#( ...and Lily is still groveling)

[s4ndg3m]

[musee-de-muse]

Anar'alah Belore

DWC November 2024

Day 4: Surrender/Tranquil

OC: Lilliana Whitedawn, Sin'dorei "Felblood"

@daily-writing-challenge

Art Source, Artist

The long, lean blonde rode the path to the Whitedawn estate at a slow trot... closing her eyes, giving Tiberius the reins - old as he was, the faithful charger knew his way home well enough. She could feel the heat of the afternoon sun prickling at her skin, as her leathers grew warm... and for a moment, she let herself simply bask in the sun, drinking in the scent of a garden in bloom – pausing only a moment to enjoy a spot of shade beneath orange and yellow leaves.

That's when she saw it – the crimson strider heading towards her at practically break-neck speed - which could only mean one thing. She swung a leg up and over the massive equine, hopping down to brace herself as the bird came careening towards her.

It still knocked the wind out of her, as the girl practically flung herself from the bird as it came to a halt – throwing her arms around her mother as she slammed into her, the older of the two rocking on her heels. She'd forgotten just how much bigger Caiti was now... no longer a little girl she could pick up in her arms and swing around; no longer climbing all over the couch with her mother, pretending to make Lily walk the plank – she would be a teenager soon. That thought alone made her chest tighten - and as she settled back onto her feet, she squeezed the girl tighter.

“Minn'da!”

The bird was upon her in no time – as was her daughter - the feathered creature having grown just as much as Caitiri had since she'd first received the bird as a gift... and a lesson in responsibility.

Caitiri squirmed, “Alright, alriiiiight -” wriggling her way out of her mother's arms, scrunching her nose up at the woman, “It hasn't been that long...” As if she hadn't been the one to race out to meet her mother, “Can I go back with you to Dornogal?”

And there it was. Lily supposed that, after all, this was not only her fault for bringing Caitiri along to the Dragon Isles, but... this was her daughter, after all... and they were cut from the same cloth. The heavy exhale through her nose was enough to see the preteen's features immediately crinkle in anticipation of the “No” that sound often preceded.

“Caitiri... this isn't like it was in the Dragon Isles. For one... I mean, you know that Eryth is busy – the Dragon Isles might be safe, for now, but we're not his only family – there's much the dragons still need to tend to. And he's really the only person I would trust to watch over you in a place like Dornogal – the only being powerful and trustworthy enough to keep an eye on my most precious treasure, hm?” She flicked the girl's nose, earning a faux-grimace, and a huff as the girl rubs at the spot. “Besides, it's more dangerous, as well. Even if Erythraestrasz were free to spend time with you and I every moment of every day... I still don't know if I would allow it. The things happening out there... not even the main city can truly be considered safe – and it's not peopled and guarded by dragons, either, like last time.”

The girl's crestfallen expression ate at her, as she brushed a strand of brunette hair back behind her daughter's long, slender ear, “I know... the taste of a 'no' on my tongue wounds me, as much as you.” How she hated those words – her own youth was not so far gone as to dull the memory of the ache of hearing such things, herself; no child likes the feeling of being left behind - of not being "enough," yet.

The young Sin'dorei rolls her eyes, however, and turns on a heel - to re-mount her bird – her mother quickly moving to do the same with her own steed, “It's so boring here with Aunt Ci. She's so stuffy, and never lets me do anything fun.”

"You know, what she's teaching you is important... though I admittedly didn't enjoy having to sit around learning most of it, either. Some battles are won by blade, arrow, and spell... and others are won with wit, words, and poise." And a little bit of cheating, if a certain red-haired rogue had instilled anything into the towering blonde during their time together - but that was a lesson that could wait until Caitiri was a little bit older, herself.

