been in love with Dean since he pulled him out of hell…. Was erased from the story. Erased, literally. Two emotionless mentions aren’t enough for a 12 year old family member who pulled both brothers out of hell, who died for them more than once, who until 2 seasons ago he didn’t even feel like he belonged there ‘cause he was never told he was loved. No one ever told him “I love you” back. Not Jack, not Sam, not Dean, not Mary. No one. Ever. And still, he died for love. And with his death, he was erased from the finale, being that the first finale Castiel wasn’t in since his appearance on the show. He deserved better. 

All roads lead to Rome and you know what we got at the end of that road? a bottomless pit of NOTHING. The building up towards a different end isn’t just in s15. It’s been there for years and years. And if you watch the show, you see it at plain sight.

 

Sam Winchester hurried to die to reunite with his brother in heaven EVEN WHEN HE SPENT 30 MORE YEARS WITH A WIFE AND A KID he only wanted to die to go back to his brother? it’s insane, it’s ridiculous. That’s not what the show has been about for seasons now. SEASONS. The road was paved towards a healthy brotherly bond, each brother living their future the way they wanted, finally breaking free from the curse John dropped on Dean that Sam’s destiny was in his hands. No no. What was that? Did it ever happen? Was it a fever dream? They really destroyed everything in 38 minutes of the finale? 

Stupid. 

Representation is important, stories are important. They change lives. You know how it changed mine? After I saw Jonathan Van Ness coming out as non-binary, I started to realize how I never called myself "a woman, a girl" or anything like that, how my "female presenting" aesthetic changes drastically depending on how I feel when I wake up  how I always called myself a "person", no gender involved. I realized I was a non-binary person even after becoming a parent. Thanks to Jonathan Van Ness. Thanks to seeing a person like her being unapologetically herself. 

Representation matters. 

It matters. 

It helped my mom understand me when I was 13 and had a girlfriend. It helped my dad educate himself about trans identities. It helped my sister understand about her demisexuality. It helps break circles of ignorance and stereotypes. It helps people process what these characters wanna tell, and realize they're human beings above it all. We suffer, we laugh, we grieve. We love. We exist. 

Supernatural missed a chance to be a historical show in terms of representation. And it breaks my heart.  I cant believe they decided to erase Dean's sexuality, to erase Castiel after saying loud and proud he's in love with a man, to erase Eileen whose disability only was a disadvantage when they KILLED HER in the most ableistic way in s11, to never show Charlie and her girlfriend again, that they decided to make God bisexual AND a villain, thay they decided to turn the only regular non-binary character of color into the villain too (Billie).

I'm still grieving.

This is why "a stupid show" is so important for me, and for lot of people like me. Cause representation can change lives. Stories can change lives. It certainly changed mine, and I'm not the only one. 

Don't let anyone tell you you're just a butthurt fan because you're suffering this ending. Every one of us have a story and this is mine. All of us are valid, our feelings are valid. And we'll get through this eventually

[jakattax]

I like it when you talk about d&d!

This is going to be long but I want to know more about your hot boi wizard Kurtis!

How old is your character?

Are your parents still alive?

If one or both of your parents are dead when and how did they die?

Who raised you after your parents died?

Do you have any siblings?

Have any of them died?

If any siblings have died how did they die?

What do your siblings do?

Is your character married?

Does your character have children?

What social class is your character from?

How has their upbringing affected their world view?

How did your character get started in their chosen class?

Does your character have any heroes or inspirational figures?

Does your character have any significant personal items?

Is your character religious?

Is your character guided by a prophecy?

What is your character’s view on magic?

Has your character ever served in the military?

Has your character ever been arrested? What for?

How did your character meet his current adventuring companions?

Has your character ever crossed anyone?

Does your character have any enemies?

What are your character’s goals in life?

How important is the accumulation of wealth?

If your character died tomorrow what would they be remembered for?

Where did your character learn or train their skills?

1:) Kurt is 24.

2:) Yup, Emeric and Anna-Sophia. Bad blood with his papa.

3:) Yup, Dolores. Hasn’t seen her in a year or two so would be nice to find her in-game.

4:) Nope Dolores is still alive. I hope haha god knows what my DM has done.

5:) She runs some of the family business matters. Was supposed to be Kurt but he went off to wizard school and went mad so…

6:) No. Probably never will be.

7:) Nooooo he’s bisexual but leans to more liking men so it’s out the question in his mind.

8:) upper class, like total rich boy from old aristocratic house. But he’s broke as shit now.

9:) oh jeesh, I mean he likes his creature comforts, he doesn’t throw around “I was rich I want a goose feathered pillow” but definitely still carries that arrogance and vanity and cockiness of being a rich kid. But worldview is totally chaotic so it’s kinda “we’re all in the same boat, nothing matters, so what you want so long as you aren’t killing people, fuck it”

10:) minor talent in magic read a few books in his family’s library and papa bought him into the most expensive magic academy.

11:) yeh! One of his hobbies his poetry so poets of his world like Varden Tulance. Haven’t talked with my DM if Varden is dead or alive but if he is then Kurt would deffo want to meet him.

12:) oh yeh, a note left by somebody who released him from the attic-prison. His og purile doublet that’s the last relic of being a rich kid and his spell book, a gift from his sister.

13:) nope.

14:) nope.

15:) As a wizard Kurt obviously thinks that magic is the supreme force in his world, and wants to really explore it and experiment and push the boundaries particularly with planar travel. But it is dangerous and needs time to study and do properly.

16:) nope.

17:) oh yeh. Kurt was a trouble maker, out of the campaign I think he was a rake and would have smashed up bars and been a little tear away enough to get him behind bars until people knew he was a Depoer and swiftly let out. In game we fucked up a mission BIG TIME the priest died and the guards thought we did it, had my hands tied and gagged so no magic for me. But Kurt is use to prison, he’s chill with it.

18:) Kurt was sleeping in some shit hole tavern and tried to pickpocket them, got caught by our goliath barbarian and asked me to join them. Met the rest of the gang on a ship just chatting on a long journey and that’s how the Barrel Bastards formed.

19:) oh yehhhhhh his papa Emeric, my former Archmage Dena and a powerful drow freedom-fighter turned demon possessed terrorist Ardath Yesternight.

20:) yup. Hazred, the wizard at the academy who manipulated him to take part in a ritual which turned his hair shock white and temporarily made him insane. We’ve met him once but he’s gone again and the beautiful thing is some weird fungus man erased my memories of him, so when I meet him again I’ve got no idea what to did to Kurt. That’s fucked up.

21:) to reunite with his old school friends, to find out why my papa locked me in the attic when I needed the love of my family, to right the wrongs in my life, to be happy and to bury my past for the sake of happiness. And to be a powerful wizard obv like big wizard tower type of mage.

22:) big. Once a very rich kid now broke, hence all his pickpocketing. Material components are expensive! Our DM is relatively stingey with money so any opportunity Kurt can line with pockets with gold he’s taking it, even if it breaks the law. Chaotic neutral yall!

23:) being the ghost of balkar, the made mage to lord Emeric, the shame of the Depoer family, the freak. But to my friends; king Kurtis, the magic man, the wizard who never says it but loves his friends passionately, enough to literally send a woman to the nine hells who hurt them. A good man who’s doing his best protecting those who he loves.

24:) The Chromatica Academy. The most expensive and the only magic academy in the continents. Got expelled though, y’know going mad after trying to (unknowingly) summon lords of the abyss and 3 accidental student deaths is never good.

That was long! But fun, Kurt is my favourite character I’ve played. More questions like this are more than welcome.

[wiebkesf1paddock]

Stuck Inside

A/N: Well hello there everyone!

Due to this isolation-Corona-situation I finally decided to come back to writing fanfiction after like 4 years.  So, please don't expect the best of writing, but I am surely trying my best!

This time I'm around with formula 1 oneshots. I do take requests (if I get some) and will try to do all of them (again, if there are any).

I will write solely about F1 drivers (and Nico Hülkenberg because I love him). Fluff imagines or oneshots literally about all of them, nsfw-stuff not about: Kimi, Seb, Perez. I simply don't feel comfortable with that.

If you have any requests, any constructive criticism about the plot or the style of my writing, please let me know! English is not my first language and I will try to improve wherever I can.

I hope I can get you through this shitty time with this. Have fun reading! Love you!

I hope you enjoy this first one with Charles. I was inspired by the movie 'Two Night Stand' for this one. I know that a government probably won't be this harsh with their rules, but let's just ignore that for the sake of the story. This one will probably have like three parts.

Wiebke :)

Warnings: none

Word count: 2328

Part 1

You woke up and looked around. Okay. Fuck. You were not in your own bed. Means that something bad besides your hangover happened last night. When you turned around in the bed, you found yourself face to face with a sleeping guy. A quick look under the blanket showed you that he was only in his boxers and you only had your top and some knickers on as well. You couldn’t remember going home with someone, only the kisses you shared with some dude last night at the party at your friends’ house. But you couldn’t tell whether it was the same fella or not. He was very handsome though; you could not deny that. Just as you wanted to slip away from under the blanket, his eyes opened, and he looked at you with a soft smile.

“Good morning there,” he spoke, and you could make out his French accent pretty well.

“Er…yeah good morning…” you were embarrassed that you did not remember his name.

“Charles,” he said, as if he was able to read your mind. “Strange…last night you knew my name pretty well. I actually think everyone in Monaco knows it now,” he teased a bit with a smug grin on his face.

You rolled your eyes at his remark but could not keep the blood from rushing to your face. “Well, it can’t have been this good, because I actually don’t remember any of it at all,” you countered and were pleased to see that that actually hit him off-guard.

He quickly gained his confidence back and grinned at you. “Touché. That was a good one. So, you are hungover, yes?”

The way he was speaking was so cute you actually had to shoot him a real smile. “Yes, a bit. And I actually have no memory of what happened last night. Sorry.”

Charles sat up and smiled warmly at you. “No problem. You can lie down again if you want and I get you some pain killers and water.”

“Oh. Yeah. That would be nice. Thank you. And after that I will go, I promise. Normally I don’t even stay this long.”

Charles cocked an eyebrow at you as he got up: “Normally? So, you do that very often then?” In that moment you could have slapped yourself for saying that. It sounded like you were having one-night stands on a regular basis. Which was not the case. Actually, it was the first one you had, since you and your ex broke off over one year ago. But what angered you even more was that Charles had the audacity to think that he had the right to judge you.

“What if? You just had a one-night stand as well. Who are you to judge me?” you snapped at him and he held up his hands in defense.

“Sorry. Relax. It was just a joke.”

He exited the room and you got up from the bed and took your phone out of your purse. You had ten missed calls from your best friend and some messages also from your family.

“What the hell?!” you mumbled to yourself as you sat down on the bed again to look through them.

Your eyes widened when you read what she wrote:

 Y/B/F/N: Girl I hope you had a good night! I sure did and your fella was so handsome! But call me as soon as you wake up if you haven’t read the news yet!

 Dad: I hope. You are fine and staying safe! We will try to get you back here as soon as possible! But you have to stay inside with Y/B/F/N!

 These messages didn’t make any sense and you thought that the best thing to do was to call Y/B/F/N. She quickly picked up the phone.

“Hey Y/N! So glad you called me! Are you safe?” she asked sounding concerned.

“Yeah I am. Are you? I am still at the flat of my one-night stand. Still deciding whether he is a jerk or not.”

“Well I hope he is a good guy, because you have to stay with him for a little longer. We all are not allowed to go anywhere right now. Monaco is on lockdown.”

“What lockdown?! What is going on?” You started to panic a bit not understanding what exactly your friend was talking about.

“Yeah lockdown! Because of the Corona virus. Someone tested positive here and now everyone has to stay inside for at least 24h so that they can test the relatives and friends of the person. First Corona case here. The government went completely nuts.”

“Oh shit, what?! No, no, no. Do you know how fucked up it is to stay with your one-night stand? Like…what am I supposed to do? Oh no.”

“You will have to deal with it, Y/N. I’m so sorry. At least he is hot. So, you could get it on a couple more times.” You could almost hear her smirk through the phone.

“Not helpful, Y/F/N!” you whisper-shouted; in that moment you saw, that Charles was approaching the bedroom. “Right, I got to go. We will speak later, okay? Stay safe!”

“You too! Call me if he turns out to be a creep! And remember to use protection!” Y/F/N laughed, and you rolled your eyes but had to laugh as well at the silly joke before ending the call the moment Charles entered the room, holding a glass of water with some aspirin already dissolved in it.

You put your phone away and tried not to blush at the sight you got. Charles was still only in his underwear and you hadn’t noticed before how fit he really was, but now his trained body was on full display and your friend was right. He was really hot.

“As much as I like that you are checking me out, I think you should check out this aspirin in water first. It will make your head less heavy.”

Instantly you felt the need to roll your eyes again. He was so nice to you but on the other hand he kind of acted like a douchebag.

“Thanks,” you said as you took the glass, he handed you. He had gotten himself a glass of water as well and sat down next to you on the edge of the bed.

“So, you know how I said that I would be leaving after having the aspirin?” you began talking, after downing the entire thing.

Charles nodded and looked at you, waiting for you to continue talking.

“Well…there is the first official case of Corona here in Monaco and we are not allowed to leave the flat for at least the next 24 hours. I talked to my friend on the phone and she said that the government went completely crazy and no one is allowed to go out for now,” you told him what your friend had said, “and I guess what I am trying to say is that I actually have to stay a bit longer.” You blushed again slightly when you looked at him because it was so uncomfortable for you to say that.

“Oh shit, what? I did not know that! I did not look at my phone yet. Of course, you can stay here! And just so you know, I did not ask you to leave right away anyway. So, I suggest I make a hangover breakfast and call my mother and brother and ask them if they are okay, and you can go and take a shower if you want. Towels are beneath the sink. I think I might also have a spar toothbrush in the cupboard next to the mirror. You can use that. And then we can talk about everything over breakfast?”

Now he was so nice again. You also weren’t sure he wanted to say that he actually did not want you to leave as soon as possible. But it sounded that way.

“Extra toothbrush, huh? So, you do this on a regular basis then?” you grinned and raised an eyebrow at him.

Charles chuckled lightly and shook his head. “I apologize for saying that okay? Let’s not bring this back. I make breakfast and you can get ready.”

“Alright. Sounds great. But I could help you with making breakfast. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or am using you,” you replied.

He shook his head and smiled. “Don’t worry. I would not think that. You go and take a shower and then we can eat. The bathroom is down the hallway on the right side” he said and motioned in the direction where the bathroom was supposed to be.

You nodded and smiled at him while getting up and grabbing your phone.

“Alright, then…I will see you in a few minutes” you said while putting up a hand to wave at him.

Charles laughed and waved back, getting up from the bed as well moving towards his dresser. You turned around and exited the room. You couldn’t believe you waved at him. Waved! What was the matter with you today? Maybe the hangover had gotten into your head. You looked around the flat while going the way to the bathroom that Charles had described, and your eyes grew wider with each step you took. This boy had to have some money. His flat was actually really big, you had guessed that it was quite large because his bedroom was already huge, but the part of the apartment that you got to see on your way was even more impressive. It was really bright, and his furniture and decorations were chosen tastefully. When you found the bathroom, your breath hitched in your throat because, as you had already expected, it was big. There was a massive shower with a showerhead that was rainforest-style, there was also a big bathtub and it just looked all so beautiful and expensive that you were actually afraid of touching anything. You found a towel for yourself and took off your underwear. You turned on the shower and put it to a chilly temperature to wake yourself up and make yourself feel less shitty. It felt amazing to feel the water on your skin even though it was a bit cold, but you already could feel the dizzy feeling from your hangover fading off slightly. You looked around the shower and after some contemplating chose to use some of his shower-gel to wash off the smell of the previous night.

Just when you had gotten out of the shower and dried off the water that remained on your skin, and had brushed your teeth with the spare toothbrush, you remembered that you of course had no spare clothes with you because you didn’t plan on staying longer. However, you also did not want to put on your clothes from the previous day. You would have to ask Charles to use his laundry machine and probably remain in the towel in the meantime. Or maybe Charles could lend you some clothes. But that would be a bit strange. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything and you did not want to creep him out. It was already so kind of him to let you stay at his apartment (although there was no other choice to be fair). You wrapped the towel tightly around you, took your dirty clothes and tapped out of the bathroom and followed the hallway. You heard some whistling and followed the sound, guessing it was Charles. You entered a living room that was connected to a big rooftop terrace, which could only mean that you were in the penthouse. You looked around to find that the living room was also included an open kitchen and dining area. Charles was hustling in the kitchen with a pan on the stove. He had not noticed you yet and was concentrating on preparing pancakes. “Erm Charles? Could I use your laundry machine to wash my clothes? Of course, I did not bring any spare clothing and I don’t want to put on the dirty laundry,” you said, and he turned around when he hard your voice.

His jaw dropped a bit at the sight of you only wrapped in a towel some drops of water you didn’t catch still glistening on your skin.

“I…yes of course. I will wash them of course! Do you want some clothes from me? I mean…I wouldn’t mind you staying in that towel but maybe that won’t be too comfortable for you,” he shrugged and had this boyish grin on his face again.

You felt a rush of heat shoot up your cheeks all the way to your ears at his remark and could not even say something back. Instead you just chose to nod your head.

“Right, let me get some clothes for you and give me your dirty ones. In the bedroom was some more right? I will take that too, okay? You look after the pancakes and I will be right back!” he said coming over to you and taking your top and panties out of your hands and rushing out of the room already before you could say something.

A few minutes later Charles came back with a t-shirt and some sweatpants for you.

“I don’t have women’s underwear, sorry. But yours will be ready in like two hours. So, I hope this is okay?” he asked while handing you the clothing.

“I mean I hope you don’t!” you laughed and took the garments from him. “Thank you so much though, Charles. This is all very kind of you. I will definitely pay you back for everything!”

“No, don’t worry about that! I am actually glad that you are still here! Now put on the clothes and I finish making breakfast. Do you want tea or coffee?”

You grinned and took the clothes from him. “I will go with tea, I think. It’s easier on the stomach.”

“Tea it is then.”

[impalafortrenchcoats]

tomorrow never came

Author: impalafortrenchcoats

AO3: Link

Chapter: 2/?

Summary:

A look at Hogwarts and the battle for it through the eyes of the students who lived and loved there.

A BTS/Harry Potter Fusion no one asked for, nor wanted.

Ships: Namjin, Yoonseok/Sope, Jikook/Kookmin, VMinKook

Category: Harry Potter AU, Young Love, Angst, Some Fluff, Battle of Hogwarts

Chapter Wordcount: 6,284

Other Chapters: Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

Excerpt:

“But, you know what? Yoongi thinks you’re worth the hassle, okay?”  

Namjoon continued to stare.

“And I think you’re pretty cool, too. You listened to me go on about Mario and still wanted to play. You’re a weirdo. And I’m awkward. But I like you. So I think you’re worth it, too. Okay? Nod if you understand.”

Namjoon nodded, eyes glistening slightly.

“So, I’m saying it again and I really, really mean it now. You are my friend, Namjoon. And that means I'm going to be here, whether you like it or not. And as Yoongi would put it, fuck the houses .”

Namjoon gave a little choked laugh. Seokjin couldn’t help but lean in to hug him.

“You might be stubborn, Namjoon, but I’ll have you know I’m pretty stubborn, too. I already decided. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard Namjoon whisper, “Okay.”

CHAPTER 2

September 1, 1991: Hogwarts Express

Seokjin Kim knew his life was over.

He huddled on the floor of the empty compartment because crying while seated on the actual seats did not satisfy his current level of woe. He was only eleven, but never had he been more certain of a fact than now. His life was over .

The entire morning was a horrible blur of dramatic screaming, mostly on his part, as he clung to his Nintendo Super Comboy and locked himself in his room, all the while ignoring his parents as they alternated between pleading and demanding his cooperation.

If someone had been passing the Kim residence that morning, many interesting exclamations would have been heard.

Things like: “I don't want to be a wizard, Dad!”

And: “Mario isn't a wizard!”

And: “I want to be plumber!”

He vaguely remembered screaming those along with a litany of other nonsense, he’d admit to that. Okay. It was not one of his finest moments.

However, he felt it was justified considering how his family had literally railroaded him into wizard boarding school with almost no consideration for his social life. Sure, magic was cool. But who was going to play Super Mario World with him? He knew how these things worked, incoming witches and wizards generally fit into two categories: 1. Muggleborns or half-bloods who were raised closer to their muggle roots and were going to be too in-awe of the new environment to appreciate the good old simple fun from their world or 2. Purebloods and those already extensively exposed to magic and would have literally no clue what was happening in the muggle world, particularly in the matter of technology.

Seokjin was both fortunate and unfortunate enough to fall into an odd median between the two. While his father was a pureblood wizard of respectable lineage, he had also inherited the rebellious streak from his own father, who had emigrated from Korea in lieu of continuing the family trade as mediwizards, a respectable career for a Chungin class wizard (Seokjin never understood the class division of the Korean Wizarding World, much like he didn't understand the obsession with blood purity here in the U.K.). In any case, Seokjin’s father had taken rebellion one step further and had not only married a muggle woman but had also chosen a mundane career path as a baker.

That was not to say his upbringing was completely devoid of magic. His father had maintained close ties with their family back in Korea, and Seokjin had spent many a happy summer there.

However, one momentous event last year had taken his life on a whole new path. For his 10th birthday, his uncle, while on business in Korea, had managed to pick up a revolutionary game system, the Nintendo Super Comboy.

And his young life was forever changed.

He swore his allegiance to the magnificence that was Mario and the rest of the adorable pixelated crew in Super Mario World, and that was the end of that.

It may have taken several months of groveling on his uncle’s part, but his mother was now on speaking terms with her brother again, so Seokjin figured no harm no foul.

On one hand, yes he was borderline obsessed with the game system, but on the other, he finally had something that helped him connect with the neighborhood muggles his age. Finally, there was something that overcame even his eternal awkwardness, and over the past year, Seokjin could finally say he had a relatively close group of friends. Heck, he would even call Ken, a boy on his block, his best friend.

But now, all that came crashing down. His adventures in Mario’s world with his real life friends were over. Now, he had to start over from scratch, and with witches and wizards.

There was no hope.

His one consolation was that, as an olive branch (and last resort on his father’s part) for peace and his cooperation, he was able to bring his newly magicked Nintendo Super Comboy with him.

At least he would still have Mario.

Speaking of which, he might as well distract himself from his imminent social ostracization with some artificial friends. There will be plenty of time for intensive boyhood pains and feeling sorry for himself later.

However, just as he reached into his pouch containing the Comboy, which his father had also been kind enough to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on, the door to his compartment slid open with a loud bang to reveal two boys his age.

Seokjin could feel his eyes blinking rapidly, a terrible nervous habit he’d never been able to break. Bloody hell. He wasn't supposed to let anyone know about the pouch, but here he was, shoulders deep in the bag.

His dad was going to kill him.

Both the newcomers silently stared at him. He'd give them a pass. He sure wouldn't know what to do if he were to open a door and come face to face with a sorry looking kid huddling on the floor of a train compartment, half inside a small pouch, face still probably covered in dried tear stains, blinking aggressively.

His whole life was awkward. His father killing him would be merciful.

“Can I help you?” he asked, because his mother raised him better.

The tall, lankier one was the first to answer, although his eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, “Do you mind if we sit here? Everyone up front seems to be making a ruckus about some student being here. It was getting too noisy.”

The whole time Lanky was talking, his friend, a pale, waif-like boy, was giving both Seokjin and his companion extremely dubious looks, like he couldn't decide whether or not he should remain in either of their presence any longer.

“No, go right ahead. There's no one else in here. Except me, I mean. I'm here. Just me.”

“Okay… yeah.” Lanky slid into the room after a short pause, cautiously easing into the bench across from Seokjin.

His friend was a little more reluctant to enter. He turned to look down the train, as if deciding between the pros and cons of going to find another compartment, but ultimately seemed to decide against it as he heaved an impressive sigh and stomped in to collapse next to his friend. He was certainly an interesting character, since the second his butt made contact with the seat, all energy seemed to leak out of him, leaving just enough for him to lazily lift a leg and ease the door close with his foot.

There was an awkward silence. Well, correction, Seokjin was awkward, Lanky was clearly uncomfortable, and Lumpy seemed perfectly fine once he’d melted into the seat. In fact, Seokjin wasn't even sure if he was even awake anymore. Wow. That was fast.

Which was why he jumped and almost dropped the Comboy he was finally pulling out when Lumpy broke the silence, apparently not asleep like he’d thought, “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

Well, here was his chance. New place, new people, new Seokjin Kim.

‘Seokjin-ah, you can do it,’ he thought to himself. ‘Don't be weird. Short and sweet is the way to go.’

But instead, he opened his mouth and cemented his lot in life, “Well, you see, I'm going through a bit of a tough spot right now. My life is over, and I just didn't feel that I could really enjoy the seat properly, and the floor felt like a much better place to mope. Just mope. Not cry. I wasn’t crying. I could move to the seat if it bothers you.”

“I really don't give a shit what you do, mate. I was just asking ‘cause this idiot’s dying to know, but won't ask you until it's too late, and I can't sleep while he’s fidgeting.”

Seokjin honestly didn't have a response for that.

The boy didn't bother to open his eyes as he continued, “Now that that’s out of the way, I'm going to take my nap, now. Don't either of you talk to me until we get to the school or food comes. We good? Good.”

He then proceeded to further melt into his seat and slip into oblivion.

Glancing over to Lanky, Seokjin was slightly comforted to see the boy staring in shocked horror at his friend.

“Is he always like that?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He looked back Seokjin. “I'm Kim - I mean, I'm Namjoon Kim, by the way, and he's Yoongi Min. Sorry about… actually, I have no idea what I'm apologizing for, but I feel like I should…”

“I'm Seokjin Kim. And if anything I should apologize.”

“For?”

“I don't know? Sitting on the floor? Being awkward?”

“Well, if we all go through life trying to live up to the expectations of society, that would be a whole lot of extra work, wouldn't it?”

Seokjin silently stared at the boy, who had just said what he did with a completely straight face.

‘What?’ he thought.

“What?” he said after a moment’s consideration.

The boy — his name was Namjoon, Seokjin tried to remind himself — gave a little uncomfortable wriggle in his seat before answering, “I mean, I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason why you're sitting on the floor. I don't know your situation so who am I to judge what you're doing.”

“Huh.” Seokjin continued to inspect Namjoon. He came to a very solid conclusion. “You're an odd one, aren't you?”

“Yoongi always said that I don't know when to stop and that I should probably learn to shut the fuck up.”

“Your friend sounds like a real charmer.”

“He grows on you.”

“Like fungus, I'm sure.”

The other boy only shrugged nonchalantly in response.

Another silence fell over the compartment, although this time it was slightly less awkward than before. Namjoon was fiddling with the hem of his robes, which were a nice change from the usual attire of British wizards. Seokjin noticed the similarity of the two boys’ clothes and those worn by the boys in his grandparents’ neighborhood, so he assumed the boys weren’t locals. Not to mention he’d noticed Namjoon’s earlier slip in starting the introduction with his surname.

He wondered about how to start up a conversation when it came to him. He immediately perked up and beamed brightly at Namjoon.

“Speaking of mushrooms, you want to see something cool?”

And that was the end of that. At some point over the next few hours, Seokjin finally pulled himself off of the floor and onto a seat, and Namjoon had slowly migrated from the increasingly squashed seat, as the sleeping Yoongi began to ooze over and claim more of the bench, to sit next to Seokjin. Both boys were deeply immersed in the game as Seokjin struggled to advance in the level while simultaneously answering the myriad of questions Namjoon threw his way.

They worked through a rough patch earlier when a still confused Namjoon had scoffed at the game, and the threat of a resurgence of waterworks from Seokjin ended that train of thought rather quickly.

They hit another bump in the road to Mario when Namjoon tried to apply some overly philosophical meaning to the pixelated characters. Seokjin nipped that at the bud with a deadpanned, “Sometimes a goomba is just a goomba, Namjoon.”

Eventually, they settled into a comfortable pattern which alternated between discussing gameplay and story, Seokjin slapping a bruise into Namjoon’s shoulder whenever Namjoon managed to wrangle the controls from him, and talking about themselves whenever activities permitted.

By the time the food cart rolled around, Seokjin knew that Namjoon came from a relatively affluent family, who were pretty active in politics as was expected of those in the Yangban class in Korea. He and Yoongi were both sent to study at Hogwarts rather than somewhere closer to home as a means to increase their families’ relations abroad. However, despite both being from the same class, from what Seokjin could make of what wasn't being said, Yoongi was from either a branch family or something of the sort and was from a completely different economic background than Namjoon.