By the Light, but it was like her own memory come to life... the brown hair, the sullen expression, and the open complaints about her aunt – it was all too familiar. But at least, with all the years that had passed, Lilliana had made peace with the Aunt who had raised her. She had been a child that Cecily hadn't expected – the woman and the child having lost a brother, and a father, respectively... and neither were prepared for the hardships to come. Cecily had been harsh... even cruel in her expectations and punishments – but she, too, had been lost in grief, with the responsibility of a child thrust upon her that she hadn't asked for – and they had both suffered for their inability, and eventual unwillingness, to work things out.

But they were all the family each other had – and with time, and a concerted effort – they had reconnected, worked through the pains of Lilliana's own childhood... and she could confidently say that she felt safe with entrusting her own daughter to her Aunt "Ci," these days. The woman might be stern, and demanding – but she was no longer a broken woman, tormented with loss, struggling to raise a young child she'd never asked to bear responsibility for.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Typical of a preteen, the frustrated mutter – but she let her daughter have this moment of frustration. To be a child on the cusp of her teen years, denied what seems like the adventure of a lifetime? She could mutter under her breath a bit, as a rebellious little treat.

Lilliana urged her steed forward, to ride alongside her daughter perched upon her bird, and the girl shot her a frustrated look – brows pinched, lips pressed flat - before simply prompting, “Well... tell me about it, at least! It's a brand new place! No one's EVER been there, right? Do the Dwarves really eat rocks? Do they all live in caves? I bet that's why there's so many spiders.”

The sun kissed her leather-clad shoulders anew, as they rode out from under the overhanging branches, closing in on their home, while Lily simply listened – allowing her daughter to chatter, the woman answering the occasional question peppered in along the way - allowing herself to enjoy the tranquility of the moment. This moment that never should have been, with a child she'd never planned for. Caitiri had been an “accident” – the child herself not the mistake, so much as the time spent with the man who had fathered her - but for as much as she had long regretted letting him woo her... the one good thing that that bastard Dayne had ever done, was to leave her this child that made her heart sing – that gave her hope not just for herself, but for a brighter Azeroth, in time.

But first... they had to save Azeroth – and that... that she would not tell her only child - the weight of the world would be her mother's to bear.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Hellooo idk if you've played the Tekken games before but what if neglected reader is like Lili? Djjsbsjdjd gahh I love her sm and she's like this sassy confident lady hehehe and her outfits are GORGEOUSS 😭😭

And I got this idea for a Lili! Neglected reader while playing the dark resurrection game and how Lili is just this badass Compeating to save her father's business ^^;;

"Please don't tell my father!"

Lili Rochefort!reader x yandere batfam

Bruce and your mother's marriage was not based on love but rather a financial arrangement. She desired Wayne's wealth, and she obtained it. She ensured a biological child with him, even if their divorce was inevitable. Your mother would still retain his riches. Without lifting a finger, which meant you were more of a tool to gain wealth than actually be a daughter.

When your mother was through and had gotten what she wanted, she left you in your father's hands—the cruelest thing the woman ever did to you. Living in the manor was a nightmare. You had thought you were an only child, but life spat in your face and gave you "brothers." Rude, obnoxious, mean, angry, rage-filled, obsessed little creatures with a taste for violence; you found it vile how they would fight like brutes in front of the dinner table, making you almost drop your plate of decadent food Alfred had prepared for you. How beastly you think, watching them fight on TV in ridiculous costumes, fighting crime, and causing public property damage. They barely even had manners at galas or block events. So what if they acted like they wanted nothing to do with you? You wanted nothing to do with them.

"She’s so stuck up."

"She acts like such a princess."

"She walks like she has a stick up her ass."

You didn't care what your siblings said, wiping your long blonde hair in their faces. You were a sophisticated young girl, and that’s what you were raised to be: a good morning routine, daily workouts, piano lessons, and ballet on weekends. You were far from a ruffian; you were a lady and deserved to be treated as such. You didn't care how much Steph hated your prissy attitude or how Cass thought you were weak, how Jason thought you were a spoiled brat, or how Dick and Duke believed you had never been through a day of hardship in your life.