In spite of this possible point of contention, both boys had grown up together and remained close friends. Based on this, Seokjin decided he was going to give the prickly character a chance, first impression notwithstanding.

As for Yoongi, it was almost magical how the second the creaking of the food cart was barely audible from their compartment, his eyes eased open without necessitating any involvement from the compartment’s other occupants.

However, Seokjin couldn't help but note with some trepidation that the casual malaise that seemed to cling to the boy’s every movement was contrasted by the sharp gleam in his eyes as he took in the sight of Seokjin and Namjoon huddling over the game.

Not that Seokjin was intimidated or anything.

Maybe just a little.

“Oh, good. Yoongi, you're up.” Namjoon noted, still keeping an eye on the characters and waiting for the next chance to grab the controller.

“You made a friend.” Yoongi’s tone could be considered disbelief, if one overlooked the lazy drawl.

Namjoon looked over and glared in response. Seokjin didn't voice it aloud, just to save his new friend some dignity, but the pout he was throwing at the boy across from him was more on the cute end of the spectrum. He hoped he wasn't aiming for stern.

He failed miserably if he was.

“Shut up. I could make friends. Seokjin, tell him you're my friend.”

“Um… I'm his friend,” Seokjin obliged.

Okay, now the look that Yoongi was throwing their way was just plain rude.

Seokjin raised his eyebrows back at the boy and stared, for a lack of a better response. Ha, that should show him. Seokjin totally had a handle on the situation. He’d never lost a staring contest in his life, and Yoongi had another thing coming if he thought he was starting today.

Of course, the traitor, Namjoon, took his momentary distraction as an invitation to reclaim the controller.

No, just no. Not happening.

The following scuffle was not going to win him any cool points with Namjoon’s judgmental shadow, but this was his game, okay?

And since the universe apparently had it out for him, he was in the middle of contemplating biting Namjoon’s hand because the boy was just that persistent, when the compartment door slid open again, this time revealing the round face of a boy their age. Everyone froze — well, Yoongi wasn't really moving to begin with — and stared at the newcomer.

While he was clearly shocked silent by the hectic scene inside the compartment, it was still clear that the boy was also rather distressed by the barely concealed tears in his eyes.

“You need something?” Yoongi’s gruff voice broke the silence.

Seokjin sent him a stink eye, not that he thought Yoongi cared, but would it kill him to have a heart?

The boy at the door seemed to wilt under their collective gazes but still managed to ask, “Have you seen a toad? My toad’s run off, again, and I can't find him anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Seokjin hurriedly answered before Yoongi could open his mouth. Who knows what kind of remarks would come out if he did. “We haven't seen any toads.”

“Oh,” the boy deflated even more, “I'll just keep looking.”

“Actually, you want some help with that,” Yoongi asked.

Seokjin stared at him in surprise.

“Yeah, Namjoon here loses stuff all the time. He's got plenty of experience looking for shit. He wouldn't mind helping you out, right, Namjoon? Oh, and, Namjoon, you mind grabbing me something from the food cart while you're at it? Something sweet. I don't care what.”

Of course.

It didn't surprise Seokjin when Namjoon stood to do just that with only a wary glare thrown Yoongi’s way.

As Namjoon ushered the boy out the doorway and off to who knows where, Seokjin managed to catch part of their conversation. The new boy was obviously still unsure about the turn of events.

“You really don't have to do this! I’ll just keep looking. Trevor usually turns up on his own. Um, I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way,” the boy said, his voice fading as they wandered away from the compartment.

Inside, however, the atmosphere abruptly turned cold. Yoongi didn't move, but the entire weight of his gaze fell on Seokjin. And with no Namjoon as a distraction, Seokjin was left wide eyed and clutching his controller.

“Look. I don't know you, but Namjoon? I think you’ve talked with him enough to realize some things, right?”

“He takes Mario way too seriously?”

Yoongi just raised his eyebrow before continuing, “I don't know how things work for you British wizards, but back home things aren't so straightforward. Did Namjoon mention his family?”

“Not really, but I guess they’re something of a big deal? You guys are Yangban , right?”

“Mm-hm. So, consider this a warning, this whole thing, coming to Hogwarts, studying abroad, was Namjoon’s idea, his father doesn't really approve of this. And he sure as hell isn’t going to approve of you.”

Seokjin began to bristle at this, “So are you telling me I can't be friends with him? Because you can take that and shove it — ”

Yoongi gave a short laugh, “No. I'm giving you a warning. Namjoon’s a lot more sensitive than he looks, and I just don't want to deal with the shitstorm later when things go to shit because some pansy-ass decides that there are easier things to do than be friends with a Yangban politician’s son.”

Seokjin stared for a moment.

He wanted to open his mouth and refute the implied accusation.

But the thing was, Seokjin had been to Korea enough times to get the gist of what Yoongi was saying. He had seen firsthand the unspoken but strictly upheld social expectations. He had heard rumors, more horror stories really, of what happens to those who crossed those of higher power. And ultimately, that was all it was, here it was all about blood purity, but there it was about class power. Both were something completely out of people’s control and Seokjin didn't understand it.

He knew himself. He wasn't complicated, and what he wanted was simply a comfortable existence. Conflict was difficult to avoid, of course, but he always tried his best to avoid situations that increased the likelihood.

Situations like these.

Namjoon apparently was going to throw a wrench in his plans for quietly powering through Hogwarts and bailing the second h e graduated.

But here, Yoongi was giving him an out.

Seokjin studied the boy for a moment. He was speaking from experience, Seokjin was sure. There would be consequences to being of an elite class without the financial backings expected of it. He was sure the other boy didn't have it easy either, but he still managed to maintain a friendship with Namjoon.

Suddenly, a wave of some unnamed emotion shook him as he really took in the situation. He thought of his grandfather and what he must have been thinking when he left his home. He thought of his father and mother for some odd reason.

In the end he thought about Yoongi, and he was grateful. Yeah, he could see why Namjoon liked him, in all his prickly glory.

Instead of answering, Seokjin reached into his pouch and pulled out his lunch boxes — his mom knew he was a bottomless pit.

“You want some ddeokpokki?” he asked.

“What?”

“It's really good. Mom always adds octopus because I said fish cakes alone were boring.”

The confusion on Yoongi’s face was the most expressive he’d been all day.

He took a moment to digest what Seokjin said before opening his mouth and trying again, “What?”

“You told Namjoon to get something sweet. The cart lady only has snacks, I should know, I made dad tell me all about the food here. You shouldn't eat sweets on an empty stomach. So, you want some ddeokpokki? I think I have some sandwiches, too.”

Yoongi blinked at him, “Did you not hear anything I just said? What the fuck, mate?”

“Of course I did. I just assume you and Namjoon are going to be a packaged deal. And you're too skinny anyway. Also, did you know you curse a lot?”

Yoongi stared at him.

He let the Yoongi mull things over and busied himself looking for some utensils. They were going to have to share the chopsticks, he guessed.

“What kind of sandwiches do you have?” Yoongi asked finally.

Seokjin smiled and happily went about describing his lunch.

By the time Namjoon got back, Yoongi was munching away at the ddeokpokki, while Seokjin was sulking with the sandwiches. He only offered someof the rice cakes, not all. Yoongi chose to deliberately ignore his attempts at reclaiming them.

“Did you get my sweets?” Yoongi asked.

“Did you find his toad?” Seokjin followed with what he felt was a much more pertinent question.

Rather than respond, Namjoon chucked two pumpkin pastries and a chocolate frog at Yoongi’s head. Only a pastry made contact but bounced harmless off the side of the boy’s head. Yoongi squinted at Namjoon, eyes promising future retribution.

Namjoon ignored him. Although he did throw a few odd looks between Yoongi, Seokjin, and the extra food.

“We didn't find the toad, but we ran into some girl who insisted on helping out. So I left Neville with her and came back,” he said, finally.

“That's too bad. I hope he finds his toad soon,” Seokjin said. “You want a sandwich? I would offer ddeokpokki but some people don't know the meaning of the word ‘share’.”

Yoongi didn't even bother to acknowledge his statement.

As for Namjoon, he continued to look back and forth between the two boys, “So… that's it?”

“What’s it? I have some gamja-jorim, but mom didn't pack a lot of side dishes.”

“No, I mean…” Namjoon trailed off and glanced over at Yoongi.

Yoongi just shook his head, “You can't have the ddeokpokki.”

“Yes, he can! It’s not yours, anyway.”

With purposefully slow movement, Yoongi picked up a rice cake and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth while holding eye contact with Seokjin.

The asshole.

If anything, Namjoon looked more confused by the interaction, “No, I meant to say, what are — ”

He stopped as abruptly as he started, still giving them odd looks. Then he just shrugged and slumped back in his seat.

“You know what? Never mind. Can I have a sandwich?”

Seokjin handed him one, and that was the end of that.

The rest of the train ride was a relatively quiet one, although much more comfortable than before. Yoongi was even kind enough to share a pumpkin pastry with Seokjin and Namjoon, although that may have had to do more with taking the opportunity to hit the lightly dozing Namjoon in the face with the sweet.

The girl who had helped Neville earlier had stopped by at some point and reminded them to change into their school robes, which they did with little complaint.

By the time they were struggling into the rickety little boats that were supposed to carry them to the school, Seokjin would say that he had a relatively solid understanding of the two other boys and would happily call them both friends.

Their boat ended up being only the three of them, since Seokjin was sitting next to Namjoon, and Yoongi just glared at anyone who dared approach him.

And when their boat rounded the bend in the lake and the entirety of the castle became visible, Seokjin had to grudgingly give it to his dad; Hogwarts was pretty cool.

It also gave him a good chance to study Namjoon’s dimples as he took in the sight.

On the other hand, the castle quickly lost points once they were off the boats and were lined up to enter the castle. Seokjin promised himself he would apologize to Namjoon later for the bruises on his arm and the ringing in his ears, when he screamed and latched onto the boy as the ghosts came through the wall to observe the First Years.

He wouldn't be holding his breath for Yoongi’s apology for the scratches on his and Namjoon’s backs from the same incident, though. He was just grateful the other boy didn't rip their school robes in his fright.

When the bustling of the students died down and they were finally ushered into the Great Hall, Seokjin was only mildly surprised to hear it was going to be a hat that was sorting them into their respective houses. His father did mention that the sorting process wasn't going to be anything taxing or painful, unlike what the rumors implied.

What he was surprised with was the hat’s singing. But before they knew it, names were being called and one by one the students sat down on the stool, and when their houses were announced, went to their respective tables.

It was only when Professor McGonagall called, “Kim, Namjoon,” that Seokjin realized he was still clinging onto the other boy’s arm.

He quickly let go, but automatically straightened Namjoon’s robes before backing off and letting the boy make his way to the center of the hall.

It was a few long minutes before the crease in the hat opened and called, “ Slytherin !”

Seokjin was probably the only unsorted student who was clapping along with the students at the green table. Yoongi rolled his eyes at his antics, but he didn't pay the spoilsport any mind. He wanted to show his support. Namjoon was still his first friend at Hogwarts, after all.

And he knew to appreciate Mario.

He didn't have too much time to cheer, since as soon as Namjoon was seated, a sharp call rang for, “Kim, Seokjin.”

Seokjin quickly made his way over, only pausing to smile shakily at Yoongi.

Once seated, the hat was quickly settled over his head, obscuring his view of the hall.

“Ha! Not too keen on Hogwarts, are you? Well, can't say this is a first, but definitely not something I've seen all too often,” he heard the hat’s voice in his head.

“I’m sorry. If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have been happy with any wizarding school.” He hoped he hadn't hurt the hat’s feelings… did hats have feelings? Surely a singing one would have some level of sentience.

The hat chuckled, “No harm done, child. You didn't want to leave your friends, isn't that right? It's good to see one with a level of conscientiousness. Now where to put you, hm?”

Seokjin didn't know what to say, but he thought of Namjoon and Yoongi. He didn't care where he ended up, but they were his friends and since he’d decided it, he was going to keep them. So it didn't really matter which house he was in, he was going to make it work.

“A tenacious one, aren't you? Keeping friendships between houses won't be an easy task. It will mean a lot of hardships.”

Seokjin shook his head slightly. He didn't care. He knew it was going to be hard work from the beginning. Yoongi even warned him.

“So be it. In that case, better be-”

“ Hufflepuff !” The hat called out.

He quickly took off the hat and gingerly placed it back on the stool. As he was making his way over to the Hufflepuff’s table, he tried catching Namjoon’s eye, but the other boy was staring hard at the plate in front of him.

‘What's wrong with him,’ Seokjin wondered. He kept trying to get Namjoon’s attention until he heard Yoongi’s name being called.

“Min, Yoongi.”

It would be a lie to say he wasn't shocked when the hat barely touched Yoongi’s head before calling out, “ Huffepuff !”

Yoongi frowned the whole way over to Seokjin. It was much less shocking when he all but shoved over a boy already seated next to Seokjin to make room for himself.

Seokjin debated apologizing to the other Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley, but gave that idea up when Yoongi crowded his personal space to squint aggressively in his face.

“We have a problem.”

“Yeah. You've killed my personal space bubble. Please back off, Yoongi. I can't take you seriously when you're this close.”

Yoongi did sit back a bit, but his squint was all the more intense, “This is all your fault.”

“Wait, what's the problem exactly?” He thought about what Yoongi said for a moment and added, “And how is it my fault?”

“Why the hell am I in Hufflepuff!”

“How should I know? Wait, was that a rhetorical question?”

“That wasn't a question. This is me explaining the problem to you. I am here. That's not suppose to happen. The only reason I went along with this whole thing was to look out for Namjoon. You don't understand. I don't care how many tests say he's a certified genius, that idiot is a fucking dumbass. I can't watch his sorry ass if I'm stuck over here!”

“You know, it's probably thoughts like that that landed you in Hufflepuff.”

“What?”

“Weren't you listening to the hat?”

“It’s a fucking singing hat!”

“Well, it was singing for a reason! Hardworking and loyal, Yoongi. Those are the traits of Hufflepuff. You were probably all worried about Namjoon. No wonder the hat sorted you so quickly.”

Yoongi stared at him for a minute before uttering a very vehement, “Fuck!”

Seokjin was just about to bring up Yoongi’s unnecessary excess use of expletives again when all around them loud excited whispers broke out. He and Yoongi looked around in confusion before he caught the Macmillan kid saying, “Is that really Harry Potter?”

He turned just in time to see the dark tuft of hair on a small figure disappear under the sorting hat.

“Huh,” he said, mostly to himself, “I forgot he was starting school this year.”

“Who's that? Is he famous or something? They were making a big fuss about him earlier on the train.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you and Namjoon aren't from around here.”

“So, he's famous?”

“That's an understatement. I'll tell you guys later. Now, about Namjoon, I don't think you're giving him enough credit. The hat put him there for a reason. I'm sure he'll do fine.”

“You have no idea. He’s known as the God of Destruction back home for a reason.”

“Okay. You're going to have to tell me the story behind that later, but what are you so worried about. He still has us. We’re just in different houses, not planets.”

Yoongi gave him a blank stare, “You sure he knows that?”

Seokjin eyes widened in surprise, “What? Yes! He should — I mean — we were…”

He looked over at the Slytherin table where Namjoon was clearly ignoring them.

Seokjin felt his whole face pinch into what he could only assume was an expression of complete and utter dismay.

“That fucking dumbass!”

Yoongi reached over and patted him on the back, “Welcome to the club.”

And so it was that while the rest of the student body began to belt out Hoggy Warty Hogwarts , Seokjin occupied himself by glaring holes into the back of Namjoon’s head. Yoongi was seemingly too busy judging the entire British wizarding world to sing along with everyone.

Dinner came and went, and the students were told to follow the prefects to their dormitories. Seokjin couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of emptiness while taking in the sight of Namjoon as he continued to avoid looking at the two of them.

This simply would not do.

As a public service announcement, it should be noted that two very determined Hufflepuffs on a mission were a terrifying sight to behold.

It took one week and several hours of stalking later, but Yoongi and Seokjin were finally able to corner Namjoon. Although, they had a slight hitch in their plans when one of the Slytherins, a Theodore Nott, had taken it as a personal slight that two seemingly inoffensive first-year Hufflepuffs had the gall to attempt to abscond with one of his housemates. The entire thing came to head in an unfortunately public setting.

One thing was made readily clear from the encounter: Pureblood children were not often faced with good-old, physical threats in a schoolyard confrontation.

What Yoongi lacked in physicality, he made up for in pure, rage-fueled ferocity. He fought like a berserker with nothing to lose.

Seokjin, being a loyal and conscientious friend, made sure to hold onto Yoongi’s wand and cloak for safekeeping as Yoongi single-handedly destroyed all preconceptions about House Hufflepuff in one vicious swoop, colorful profanity and all.

Fortunately, the incident was largely swept under the rug by both parties present, mainly due to mutually assured shame.

The Hufflepuffs were simply not ready to have their peaceful reputation so utterly tarnished, while the Slytherins simply couldn't admit defeat to the badgers, and first years no less.

And, yet, despite the embarrassment from the entire fiasco, Namjoon remained mulishly doubtful of the sincerity of their friendship. It took some effort on Seokjin’s part not to allow Yoongi to beat some sense into their idiot friend, but the time of violence was over. Also, Seokjin wasn't really sure how effective the physical persuasion would be with someone who actually grew up with Yoongi.

He mentioned as much to his still fuming housemate, and Yoongi responded with a loud, “Well, you talk to him! I'm out!”

Yoongi emphatically grabbed both his robe and wand back from Seokjin and proceeded to storm away, leaving in his wake a hallway full of petrified Hufflepuffs, not all of whom were first years.

Seokjin took Namjoon’s momentary distraction by Yoongi’s dramatic exit as a good opportunity to take him by the hand and drag him away to a more secluded area. They ended up in an empty classroom, where Seokjin immediately shoved Namjoon into a chair and all but sat on him to get him to stay.

He made a point to look directly into the taller boy’s eyes as he spoke, “Namjoon, listen to me, okay? I'm not smart like you, and I don't have a way with words like you, so don't expect anything fancy, but you are going to listen to what I have to say. Understood?”

Namjoon nodded at him, probably shocked silent by his forward approach.

“You asked me to tell Yoongi that I was your friend when we were on the train, remember?”

Namjoon nodded again, blushing slightly at the reminder.

“I have to admit, I probably didn't really mean it at the time, because you know, that's a weird request and all. But, after you left, you know what Yoongi told me?”

Namjoon shook his head.

“He said that being your friend was a hassle. And he's right. You are a problem and a half, Namjoon. You're stubborn, too smart for your own good, and without enough common sense to figure your way around people. Your family is going to hate my guts, probably more than they do Yoongi’s. And you don’t even have the decency to appreciate this.”

Namjoon only stared at him. Seokjin continued before the other boy could process his words enough to be hurt.

“But, you know what? Yoongi thinks you’re worth the hassle, okay?”  

Namjoon continued to stare.

“And I think you’re pretty cool, too. You listened to me go on about Mario and still wanted to play. You’re a weirdo. And I’m awkward. But I like you. So I think you’re worth it, too. Okay? Nod if you understand.”

Namjoon nodded, eyes glistening slightly.

“So, I’m saying it again and I really, really mean it now. You are my friend, Namjoon. And that means I'm going to be here, whether you like it or not. And as Yoongi would put it, fuck the houses .”

Namjoon gave a little choked laugh. Seokjin couldn’t help but lean in to hug him.

“You might be stubborn, Namjoon, but I’ll have you know I’m pretty stubborn, too. I already decided. I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

It took a few seconds, but eventually he heard Namjoon whisper, “Okay.”

Seokjin smiled and released...

… a breath he didn't realized he was holding.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, how long he had been lost in memory.

It was good, he thought to himself.

Not always, of course, but it had been really good. He was lucky to have them, his friends. They were all stupid, idiot goof-balls, but they were his, and he wouldn't change any second of it even knowing the end. It was probably him being naive, but Seokjin couldn’t work up the slightest doubt that it had all been worth it.

He got to say good-bye, even.

Who knew how many were lucky enough to get even that. He wanted more, though. He wished he had said something to Yoongi and Jimin before running off, but at least he was sure Yoongi understood. And the younger boys, Merlin, he hoped they were all okay. But, Taehyung and Hoseok weren’t even in a house with anyone else.

Please, please, please, don’t let them do anything stupid.

At least with Jungkook, Seokjin was certain that Namjoon wouldn’t have run off without making sure the youngest in their group was safe.

And, Namjoon. Seokjin bit his lips as he tried to ignore the pangs of guilt. He never intended to break his promise.

Maybe someday Namjoon will forgive him.

Special thanks to allourheroes for cleaning up my writing mess.

[sardonicnihilism]

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 3 The Young Adult

Chapter 25

Mary sat in her chair, staring blankly into space, paralyzed with fear for her daughter. Shannon was out there, crazy, a danger to anyone around her. How, where did she go so wrong? She thought about Kathy. She was a selfish, angry, drunk; this, on the other hand, was something completely different.

The sound of the doorknob turning, snapped her out of her trance. She looked over and saw Shannon walk in. She was bent, her shoulders drooped, her head hung low. Mary looked at her hands and saw they were covered in blood.

"Oh God," Mary gasped in horror; her mind filling with all kinds of images of what her daughter might have done.

"Don't worry," Shannon said in a low, tired voice without lifting her head to look over, "it's my own. I was punching the ground. I don't think I broke anything, but one never knows for sure." Her voice was completely lifeless, almost monotone.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a dirty, broken dagger. She tossed it on the floor as she walked to the couch and sat down. "I won't be needing that anymore. Do with it what you will."

"Shannon, did you, did you," Mary started to ask if she had hurt anyone, not really wanting to know the answer. Shannon cut her off before she could finish.

"I almost killed a homeless man," she said flatly. "At least I think he was homeless. He said he was, but he could have been lying. Or he could have been a figment of my imagination. I don't really know what's real anymore. This might be real, or maybe I'm still up on the train tracks? Maybe I'm dead? I did almost drown when I was in middle school. Maybe I did die and this is Hell? I wonder if it would be even possible to tell the difference." Shannon looked down at the floor the whole time, her voice, constantly flat and unemotional.

"I hear voices. I hear them all the time. It's not like they're telling me to do stuff, more like infinite conversations with each other, and I'm just ease dropping. I see things too. Shadows, dark shapes, spectral, human like things; always just out of full view.

"I thought I was a Holy warrior. Like one of the chosen. That in the end times, God would give me my secret, true name. I would say it and become a white wolf with golden armor and fight the forces of Satan. That's why I started carrying that," she pointed to the dagger, "so I would be ready no matter what time of day I received the call."

Mary was shaking, her face a cadaverous white. Her daughter had gone crazy. She had literally lost her mind. What was she going to do? She couldn't afford to have her committed to an asylum. Maybe she could turn to the church? Maybe she was actually possessed? Did their church even perform exorcisms? Now she sounded as crazy as her daughter.

"I'm not on drugs, if that's what you're thinking. I mean I did drink a strange, red liquid at - what do you call a gathering of witches? I don't know. A ritual? Anyway, I traveled into the Abyss, birthed an infinite number of demons who became universes, and my remains were eaten by an entity I thought was Azathoth. That might have been a narcotic. But I don't use drugs on a regular basis." Shannon's voice still refused to show any emotion.

Mary went to reach for her daughter but pulled back. This was beyond anything she could even hope to deal with.

Shannon stood up and took her trench coat off. "I'm going to bed now. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow, maybe not. We'll see." She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Mary alone to cry her eyes out.

********************************************

The next day, nothing was said about what happened. Like all the other family's traumas, it got swepted under the proverbial rug. Poor people can't afford to fix their problems, they can only patch them up and hope for the best.

Shannon continued to see and hear things, but on an ever decreasing level. She pulled away from just about everything and one. She dropped out of all her clubs and extracurricular activities. She stopped visiting family as well. Her life shrank to her studies, work, gym, and band.

For a while, Shannon got extremely sick. She thought maybe Jen had put a curse on her. She went to her spell books and casted a few protection and revenge spells, but it all felt empty. The spark was gone. Eventually she burned most of magic books, but even that felt more performative than cathartic.

She would often feel herself sinking in bouts of extreme depression and loneliness. She thought about dating but decided against it. Sure, college was filled to overflowing with girls desperate to get their lesbian on. Some were gay or bi; some were just curious straight girls sick of putting up with male bullshit. But she didn't have the time (she told herself). Also she had gotten the reputation as being the weird girl, and not in the funny, cute way, but the "she'll eat your face off and bury you in the basement" way. She didn't mind that too much. Sure, it killed her social life, but it kept the guys away, so six of one, half a dozen of the other.

One night, she was in the campus library, doing a research paper when she heard a voice that she was relatively sure wasn't inside her head. "Ah mate, did you see the latest episode of the X-Files? Bloody brilliant that is. I don't see how Chris Carter can keep the show so good." It was a male voice speaking with an Australian accent.

*What is an Australian doing in bum fuck Shippensburg?* she thought to herself. The idea that someone from Australia would come here seemed more unbelievable than magic and witches. That, and along with the fact he was talking about one of her favorite shows, made her decide to get up and see who the owner of the voice really was.

She slowly crept to where the voice was coming from. The owner was a tall boy, about six feet tall, short hair, the same color as hers, a long, oval face with green eyes that looked half a size too big for the face they were in. Not conventionally attractive by any stretch of the imagination, but the sum total still gave off a pleasant, quirky attractiveness. If she were straight, she might even have found him cute. He moved his hands a lot when he talked with a grace that suggested he either was or had been a dancer.

The boy he was talking to was short with long, dark brown hair, tied in a ponytail. He had a patchy beard that was standard for most college boys. He wore a tydyed shirt and light tan cargo shorts with flip flops. His hands were in his pocket and he looked completely bored with the conversation.

"Hey, no need to perve on us," Shannon heard the Australian say to her. "Come on over and say hey."

*Shit* Shannon thought to herself. She considered just turning tail and run, but decided that she did kind of owe it to them to say hi.

She walked over and extended her hand. "Sorry, I heard you mention The X-Files, and I love that show. I'm Shannon, by the way."

"No worries mate. Samuel's the name. Everyone calls me Sam for short." He shook her hand and made an exaggerated pain face. "That's quite a grip you got on ya there. You sure you're not a Shawn instead of a Shannon?"

Shannon gave him an annoyed look. "My menstrual cramps seem to think so," she said, irritated. "And if you ask me to prove it, I'm going to rip your brain out through your eyes."

Sam gave a big laugh. "No, no problem there. Just having a bit of a go at you. Just me personality. I like to have a bit of fun."

Shannon cocked her head and did something she hadn't done in a long time, she smiled.

[darnedchild]

Molly Hooper Appreciation Week Summer 2017 - Day 2

On FFdotNet and Ao3 

Also, I haven’t had a beta look it over because I like to live dangerously.  Mostly, though, because I literally finished it about two minutes ago and I really wanted to post it so I could go to dinner.  SO - My first Khanolly-ish sort of fic thing.

Molly Hooper Appreciation Week Summer 2017 - Day 2 - Not On The Side Of Angels (Fanworks focusing on Dark!Molly)

Descent Into Darkness

John Harrison was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and she was going to make sure he died a slow and painful death.

The bombing of Section 31 had rocked Starfleet.  The massacre at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco had ripped through the command ranks, leaving the fleet vulnerable without many of their senior and most experienced officers.

Both were acts of terrorism that hit far too close to home for many.

Molly was one of them.  She had been scheduled for duty at the London building the day of the bombing.  If there hadn’t been an unexpected delay with the public transport system out of her suburb, she would have been buried under tons of rubble just like many of her friends.

The knowledge of just how close she’d come to death had nearly knocked her to her knees.

And then the revelation that the devastation had been caused by John Harrison had finished the job.

The section supervisor Doctor Anderson hadn’t wanted Harrison in his labs; as Harrison wasn’t a doctor or biologist, there was no reason to allow him access to any of their projects.  But word had come down from high (the rumours even whispered that the order had come from the office of Admiral Marcus himself) and there had been no choice.  Eventually, even Anderson had agreed that Harrison had offered a few insights on some of the experiments, including ones that focused on some unique tissue and blood samples they had been given to analyse; samples, they were told, that had been acquired from an unmarked, derelict spacecraft found in deep space.

At first Molly had enjoyed Harrison’s visits.  He’d walk into the lab full of barely suppressed energy, listen to the other scientists as they discussed their current experiments, and then rattle off suggestions.  It didn’t hurt that he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen, and watching him walk amongst the work stations was a treat.  He’d even stopped by her station a few times that first month, before moving on without a word.  She suspected he had found her experiments to be inconsequential; which they might have been on their own, if they hadn’t tied into the larger project she’d been assigned.

The top secret one that no one without a very specific clearance, not even Harrison, was allowed access to.  Nearly an entire year of Molly’s blood, sweat, and tears.

Those inconsequential projects had been stepping stones for something far bigger.

While the others worked to identify applications and uses for the samples, Molly worked on finding a bio-agent that would bring the mysterious lifeform to its knees should Starfleet ever encounter another one. Her orders were to create something that would weaken the alien, and slow or temporarily stop its regenerative abilities, so that the creature could be more easily subdued (if necessary). Early testing indicated the alien shared large amounts of DNA with humans, which complicated matters considerably. She would need to create something specifically engineered to stop a powerful creature that was a distant relative of humans in its tracks, without risking the safety of the men and women of Starfleet (and the Federation as a whole).  

Months after he’d begun his visits to the labs, Molly had looked up from her microscope to find Harrison watching her. His pale gaze had seemed to burn into her, as if he could read every emotion or thought that passed through her mind.  She had blushed and blinked, and when her eyes opened again, he’s expression had transformed into a friendly smile that she had reflexively returned.

Soon enough, Harrison began to make a point of coming by her station whenever she was there during one of his rare visits (which wasn’t as often as before now that her main work was being conducted in a secure area).  He’d ask about her project and then her day, her cat, the trip into work that day, what she’d chosen for lunch.  The sort of small talk she would have assumed he abhorred.

Molly had thought, mistakenly it appeared, that they were becoming . . . something, friends at the very least.  

Through months and months of light flirtation, unexpected meetings in the canteen, long conversations about the work going on in the labs, and one single perfect, passionate kiss after he had pulled her into a disused cupboard two day before the bombing . . . through all of that, Molly had never once mentioned or even hinted at her secret project or that she suspected that John Harrison was more than he appeared (if he wasn’t one of the infamous ‘mysterious’ lifeforms, she’d eat Anderson’s prized cactus).

Only an idiot would look back on all that and not put two and two together.  He’d been using her to try to gain information, and once she was no longer useful he had condemned her to the same fate as everyone else at Section 31 without a second thought.

Fair enough, she hadn’t felt more than a brief twinge of guilt when Admiral Marcus himself appeared at her flat and asked if she’d be able to recreate the bio-agent she’d been close to perfecting at Section 31, and—more importantly—if she thought there was any way to make it lethal.

Which is how she currently found herself in the sickbay of the Vengeance, partnered with a man who took orders well enough but clearly had no clue what it was he was helping to synthesize.  

Admiral Marcus had reassured her that her serum was only to be used as a last-ditch effort if all other attempts to apprehend and subdue Harrison failed.

She looked up from the terminal she’d been working at when the ship’s computer warned that the warp core had shut down and it had switched to the sickbay to auxiliary power.  All non-life support systems would be temporarily shut down.  

That was unexpected.  

Molly saw her companion pull a phaser out of a drawer that should have only held medical supplies, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.  He set the phaser to the side, but she noticed he kept at least half his attention trained on the door from that moment on.

Molly started when her terminal screen flickered as the ship’s full power was restored.  In the list of executable medical programs was one that shared the same name as her cat, ‘Toby’.  She was positive the program hadn’t been there before the power down.  She cast a furtive look toward her Richards (who was, apparently, more comfortable holding a phaser than he had been running a centrifuge) and accessed the program.

A password request popped up.

She frowned.

The program was probably nothing, an inside joke left by the ship’s programmers.

Then again, hadn’t it been well known that John Harrison had been heavily involved in the design and programming of the Vengeance?  If there was the smallest chance that the program wasn’t a joke, that it had been rigged to appear only if certain ship systems had been rebooted . . .

The entire idea was farfetched; but she still found herself searching her memory for anything that stood out, anything that Harrison might have expected her to remember and make note of.

There was one thing.  They had been talking about Toby, Molly had told a story about when the feline had been a kitten and had managed to get into a bit of trouble. John had mentioned having a pet once. He’d only discussed it briefly, and then his face had clouded and he’d changed the subject as if the memory pained him.

What was its name?

“Redbeard.”

“Pardon, Doctor Hooper?”

Molly jerked and realized she must have spoken out loud.  “Red blood. Cells.  I think I’m going to need another look at the results from the last run on those blood cells.”

Richards nodded.  “Do you need me to set anything up?”

“No, I can manage.  Thanks.”  She waited until he turned back to his station, then typed in ‘Redbeard’.

File after file sprang to life across her screen. Molly skimmed each just enough to get the general idea, then moved on to the next.

There were schematics for torpedo cases and cryotubes. A list of names, ages, and serial numbers.  Page after page of technical information that Molly didn’t recognize.  And a document with her name at the top.

“Molly,

If you’ve found this, it means the delay with the 7:15 train was sufficient to keep you out of harm’s way.  Unfortunately, it also means that you have put yourself back into danger by boarding the Vengeance.  

I need you to do one last thing for me, Molly.  Somewhere in the galaxy, there are seventy-two souls who are sleeping in cryostasis. They are my crew, my family; and they have been taken from me by Admiral Marcus and his men.  Everything I have done, I have done for them, to rescue my family from the hands of those who would use and destroy them.

Regardless of your feelings for me, I ask . . . no, I beg you to help them.  

Do not trust Marcus.  

Do not trust anyone.

Above all else, you must survive, Molly.  My Molly.”

She stared at the screen and tried to process what she’d just read.  Even without a signature, she knew who had written it.  

What the hell had been going on in Section 31?

“Marcus thought something like this might happen.”

Molly turned just in time to catch the butt of the phaser against her cheek.  As she hit the floor, she saw Richards frowning at the terminal screen. “Sickbay to the Bridge.  Khan left a love note for the good doctor.”

Who the hell was Khan?

Marcus’ voice came across the comm.  “Not important.  Is the serum finished?  Does it work?”

“Close enough.”

Richards stepped over her toward the carefully stored vials that contained the serum.  Molly tried to reach out and grasp his ankle as he passed, hoping to pull him off balance, but he jerked free.

“We’ve got visitors.  Khan and that idiot Kirk will be coming straight here, so I need you to bring it to the Bridge.  Marcus out.”

Richards grabbed a hypospray and loaded it with the serum.  “Nothing personal, Doctor.  I wish I could say that the Admiral will be lenient on you, but we both know you aren’t going to make it home.”

“Neither are you.”  

Both Molly and her assailant jerked at the sound of a third voice.  Before Richards had a chance to turn toward the door, he was already down.  

Molly looked up to see John, phaser in hand.  

“Have you read it?”

She nodded, and cautiously stood up.  “Parts of it.”

“And?”  He stood tall and alert, and she thought she saw his fingers shift against the handgrip of the phaser.  

“What do you need . . . Khan?”

Some of the tension seemed to melt away from his face and the hand holding the phaser lowered to his side.  She wondered what he would have done if she hadn’t given him the answer he wanted.

“My crew is on the other ship.  As soon as I’ve dealt with Marcus, they’ll be transferred to the Vengeance.”

Her mind had already begun making lists of what would need to be done to wake Kahn’s crew from their cryosleep.  “I’ll prep the sickbay.”

He darted forward and wrapped his free hand around the back of her head to pull her into a kiss that stole her breath away. Almost immediately, he released her. “Kirk and the engineer will be looking for me.  Secure yourself, things may get a little bumpy.”

And then he was gone.

Molly looked down at Richards’ stunned body, and quickly leaned down to snatch up his dropped phaser.  After a second’s hesitation, she picked up the hypospray and tucked it into the pocket of her tunic.

Khan had told her himself.

Do not trust anyone; and above all else, Molly needed to survive.

[innocentignorance]

Head Cannon: Alexandria Pt. 2

What is this? So here is the part 2 of Alexandria’s head cannon. I hope part 1 was interesting enough to have you waiting for this one. Once again I want to thank everyone who took the time to read/reblog/comment on my HCs. They important to me and your attention means so much. Enjoy :)

Part 1

“I don’t care who or what you were in the Demon World. You are none of those now that you’re here, and here in the Human World what I say goes.”

So the succubus whose story you read in pt. 1, Aquila, was a princess of the Lilith Kingdom but she escaped to the Human World with the help of Harold Anderson, a powerful warlock and Alexandria’s grandfather. She was grateful to him, and eventually they fell in love with each other and got married. A few years after that Alexandria’s father, David, was born. But because David is a boy and his father is not a demon, he is entirely human with some demon blood but no powers. He is not even aware of this fact. However, when David has a child of his own, a baby girl, that little girl, being the first female child born into the family after Aquila joins, inherits the powers of her grandmother instead. That little girl is Alexandria.

Because her grandmother is an extremely powerful succubus and her grandfather has magic, Alexandria has all the powers a full-blooded succubus would have, complete with a demon form, backed up by very powerful magic. Her grandmother even used to claim that she’s more powerful than almost all succubi and incubi. The only thing that sets her apart is the lack of horns in her demon form.

“But why don’t I have horns like you do, grandma?”

“That’s because of your diluted blood, dear. Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean much. Only that you are a very special girl.”

Trained in the art the arts of seduction, illusion, mind control and every other succubus ability by her grandmother, and in almost all kinds of magic by her grandfather, Alexandria is one of most powerful beings that has ever walked the Plains of Existence. Very much so that even Angels are weary of her at first. When she was 13, her grandmother was killed by a group of devils and she killed them with the back of her hand to have her revenge, Angels approached her with an proposition.

“What the fuck do you want from me? I did nothing wrong. In fact I did your job for you.”

“That is exactly why we’re here, child.”

So instead of being angry with her, they ask her to become somewhat of a ruler in the Human World. They would actually pay her human money and give her somewhat of an authority to act on their behalf, in return she would have to keep the entire demon population in check, away from humans and devils. And Alexandria, at the time desperately looking for ways to free herself from her father, accepts. The Angels give her the means to travel around the world very quickly and the ability to be able to communicate with demons and devils no matter what language they spoke. Not wanting their wrath upon her, she immediately got to work. She traveled the entire globe in a little over a month and managed to make acquaintances with every demon out there. She wrote down the used human name, True Name, contact information and current residence of every demon. Then, she wrote down the rules that the Angels set and sent them out to every single one of them, with the Angels’ and her own seals for proof that there would be consequences if the rules were not obeyed.

-Killing or harming humans by using your demonic powers is forbidden and punishable, possibly by death.

-Exposing yourself to humans, except those that are witched and warlocks, is forbidden. Can be overlooked if the human is willing to make an oath to keep it a secret. Otherwise both the demon and the human will go through Angels’ Trials or executed.

-Any items imported from the Demon World without the approval of the Representative will be confiscated, and the demon/s responsible for bringing the items will be punished.

-Conflict with the Hell Spawn must be avoided at all costs. If can not be avoided, the Representative must be informed at once, whether the said Hell Spawn are still alive or not.

-Any demon residing in the Human World must meet the Representative and get registered. 

-The Representative has the authority to inflict punishments and handle executions if any of the rules stated above has been broken.

With the distribution of the rules and the news that there is now a ruler causes a stir among the demons and even devils that live in the Human World. Alexandria is quick to quiet down everyone and reassure them that she’s not there to rule over them, but protect them. 

“I’m not here to rule over you. I was chosen by the Angels’ to make sure that everyone obeyed their rules. They could easily do this themselves. Their punishments would be harsh and they would show no mercy. And I could let them for all I care. But I didn’t. I accepted this role to make sure that you all have a better chance.”

She tells the devils that so long they stayed away from her people and the humans, she would take no action against them. Her only responsibility was to the demons but if they ever dared to harm any of her people, they would find death in her hands.

In time people slowly start to accept her role as the Representative and even respect her greatly. There are still some sore thumbs here and there that cause trouble by refusing to give their True Name or some other way, but she’s always able to deal with them either with her natural charisma and swaying words, or by force.

Alexandria is force of nature. There is no one in the world that wouldn’t obey her one way or the other. Although she especially enjoys taming rebels. Despite her constant use of foul language and bitchy attitude, she manages to gather an extremely loyal group of people, composed of witches, warlocks and demon alike, that are her eyes and ears all around world. She learns different types of magic from all of them. Her most trusted agent and best friend is a Shadow demon who calls himself Keith. He is her second in command and the head of a lot of operations. He is sarcastic, snarky and sneaky as hell, and despite their constant bickering they always have each other’s backs.

“You know you love me, Lexy.”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith, and for the last time DON’T CALL ME LEXY!”

Alexandria has a very bitchy, fuck-everyone-and-everything, I-literally-couldn’t-care-less attitude. But in reality she cares a lot about her people and friends. She’s sarcastic and loves nicknames. She has at least one nickname for everyone she meets.The closer she is to the person, the more creative and bigger in number the nicknames get. She has absolutely zero tolerance to people deciding things for her or ordering her around. Which means she has no tolerance for her father. She hates him as much as it is possible for a child to hate her father. After she becomes the Angels’ Representative, she immediately goes to tell him off.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, old man. You can go and shove those expectations and dreams you have for me right down your throat and choke on them while you fuck yourself.”

“Alexandria Anderson! How dare you speak to me like this!”

After that the two of them rarely spoke. When Alexandria’s grandfather dies and leaves his mansion to her, her father immediately sends her off the very same day. She knows it’s probably the last that she ever sees him and she doesn’t care. She goes into the house, settles in and calls up her friends for a small housewarming party that involve a lot of booze. Keith and his wife Emily, who’s an animal demon, are the first to show up. After a great night that she barely remembers she goes to school and come back to the mansion and guess what? There lies 5 people on her floor, covered in blood and barely conscious. She can tell they’re demons right away but surprised to see that she doesn’t recognize any of them. Unregistered demons. In her house. Bleeding all over her floor. 

Before she can think of the best course of action, one of them suddenly appear in front of her, looking straight into her eyes. The boy has messy brown hair and deep green eyes, but his gorgeous face is ruined by a frown. Looking into his eyes she suddenly feels like she wants to kiss him but breaks out of it when she realises what’s happening. He’s compelling her. Incubus. She becomes so furious that she sees red. How dare he?

“Women, you’re going to let me kiss you.”

“…”

“OH MY GOD! YOU KILLED HIM!”

“Calm down, bouncy. He ain’t dead. And so long as he doesn’t try to pull off something like that again, he’ll remain that way.”

Alexandria demands to know who they are and what 5 unregistered incubi were doing in her house. They explain everything to her, saying that they were attacked by devils and found the house while looking for shelter, not knowing it belonged to anyone. She was shocked to hear that. Every demon there had to know that this house belonged to a relative of the Representative. But then they weren’t registered so either they were new or no one told them. When the brown haired one comes to, she takes out her list to register them immediately, explaining the process of residing in the Human World. The incubi see that they have little choice but to agree. They all give her their names, used and True, all except for one.

“Why the fuck do we have to give her our names? She almost killed me!”

“Well, you ain’t dead, are ya, tough guy? Now spill it or do I really have to use force again?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“In your weakened state and after what just happened, you sure have some serious balls to speak to me like that. There are rules made to be broken but this isn’t one of them.”

After somewhat of a glaring contest, he finally gives up and tells her. She reassures them that her documents are for her eyes only and no one would be able to read them. She hands the brothers, and throws one at Sam, a special potion that she makes from sweet flower so that they can restore their energy. She says they should retire for now and they will discuss what happens with them later. 

[madminniefics]

can’t pretend anymore

grace left mississippi for a reason. she just wants to be left alone. niall is spending the summer traveling through spain searching for the perfect wave and, instead, finds grace. liam has chosen this moment to pop back up in grace's life. she doesn't want any of it.

a surfer niall / expat grace / tech billionaire ex liam nsfw one shot

Grace spent her whole life running.

Running from her family, running from her dead-end job at the mall selling phone cases in a kiosk, running from her past and future lovers, running from the existential dread that seemed to follow her everywhere, running from the small town in Mississippi that reminded her of fried food, heart attacks, and racism. But no matter how far she ran, there was no getting away from herself.

She’d run to Spain five years ago—to live in a big European city, eat fruit, drink wine, and be left the hell alone—and ended up in a small town outside Valencia where everyone knew everyone’s business. Ain’t that some shit? If she wanted everyone to be all in her shit, she would’ve stayed in Oxford, home of William Faulkner and little old ladies who went to church on Sunday’s and talked shit about their neighbors the rest of the week.

That’s why she left. Or, that’s what she told people. That she couldn’t handle the hypocrites. She couldn’t stand the way they smiled to your face as they plotted against you behind your back. That’s why she quit church in middle school. That and the frilly dresses her momma insisted on putting her in.

The waitress placed a carafe of orange juice and a bottle of champagne on Grace’s table. She was tucked away in the back corner of her favorite café. A window behind her seat overlooked the café’s tiny garden that consisted of two orange trees, three olive trees, and a rosemary bush. The owner, Mateo, reserved the table for her every Saturday. No matter if there was a line outside, that table was always saved for Grace. As a thank you for helping him find a new chef. Grace thought he may be harboring a crush on her, too. They were cool as long as he didn’t act on it.

“Gracias, Marta,” Grace said with a smile as the waitress opened the bottle of champagne for her.

“Claro. Vas a comer lo mismo o algo nuevo?”

Grace looked down at the menu. She always had the same thing for brunch, despite Mateo and Marta urging her to try something new. She loved the churros and chocolate at their little café. It was the best she’d had during her time in Spain.

“Um,” She looked at the menu and back up to Marta. “Dame el menu.”

Marta’s eyes brightened and she nodded and walked into the back to yell at Mateo and Andres, the chef, that ‘La Grace’ was finally trying something new. Grace didn’t even know what the chef special was for that day but she trusted Andres. As long as it was cooked, she would eat it.

Shit. Sometimes if it wasn’t cooked she would eat it. 14-year old Grace would pretend to gag and refuse to eat but 28-year old Grace knew that sometimes you gotta eat what’s in front of you. She tilted her head trying to think if that was deep or just sounded deep. It could be a metaphor for life. Like sometimes you just gotta do things you don’t want to do. She scrunched her nose and poured less than half a glass of orange juice before topping it off with champagne.

After concluding that, no, it wasn’t deep, she took a gulp of her drink before opening her book. It was a collection of poetry, in Spanish, by a local artist. Most of the poems were about love, which Grace couldn’t—or, more accurately, didn’t want to—relate to, but they were beautiful pieces. She continued to read until her food came out. By then she’d already run through two mimosas.

Marta brought three plates and Mateo brought out three more plates. Grace’s mouth watered as the first plate of olives, jamon iberico, bread, and a cheese selection was placed in front of her. Fried quail eggs and sliced beef, ham and cheese croquettes, patatas bravas with their special mayo sauce, asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, and clams in a cream sauce were placed on the table as well.

As she ate, she thought about the poems. They were beautiful, she couldn’t deny that. Comparing love to the soft mist after the crest of a wave, to the way the night and the day melted together during a sunset, the purple of clouds in the early morning, the quiet moment before the work day starts, comparing the woman’s white skin to ancient statues carved from marble. And that was her problem, wasn’t it? She’d been raised to believe that women like her—an ‘angry’ black woman from the south whose family barely made it above the poverty line—didn’t find happy endings. In love or in life.

She couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times someone alluded to—or straight up told her, because racists have no shame—her having no future, being a receptacle for children, that she was going to be on welfare her entire life before dying of high blood pressure, high cholesterol, or diabetes. Or a combination of all three. Grace sighed and sliced off a piece of jamon iberico before pairing it with a piece of cheese and placing it atop the garlic bread like a Spanish bruschetta. Fuck them. Because look at her now.

She washed down the anger with a sip of her fourth mimosa. The poems reminded her of why she really left Oxford. Why she quit the United States and North America in general. Her first love. Her only love.

Liam.

Just thinking his name made her choke on her jamon iberico.

***

Once all of the plates were empty—yes, Grace single handedly demolished six plates of food but, to be honest, they were tapas and she was still hungry—and a few euros placed on the table, Grace grabbed her book and walked outside. It was just before noon. She looked to the right, looked to the left, and decided to go that way towards her tiny apartment above a bakery. It always smelled like sugar and chocolate and, in the afternoons, she could hear two older men arguing over their usual coffee and magdalenas.

The thought of the sweet, sugar topped Spanish muffin made Grace hum. It was a nice day and her article about fun things to do with your children in Valencia was done and turned in. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a whole day off.

She switched out of her favorite grey sundress and put a bright blue bandeau and matching swim bottoms on. For the sake of modesty, since her cheeks were coming out of her bottoms—it was either that or her ass crack and, honestly, that was not a good look—she tugged on a pair of short shorts and a thin, almost see through, white tank top. She left the button open on her shorts for the aesthetic before bounding out of her apartment, with her towel, mystery novel, and water bottle in her tote bag, to take the train into the city.

But not before stopping at the bakery to buy a bag of muffins.

***

Grace set up shop a few feet away from a giant sand castle. The beach was crowded—as it usually was during the weekends in the summer—but she managed to find a relatively empty area. There were a few children splashing near the water’s edge, some teenagers playing beach volleyball, and more than a few people sleeping. She set out to rub sunscreen all over—because she wasn’t playing that skin cancer shit—when something caught her eye.

Someone, really.

A blond-haired man and a long-haired brunette with matching blue surfboards. Suddenly, the blond turned his head and seemed to look right at Grace just seconds before he face planted in the sand. Like. Literally fell face first in the sand like he was a mermaid learning how to use his legs for the first time. Her eyes widened and she bit her lips to keep from laughing. Don’t laugh at the tourists, Grace. If they get embarrassed they won’t come back and you will be out of a job.

Grace watched the blond get up with the help of his friend. She watched him wipe his face with the soaked tee shirt he held in his hand. Kind of redundant to wipe your sand-covered face with something that probably had sand on it as well but. Grace figured he knew better than she did.

“Hi,”

Somehow, she missed the blond walking up to her. Probably because of the dark brown hair on his chest that Grace had been eyeing. It led down to a matching patch of hair that disappeared into his swim trunks. So many thoughts ran through her head re: that hair, what it led to, and what she’d like to do to him when she remembered that he spoke.

She raised an eyebrow up at the blond. “Qué?”

Oh, don’t do it to him, Grace. All he said was hi.

But hi led to ‘how are you’ and that led to ‘you’re beautiful’ which led to ‘can I have your number/email/facebook/twitter/linkedin/what’s app’ and that, ultimately, led to the dreaded ‘can I take you out sometime?’ Not that she was opposed to a nice night of wine and dancing. But it was the conversation she could do without. She didn’t even talk to Marta or Mateo like that and she saw them almost every day.

That was the whole point of moving away. Nobody knew her here despite how hard they tried. Grace liked it best that way. It kept her heart intact, her expectations reasonable, and her standards high. No more getting hurt. It was safer, for Grace, and it gave her something to hold onto.

“Oh, perdon, me llamo Niall,” He cleared his throat when his friend looked at him sideways. “Es que te vi esta manana y te queria decir algo pero no sabia que.”

Grace’s eyes widened so much she thought they were just going to roll out of her head. The odds of this man speaking perfect Spanish—accent and all—were slim to none. That was her go-to trick when tourists hit on her. But he was cute and the fact that he admitted to wanting to talk to her but not knowing what to say…fuck if that didn’t hit Grace in her cold, dead heart.

She smirked. “My name’s Grace.”

She hoped that wouldn’t come back to haunt her.

***

She ended up giving Niall her phone number that day at the beach, under strict promise that he wouldn’t try anything with her. After two weeks, he’d progressed from sending funny pictures to sending silly selfies. Grace was alright with that. She was even okay with him asking questions.

As long as he didn’t try to get deep. She was content to stay on that ‘what is your favorite color?’ level with him indefinitely.

Grace sat in her window, finishing an article about a festival in nearby city Alicante, wondering what she should do with her afternoon. There was always the beach, but she’d gone so much the past few weeks that she was tired of washing sand out of all her cracks. She gave her running shoes a sad glance. There was a 10k in a few months that she should be training for but the farmers market sounded like more fun than running in the dusty trails behind the small town. Her empty pantry would agree with her.

Hitting send on her article, she hopped up with more energy than she should have considering she’d stayed up all night to make deadline. That’s what happens when you put too much on your plate. In work and in food.

And, when you’re delirious from lack of sleep and food, you grab your phone and text a stranger to meet you at a farmer’s market. At least, that was Grace’s excuse.

She didn’t know what Niall’s excuse was when he agreed.

***

The first thing Grace noticed at the farmer’s market was the disproportionate amount of people holding hands. It was like all the fucking couples from Riba Roja del Turia came out that day to get their fresh tomatoes, greens, oranges, and churros. It felt like Grace and Niall were the only people not holding hands.

They weren’t gonna, either, so don’t get any ideas.

He cleared his throat and looked down at Grace. She could see him looking at her from the corner of her eye. Barely resisting a giggle, she looked at him with a playful brow raised. She wasn’t flirting. She was just sleep deprived.

(Keep telling yourself that, Grace.)

“What?” She said, smirk on her lips.

He shook his head and looked forward. “You told me, and I quote, ‘no compliments or anything that could be misconstrued as a crush’ so I’m just gonna stay quiet over here.”

She covered her face with her hands and laughed. Grace had grown to love her laugh despite being told her entire life to ‘tone it down,’ ‘be quiet,’ and ‘do you have to laugh so loud?’ She loved that her laugh turned heads. There was some funny shit happening over here and all y’all were missing out with your boring asses.

“Wow what kind of asshole says that to someone,” She said through her laughter.

When she looked up at Niall he was just grinning down at her and shaking his head. From what she’d learned about him over the past week, he was the chillest surfer dude ever. He was spending the summer in Spain with his cousin, Harry. They were originally from Canada. His favorite color was blue and he was always hungry. His words, not Grace’s.

He seemed to be the perfect buddy. He listened to her rules, didn’t try to skirt around them, and he would be gone in a few months. She would never see him again. Biting the inside of her lip, the cogs in Grace’s mind started working.

“Ignore what I said. If you have something to say, say it.” She looked over at him and tried her hardest not to lick her lips. Because he looked good but she wasn’t trying to start anything deep. A friendship, perhaps. She was mulling the pros and cons.

Pros: eye candy, someone to talk to, maybe he’d teach her how to surf

Cons:

She was drawing a blank on cons which made her feel like she was forgetting something. There were truly no downsides to being his friend, really, Grace? Really? Okay. Don’t come crying in a few months when you get your heart broke because that’s what you’re setting yourself up for.

Grace was fixing to argue with herself when Niall turned to her. He blinked and as he smirked his face transformed. Grace felt that smirk in between her thighs. Lord. She would let him do dirty things to her.

Um. Ma’am.

Get some sleep and maybe drink some water with your thirsty ass.

“Alright. I like your shorts,” He said. The gravel in his voice reverberated throughout Grace’s chest. She almost didn’t notice the little tug he gave to her hemline. Just inches from her thigh. If her shorts had been any tighter he would have grazed her skin and she was sure—as sure as the sky is blue, dirt is brown, and ice cream is delicious—that she would have jumped out of her clothes. Right there in the middle of town. “They look cute on you.”

Grace looked at Niall and then looked away as she shook her head. What do you even say to that? Grace could argue with the best of them. She could debate anything, she had been on an award-winning debate team in high school, but she failed at flirting. Like. Capital ‘F’ failure. Because her first instinct was to tell him his shorts looked cute on him, too.

And her second instinct—which is what she ended up going with—was pointing at the churros stand, looking up at him, and asking if he’d share a bag with her.

***

Grace didn’t see Niall for a few weeks after that. She wished she could say it was because she needed some space but, really, it was because he and Harry had taken a road trip to chase some waves. He’d sent her a few pictures of Harry wiping out—a technical surfing term that Niall taught her—and more than a few shirtless selfies.

There was something there. They were trying to ignore it—Grace, especially, because she didn’t need the drama—but she couldn’t ignore the reason why she smiled when Niall texted her or why she gripped her phone up so fast when she got a new message or why she had her ringer on at all when her phone used to be always on silent.

She rubbed a hand over her face and stood up from the small table in her tiny, one room apartment. Not that she couldn’t afford anything bigger. She’d fallen in love with the apartment when she visited. It was the last one her realtor showed her and it overlooked the eastern side of town. She had a view of the orange groves on the outskirts of town.

Grace wasted away her Friday by getting her nails done, taking a bath, washing her hair, and shaving her legs. That was her entire day. She was starting to feel cooped up in her apartment and found that she was just walking back and forth in her living room. Stopping in front of the tv, she decided she needed to go out.

Two hours later she was sitting at the bar at an oceanfront club at the marina in Valencia. Her go-to place was dead. There were a handful of people on the dance floor—not nearly enough for her to be comfortable dancing—but the drinks were good so she stayed.

She sipped her vodka cranberry and watched as the tourists on the dancefloor made a fool of themselves. After a certain amount of drinks anybody would get out and dance even if they knew damn well they had no rhythm. She took a gulp of her drink and looked at the entrance. She was going to leave as soon as she finished her drink.

That’s when she saw him.

Liam. In the flesh, right there, just a few feet away from her in his now-signature black suit and tie. She thought he looked ridiculous. It was almost one hundred degrees. Who wore a suit to a club outside of, like, Hollywood-types?

Grace turned her body so that her back was towards him. When she told Liam that she never wanted to see him again, she thought she’d made it clear that Spain was hers. He was a gazillionaire. He could afford to leave her the fuck alone.

Apparently not. Because just as she finished her drink there was a tap at her shoulder. She knew he would be there before she turned around. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her most bored expression before turning towards Liam.

“I couldn’t help but notice how familiar you look,” He said, speaking close to her ear because of the noise level.

She almost scoffed. Is that the game he wanted to play? Pretending not to recognize the girlfriend he left behind after college? The so-called ‘love of his life’? His ‘angel with no wings’? The girl that had wasted six years of her life on him? Really?

Okay.

“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She said, turning in her seat to face the bartender so her back was to Liam, once again.

And it was a nice back. She made sure of that with her work out regiment of running every other morning and lifting weights on the days she doesn’t run. Plus, she’d worn her favorite backless satin black dress. Grace knew she was looking good. He could eat a dick for all she cared.

Six fucking years and he thought he could talk to her any old way. Ha. He must have forgotten what she was like after all the models he’d ran through.

Grace quickly paid her tab and grabbed her clutch. She was halfway to the door when she realized Liam was following her. Rolling her eyes and sucking her teeth, she turned with her arms crossed.

“What?”

He stood there, staring, for a long moment. The area near the front door was fully lit and she wondered if he had realized his mistake.

“You remind me of someone I never thought I’d see again,” He whispered.

His words made her flinch.

“Yeah, well,” She shrugged and suddenly felt less in control of the situation. “Here’s hoping you’ll never have to see me again.”

With that, she turned and walked out the club. Her angry steps made her heels clack loudly in the night. Someone honked the horn and cat called her in Spanish and she flipped them off. She did not have the patience for that shit on that night.

“Grace, wait!”

Liam. When would he get the hint? How many times did she have to tell him that she was done with his bullshit? Done. She’d left a whole continent just so she wouldn’t have to see him again. And there he was, looking as gorgeous as ever, making Grace rethink all of her promises to herself.

Sighing, she raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Sorry, I just,” He ran a hand through his hair. Grace couldn’t help but notice he needed a haircut. “You look so different.”

“Five years will do that to you.”

He nodded and looked away, putting his hands in his pockets like he was wearing jeans and not a suit that probably cost more than Grace’s yearly rent.

“Can we just talk?”

She knew she would regret it later—and, honestly, she wasn’t sure what possessed her to agree—but the grin that took over Liam’s face when she agreed made her heart flutter. It had been five years. Surely, they could act like adults. They could at least have a conversation.

He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow as they started walking farther down the marina. As they walked up to one of Grace’s favorite gastropub’s it hit her that he’d been there before. There was no way he would know about that place tucked away at the end of the marina unless he’d been there before. In the same city. Without her knowledge. She couldn’t believe that was the first time they’d run into each other.

As they made their way into the gastropub—which was, really, just a glorified patio with a few tables and chairs but mostly lounge chairs with tables beside them—Grace took a deep breath. Was she ready to do this? She tried to forget everything about Liam. The way he looked at her, his smile, his laugh, especially the way his fingers felt as they grazed her skin and the way he looked deep in her eyes as he pushed inside her.

Sex is the last thing she needed to be thinking about as they laid next to each other on a two-person lounger. There was like two inches separating them. She couldn’t keep her mind from going there, though. She reminded herself of how good sex with Liam had been. He had to have learned a few new tricks over the years. She tried to hide her quick glance at his lap with a sip of her watermelon daquiri.

“How’ve you been?” He said, pulling her eyes from their attempt to find the outline of his dick.

She let the question sit for a moment as she sorted through her emotions. Her instinct was to be petty. She thought she had let go of the anger long ago but just seeing his face brought back all those emotions. A lump lodged itself in her throat. Hell no. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of making her cry. Again. No sir.

After clearing her throat, she made herself smile. “I’ve been great. Doing some freelancing right now. Momma tells me your little app is doing well.”

If you thought Grace wasn’t going to be petty you don’t know her very well.

“Yeah,” He laughed and took a sip of his beer. “It’s doing alright.”

“That’s great.”

She nodded. That was the extent of what she had to say to him. There was nothing else left. She had nothing to give this man that had stolen her light. He’d changed her whole personality. As other girls were finding themselves, Grace was losing herself. She’d only just found herself. Something that all the advice columns and baby boomers insisted happened during college.

“I didn’t come here to small talk,”

Grace blinked lazily. “What did you come here for, then?”

She bit her tongue to keep from saying what she really wanted to say. She didn’t have anything else to say to him. She wished he could get that through his head and leave her alone.

“I wanted to talk about us.”

I. I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I. Shut. Up. Grace didn’t want to hear any more sentences that started with ‘I.’ Whatever came after was usually only about what the speaker wanted or needed. Be careful with people who only speak in ‘I’s. They’re only there to smile at you while they break your heart over and over.

Listen to Auntie Grace. Her heart had only been broken once but that was more than enough. She knew what the fuck she was talking about.

“So, talk.” She said. As if she was going to make this easy on him.

He sat up and cleared his throat. Like he was about to make some big speech or something.

“I miss you.”

No, this motherfucker did not.

Did he just.

Seriously.

Grace managed to keep a straight face even as her thoughts bounced all over the place. Of all the things he could have said that’s what she was least prepared for. She fully expected him to ask for an apology—or even for his money back—for the tires she’d slashed, the windows she’d broken, the tv she’d smashed. Not that any of those damages compared to her heart circa 2017.

But she’d survived, she reminded herself. She survived and thrived and so did he. That much was clear. Why he felt he needed to come and intrude in her life five years after the fact was a mystery. He could never leave well enough alone. That was one thing about Liam. He was nothing if not persistent. And damn if it didn’t piss Grace off.

She just wanted to be left alone.

“Grace?”

“Hm?”

“I said I missed you.”

Oh, sweetie. She heard you the first time.

“Okay.”

Ouch.

That ‘okay’ hit Liam like a rock. Grace could tell he didn’t know what to say back. He’d expected the shy, meek Grace that he’d molded and instead he got this Grace. The Grace that didn’t care who you were, she wasn’t going to let you fuck with her. She was done with letting people walk all over her. She found that once you freed yourself from people like that your life became so much better.

She was happy. Certainly, happier than she was when she had a filter between her brain and her mouth.

“You look beautiful,” He said, leaning forward to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“Thanks.” She said, her hand going up to remove the piece of hair from behind her ear.

“Dammit Grace I just want to have a civil conversation,”

“So, have one. Nobody’s stopping you. But don’t be surprised if I don’t answer.”

“You’re so frustrating,” He sighed and shook his head. “What happened to you?”

She raised her eyebrows and blinked at him.

“What happened to me?” She placed a hand on her chest. “I grew up, Liam. What happened to you to think that you could just come out of nowhere and demand things of people?”

They sat on the lounger staring at each other for a long moment. Grace didn’t have anything else to say. She was sure Liam was trying to figure out how to counter what she’d just said. She would be amazed if he didn’t just leave. That’s what rich people did, right? When things get hard they threw money at their problems or they just ignored them.

“I’m sorry,” He said softly.

He said what now.

“Um, apology accepted,”

She set her drink down and looked out to the sea. It was dark though so she couldn’t really see anything except the white foam of the miniature waves crashing at the edge. There were people walking around but mostly they were hidden away inside the air-conditioned clubs or on the patios drinking.

Later, Grace would blame her next words on the alcohol. She would completely Jamie Foxx it. But at that moment, when she looked over at Liam, she wasn’t thinking about her anger. She wasn’t thinking about their past and the ways they hurt each other. She was thinking about that apology. About how sincere he sounded.

She stood from the lounger and held her hand out to Liam.

Somehow, he understood just what she needed.

***

Grace and Liam stumbled out of a taxi at the front of his hotel. She wanted some dick but she surely wasn’t inviting him to her apartment. She’d forgiven him but that didn’t mean she wanted his overall negative energy in her home.

But his hotel, that she could do. It was impersonal and she needed that to keep her heart at least an arm’s length away from Liam.

She let him lead her into the elevator and she let him press her into a corner with a hand on her ass. His lips sponged kisses up her neck. She hiked her leg around his hip as he sucked a spot beneath her ear that had her squealing.

The elevator dinged to let them know they were at his floor sooner than they both expected. With both her feet on the ground she was still a little shaky as she looked around. Of course, he was in the penthouse. Of course. She rolled her eyes behind his back as he walked out of the elevator.

Liam pressed the softest kiss on her lips. It reminded her of their first kiss on the playground in her neighborhood at three am on her seventeenth birthday. Soft, sweet, and just a little reckless.

“I hate you,” She whispered against his lips as he finally got his card key to work.

“I’m okay with that,” He said, voice muffled against her skin as he lifted her in his arms and walked into the hotel room, kicking the door shut behind him before dumping Grace on the massive ottoman in front of the couch.

She giggled as he licked up her neck. There was a part of her that was screaming at her to stop. Like. If she really wanted to cut all ties with Liam then why would she go home with him?

But the rest of her was telling that other part to shut up, mind its business, and get this dick.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” He whispered against her skin.

Why. Why did he have to say anything? She wasn’t here to talk. She was here for sex. Dassit.

“Shh,” She said, pressing a finger to his lips before replacing it with hers.

She wanted to make the rules. After years of following him, letting him make decisions, doing things because he wanted to…it was her turn.

Grace let Liam lick all on her body as her slinky dress slipped from her shoulders. He tossed it on the floor next to them and resumed licking down her torso, pressing a kiss to her clit through her thong, before all but ripping them from her body. He made Grace squirm on the ottoman as he alternated between kissing and licking down her legs and back up to her pussy.

He left her heels on. She was about to ask if he wanted her to take them off when she felt his tongue on her slit. All words—all breath, really—left her in that moment. Who cared about the heels, truly. All Grace cared about was the feeling of Liam’s breath on her sensitive skin and his tongue on her clit.

She ran her hands through his hair and pulled at the ends gently. He looked up and winked at her. Grace was done with this slow shit. His taking his time with her, lazily running his tongue around the area where she needed it the most. She wanted to come and she wanted to do it now. She growled and pressed on the back of his head. He got the point.

Within minutes Grace was coming undone. Her breath was ragged as she gasped and moaned through the feelings. Her back arched off the ottoman and her eyes rolled back as Liam undressed himself.

She turned and got on all fours before he could grab the condom from his wallet. Looking back at him as he put it on, she bit her lip against a grin. She wasn’t sure about missing Liam but she missed this, that’s for sure.

***

In the morning, Grace was wracked by debilitating doubt. She was wrapped up in Liam. His legs were intertwined with hers, his arm was around her bare waist, his face in her neck, his breath making goosebumps pop up on her skin. She could smell him all around her. It was the same cologne she’d gifted him for their first Christmas together.

And just like that, she was eighteen again.

Alone and afraid. Left behind. Images of pale skin, unfamiliar panties, and pink nail polish on some other girls’ toes flashed through her mind.

Grace pushed Liam’s limbs off her. If she didn’t get out of that bed in the next two seconds she was sure she would throw up on him. Did she really drink that much last night? She must have.

But, deep down, she knew that wasn’t it. She knew it was the memories that she’d repressed for so many years. Of Liam moaning as he pumped into a woman who was the complete opposite of Grace.

There was a noise coming from behind her but she refused to turn and see his face. This was her worst mistake. And she’d left home at 23 to move to a different country with barely a thousand dollars to her name. It was like she’d forgotten everything she told herself. All the promises, all the goals, all the time spent talking to her therapist about Liam. Everything down the drain. And for what? An orgasm and a half?

“Come back to bed, babe,” Liam said, his voice tinged with sleep.

She inhaled sharply. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” He sat up and placed a hand on her back. She shivered. “Stop playing, Grace, c’mon.”

She needed Liam to stop talking. She needed him to stop touching her. She needed to leave. Now.

Grace stood so fast that Liam fell forward onto the bed. She grabbed her clutch from the chair in the corner and her heels from the foot of the bed.

“Grace.” Liam yelled.

No he did not just yell at her.

That stopped her as she was walking out the bedroom bare ass naked. She gave him a dirty look. Who the fuck.

“Where are you going?” He said, his tone a little more respectful after seeing how angry Grace was.

“I’m going the fuck home where the fuck do you think I’m going,” She rolled her eyes and walked out the room muttering under her breath. “Talking about where I’m going like he’s my daddy or something he better get the whole fuck out of here what the fuck.”

She was dressed and out of his hotel room in two minutes flat. That must have been a record.

***

Days later, Grace was still thinking of her encounter with Liam.

She would walk around, muttering curses under her breath, wondering what it was about that man that made her fall every time. Did she have to write ‘This is Why You Shouldn’t Fuck Liam’ notecards or would she be good next time?

She hoped to God there wouldn’t be a next time.

As she laid on her couch in her underwear Grace thought about whether she should do something or continue to scroll through social media as she ignored the movie playing on her tv. Really, she should hit up her therapist because just talking to Liam brought forth many emotions but the fact that she fucked him, too, was really messing her up. She flopped onto her stomach and sighed.

The cushion underneath her buzzed. She reached down for her phone to see a text from Niall. He was back from his surfing trip and did she want to hang.

Did she want to hang? Ha. Yes. Yes, she did.

They agreed to meet at the beach. Niall was there—looking especially scrumptious in a pair of swim trunks and black sunglasses—when Grace arrived. She’d left her bikini at home, deciding to wear a blue off the shoulder top with a pair of white shorts instead.

Just being near the marina made Grace feel like crying.

Niall could sense it, or something, because he wrapped her in a hug as soon as she was close enough. She hid her face in his chest as he stroked her hair. He let her take as long as she needed and, when she pulled back, he let go immediately. It was nice.

“You okay?” He said, a sad smile on his face. Like he knew.

Grace shook her head and exhaled.

“No, I’m not okay,” Her voice cracked. She hated when that happened.

“Do you wanna talk, Gracie?”

She smiled weakly. He’d started that a few weeks before his trip. Gracie. Nobody else had ever given her a nickname. She loved it.

“My ex was in town,” Grace took a deep breath. Just two months ago she wouldn’t have been able to imagine talking to Niall about anything deeper than her Telepizza order and look at her now. About to tell ol’ boy everything. Because somewhere along the line—along the silly pictures, the trips to the farmers market, the late-night phone calls, the texts reminding her to sleep—their friendship had become deeper than just ‘what kind of pizza do you like.’

“Ah,” Niall winced because he knew about Liam. He was the main character of more than one of their late-night phone calls. “Do I need to kick his ass?”

Grace laughed, a loud laugh, one that was full of life. She looked at Niall and grinned while shaking her head. He snaked an arm around her shoulder and she leaned her head on his. Sometimes all you needed was a good friend to help you, to not give up on you, to know when you needed to talk about something and to know when you needed a laugh.

“No, seriously,” He said.

“We talked for a while, argued a bit, and then, uh,” She took a deep breath. “I went home with him. Big mistake.”

Grace looked out to the ocean and pursed her lips as she thought of how to translate her thoughts into speech.

“You know when you want something you’d eaten before, a little too much, and you think about it a lot and then, when you eat it, it’s not nearly as good as you remembered?”

Niall nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It was a lot like that.” She whispered.

He took his arm from around her shoulder. She stopped and looked up at him. He was looking down at her. It was probably the worst timing on Grace’s part but she couldn’t stop looking at his lips.

“Come on,” He whispered, grabbing Graces’ soft hand gently with his callused one.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “What are we doing?”

“Just go with it, Gracie,” He said, tugging at her hand before lacing his fingers with hers and taking off at a jog.

She laughed as they dodged tourists, children, dogs, and peoples’ belongings. He was getting her mind off Liam, she knew that, and she was glad for Niall. That she had him in her life. That she hadn’t pushed him away.

When they stopped—a few feet from her favorite ice cream shop, which was probably Niall’s plan from the beginning—they were winded and grinning. Niall’s face was red and when he turned to Grace she laughed.

“Is there something on my face?”

“You’re so red, poor baby,” She said through her laughter.

Niall pouted. “Sure, make fun of the white guy.”

That made a fresh bubble of laughter burst out of Grace. Her head tipped back and, when it came back, Niall was standing right in front of her. Closer than he was before. She blinked up at him as his face came closer to hers. She realized that he was going to kiss her seconds before his lips grazed hers, as if asking for permission. She leaned up on her toes to press her lips fully to his.

He opened his mouth against hers and she followed suit. Their tongues tangled as their battle took them back and forth from his mouth, to hers, and back. The kiss made her forget that she needed to breathe. She was gasping as she leaned back down on her feet.

Was the world spinning or was that just Grace?

Niall pressed one last kiss to Grace’s forehead before she took his hand and led him to the window of the ice cream shop. She wasn’t sure if this was anything. Wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be anything. All she knew was that Niall was safe. He was safe and happy and soft.

Sometimes you needed that.

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Amos you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Rabastan Lestrange

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Amos! We were so excited to see your application in our inbox, and even more to see that you were going for a character outside of your norm. For a Death Eater, especially a Lestrange, you captured Rabastan perfectly. It’s clear what drives him and how his mind works, and we can’t see where you take him moving forward in CRT. Welcome to the family!

application beneath the cut ( tw: mentions of drug and sexual assault )

OUT OF CHARACTER

Introduction: Amos, 21, he/him, GMT

Activity: Starting from February I’ll have a 9-5 job, I’m also writing a dissertation, and I would say I’m have a fairly moderate social life, so I can’t promise to be on 24/7, but I will most likely be on in the evenings, and I will most likely rp when I’m procrastinating doing actual work.

How did you find us? Just through a tumblr search for literate rps

Anything else? On Rabastan’s bio it gives his age as twenty, but looking at the current in game date and the graduation list, I think he’s 22? But I could have figured that out wrong. Either way I’m happy to move his birth year around to fit whatever.

IN CHARACTER

Desired character: Rabastan Lestrange

Birthday / star sign: 17th April 1957 - Aries

Occupation: Unemployed, and that’s the way he likes it. His family is wealthy enough that he’ll probably never have to think too much about money. He can live day to day, and do as he pleases without ever thinking about the gold he’s spending. Being the brother to Rodolphus, he’ll occasionally dress up fancy and attend formal events, shake hands with the right people, pose for the right pictures, give the right comments to the right reporters. However he much prefers pulling the strings of political figures and public opinion from the shadows. As anyone can see, he’s far too busy for an actual job.

Faceclaim: Matthew Daddario (no change, I think? It’s different on his bio, and on the directory. But I’d prefer to use Matthew)

Reason for chosen character: I have a habit of playing squeaky clean or at least morally good characters, and I’ve grown bored of it. I think Rabastan will challenge me, he’s just exciting. I’m inspired to write a morally corrupt bad boy right now, to figure out what drives him and what his motives are. It’ll be interesting to play someone who thinks very differently to how I think.

Rabastan has a lot of qualities that I would usually despise in someone. Obviously, he’s dedicated to this fascist movement. He’s aggressive and violent. He’s definitely not a feminist. Honestly if he were around today he’d probably deny global warming too. He wouldn’t hunt foxes, but only because he’s having too much fun hunting muggles. Any sane person would hate him. So, it’ll be incredibly interesting to find a way to make him likeable. He has a tender side, he has weaknesses, he has affection. He just finds it difficult to access these or admit to them. I don’t think he sees himself as a bad person. I think he can rationalise all his actions and beliefs. Maybe there’s some naivety to him. I think he finds it very hard to do anything at less than 110%. Either he’s indifferent or he’s set on fire with the passion of it all. The things he doesn’t care about fall to the wayside, the things he holds as sacred get his whole attention.

Preferred ships // Character sexuality // Gender & Pronouns: Male – He/Him, Bisexual, No preferred ships.

Sex and romance are two very separate things for Rabastan. Sex is something he does to blow off steam. He has an urge and he fulfils it. I think he’s a pretty selfish lover, especially when his partner is a women. I think he’ll take what he wants without too much of a thought for his partner. With men it’s more fun for him, perhaps because he doesn’t really see it as real. Obviously, he’s engaged to Emma at this point. I don’t think he’d see having sex with men as cheating, and no amount of reasoning could convince him otherwise. It’s just a fact that he is never going to marry a man, and he can’t get them pregnant, so having sex with them almost doesn’t count. That being said, I don’t think he’d have a problem with sleeping with other woman whilst engaged to Emma either. Emma sleeping around though, would trigger his temper in a heartbeat.

I feel like there might be some kind of trauma in his past, maybe some older relative praying on him when he was younger, and him experiencing some kind of sexual abuse. This is why he’s emotionally detached from sex, and he likes to be in control of every sexual encounter. But I think that’s very subconscious and he’s probably buried a lot of those memories and feelings.

He’s extremely sceptical of romance and romantic love. He’s never understood it, and never experienced it for himself. If it is real, it’s something that happens to other, softer people. I think one day it’s going to hit him like a train when he’s least expecting it and he’s not going to handle it very gracefully.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER

§ Trait expansion:

✓  Charming – Rabastan likes to get what he wants, and if that means he has to draw that person in with a smile, he’ll do it. He knows how to make people feel good. And that just makes it even better when he decides to ruin them. Rabastan can hold an audience captive, can make someone feel like they’re the only person in the world that matters. He can also make them feel like they’re burning from the inside out.

✓  Spontaneous – This doesn’t mean that Rabastan doesn’t think critically and pre-determine certain actions. He’s not an idiot who jumps into situations unprepared. All the time. He’s spontaneous when he feels he can’t lose, or alternatively, when he feels he has nothing left to lose. Showing up at a friend house for an unexpected night out, doing 5 tequila shots and going home with a girl he picked up at the bar, spontaneous but relatively low risk. Dropping his pants during a press conference and declaring his loyalty to the Dark Lord just for the heck of it, fairly high risk, definitely not something he’d do in a hurry. This plays into the fun-loving side of him. He’s game until it isn’t fun anymore, and he’s not going to deliberately do something that’s going to cause him hell.

✕  Deceptive – There are very few people who know the real Rabastan inside and out. His brother is probably one of the closest. Even Rabastan himself isn’t always completely clued in. Though he acts confident, he can doubt his identity. Largely his deceptiveness is a security tactic. If people don’t know the whole truth, they can’t hurt him as efficiently. Unfortunately, this also means he can lose his sense of self.

✕  Easily bored -  Rabastan is a hedonist, he gets bored easily, he seeks thrills, he’s not one to sit still and wait for what he wants, he’ll go out and chase it. This does mean he has a few unhealthy habits for dealing with the all too common boredom. Drugs, alcohol, sex, cruelty, or a combination.

§ Potential plots/connections:

The Regular – Someone Rabastan meets up with regularly to let out frustrations, usually in the form of sex, but perhaps with other pass times. Perhaps they think they know Rabastan pretty well, and maybe Rabastan feels the urge to let them in. But he keeps them at arm’s length nonetheless. The more he’s feels vulnerable with them, the more he wants to hurt them. Perhaps Rabastan harbours genuine affection for this person, or maybe they are nothing more than a plaything. Maybe this person feels the same way about him.

The Master – Someone who has power over Rabastan. Maybe they have dirt on him and use it for blackmail, maybe Rabastan owes them a debt, or perhaps Rabastan is inexplicably loyal to them for emotional reasons he’d rather not admit to himself. Whatever the reason, Rabastan is forced to do things he wouldn’t usually choose for himself.

The Rival – Someone that makes Rabastan’s blood boil every time he sees them. Perhaps the bad blood goes back a long way, or maybe the dislike is instantaneous and inexplicable. Rabastan wants nothing more to destroy this person, but they match him blow for blow everytime they go head to head. These battles may take the form of actual duels, or they maybe carefully plotted actions to tears the other’s life apart from the shadows.

The Weakness – Someone Rabastan feels genuinely close to. He may not admit it but he cares for this person deeply, and he doesn’t always know what to do with those feelings. He gets it wrong a lot of the time, he may push them away, but this person knows him better than most. Maybe this knowing is an intuitive feeling, or perhaps its long-term experience gathered over many years. Someone Rabastan would go to when he’s fucked up. Someone he would protect from harm no matter what. This person is Rabastan’s weakness.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

§ Do you think it is more important to be feared or loved? Which would you rather be?

Fear, absolutely. Fear drives people, love just slows them down. Besides it’s much easier to cultivate fear. Love doesn’t last long if you don’t tend to it regularly, and I really don’t have the time. You can break someone once and it can infect everything they do for the rest of their lives. That’s power.

§ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

Let it never be said that Rabastan Lestrange doesn’t know how to have a good time. If you think you have a hope in hell of keeping up with me you better buck up your ideas.

§ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it!

Merlin, just give me a potion that means I don’t have to sleep. Who has time for that shit?

§ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

Deciding where to eat is always a struggle. Deciding who to eat with. Deciding how much I can tell them. Deciding how to get rid of them when they let me down.

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Rabastan probably posed for a few pictures when the Daily Prophet started rebuilding. Shook a few hands, smoothed over a few wrinkles. But he probably wasn’t too involved, he’s not interested in the heavy lifting.

Rabastan likes Quidditch as much as the next man. He most likely used the world cup as an excuse to party harder than he usually does. The Aversio stunt made his blood boil. At such a public event, there was nothing he could do to counter it. He did not like feeling helpless. He probably went out to attack some muggles in the following days to vent his frustration.

WRITING SAMPLE

TW: Swearing, drugs

Rabastan padded through the house, tossing the quaffle up and catching it, creating a rhythmic thumping. There was a tenseness in his arms, a restraint, his jaw tight. Then without warning he hurled the quaffle. It smashed directly into a priceless vase, shards of china exploding across the room. He let a huff out through his nostrils as he examined the scene. Damn these insolent rebels. Mudbloods, blood traitors, mislead idiots, he’d kill them all.

The floor boards creaked behind him and when he turned around the girl was standing in the doorway.

“Come back to bed.” She gave him a sly smile but his expression didn’t change.

“Get dressed, and get out.” He said slowly, articulating every word so that even a halfwit like her could understand. Unsurprisingly she didn’t.

“What? I don’t-“

“Leave! Now!” He roared, anger getting the better of him. She flinched as if she’d been physically hit and ran back to the bedroom. He was still, listening, until he heard the front door slam behind her.

With that he took his wand from the harness that kept it strapped to his forearm, and repaired the vase. Everything else was a fucking mess, no need for his living space to reflect that. The girl had been a nice distraction the night before but she was nothing. Now he needed to focus on the bigger problems, like retrieving his fiancée. It wasn’t so much a matter of love, but pride. She belonged to him, and every hour she was withheld from him was an insult. Of course not being the Minister of Magic his problems were pushed down the priority list. But this didn’t look good for any of them. One of the most powerful wizarding families in Britain and they couldn’t even keep hold of their women.

He didn’t trust the Aurors to return her safely to him either. Half of them were probably involved in the capture, and those that weren’t were incapable fools. If he wanted her found, he’d have to do it himself. He was half tempted to leave it a little longer. It would stir up more public sympathy, a bigger story when she was miraculously saved by her doting fiancé. Besides, if she was stupid enough to get herself kidnapped she might as well suffer a little longer.

However, he was impatient. Now, he could play detective, or he could smoke out a member of aversio, using them for information or a bargaining chip. He knew which one appealed to him more.

He scribbled a quick note about his intentions to his brother and tossed his jittery bird out of the window. It didn’t go into detail, that would be careless, but Rodolphus would understand. Not that he would take it seriously. Rodolphus rarely took him seriously.

He picked out his clothes carefully, making sure his appearance was immaculate in the mirror. Appearances were everything. Then he took a small vial from a drawer and downed the potion. It burned the back of his throat, and a small involuntary gasp escaped when it hit his system, his eyes blown wide for a second before returning to normal. It wasn’t anything particularly strong, just something to sharpen his edges. There were some in the drawer that could send him into oblivion, but this was all he needed today.

His wand was now strapped back to his arm, hidden discreetly beneath his shirt, but still easily accessible. He checked it once more. Every second his intentions became clearer and his future actions more defined. With purpose, he turned on the spot and disapparated.

It was time to go hunting.