Tim and Damian never agreed, but one thing they could agree on was that all you were was a pretty rich girl, and you never tried to make them think you weren’t. Sure, there was more to you than meets the eye; Alfred knew that, but your brothers could never see it. When your father—the man you had been trying to impress for years with your good behavior, good grades, and overall good everything—wouldn't even spare you a passing glance, your whole world crumbled. He never loved your mother, and you knew better than that, but why couldn’t he love you? All he did was throw his ultimatum black card at you and say, "Not now, [Name]."

He thought you were like your petty mother, that you only cared about inheriting the Wayne fortune, nothing more. So, he kept you occupied with pretty dresses, nice shoes, and fancy ballet slippers. He couldn’t be serious, but the only way your father knew how to communicate was through violence—pure, unadulterated violence. Sitting in spare with Jason, you realized what language your family spoke; even Barbara had spoken it once or twice. It was violence, so you decided to speak their language—this unspoken language of fighting.

Holy shit, was it not fun! No wonder you saw the smile on Cass's face when she fought Duke in a match; it was pure fun watching your opponent fall and grovel underneath you, knowing you had the upper hand in a fight. Knowing you were better was pure bliss. But you must remember to fix your makeup after every match; a lady like you must never mess up her nails. And every time you win, you laugh like a mad woman, but you'll never tell your father that you're a fighter because you're his delicate little girl who's scared of dogs that bark too loudly.

[mmmilkweed]

There's no winning with these people. I'm sorry you're going through this. You're getting dogpiled and don't have the brain capacity to write a full apology yourself, so you get a friend to help so you can address it quicker. People take this as insincerity. But if you'd taken enough time to gather yourself you'd be accused of trying to brush it off.

This is what I mean when I say they will never be satisfied. First it's a nothing burger white lily comic. Then it's the discord. You take steps to fix it. But people don't think you've groveled enough or in the right way, so now it's a nothing burger au about having an unrequited crush on your teacher. You apologize. You didn't grovel hard enough. Now they accuse your first two apologies of being fake. You write one yourself. You didn't grovel hard enough.

Humans are social, and rejection hits harder than acceptance. We're not really meant to be able to process this level of interaction. And getting brigaded by what feels like the entire fandom (it isn't. I know it feels like it is, but these are VERY online people) is gonna send your animal brain into panic mode. This will pass. Both the accusations and the feeling.

You'll get through this.

the first one WAS written by me, and then made to look 'professional' by my friends. The second, I kept stressing how I'm afraid of my words coming apart, like they have many times before, I'm sorry im using your kind message to talk about this, but i think i'll break again if i don't tell at least someone.

i was scared and i felt alone

i just woke up

is it so wrong that i took the help form a native english speaker?

I saw it only as a template, a structure to keep my wandering words at bay.

had i not taken the template and made it my own? I can't explain enough how i could not trust myself to find the words i needed, or the thoughts to express myself. The agony from a day before bleeding directly into the morning. Funny thing about that - today i woke up weeping, dreaming my apology hurt even more people. I'm already dreading going to bed tonight, knowing i'll wake up in the same state tomorrow. And here, have the notes of the first apology. The thoughts, the feelings are ALL MINE! I simply no longer trust myself to type them. Paranoia has me in its clutches, I'm looking over every word i type, even now, trying to see if there's a second meaning behind it.

Oh Anon, I'm sorry I'm using you as an excuse to vent about this, I really am.

I thought a lot, and i mean a lot about your message. I've cried several times about it now. ''and rejection hits harder than acceptance.''

Even though my discord was flooded with kindness, with messages that truly did help a little.. I still feel so utterly alone. I can't even look at my wife without feeling guilty. I can't look at my contemporaries without feeling like a wolf in sheeps clothing, even when so many of them told me they see i had no ill intentions. I went to church today - I could not stand before God, I stayed in my pew holding back tears. I begged for his forgiveness too, even when I know he knows my intentions were never to hurt anyone, even when I know he stood beside me through all of this. I feel like one of his lambs, left behind by the herd. No, not left behind. I am willingly staying behind because I'm afraid of hurting people again. There's only a small resemblance of peace within me, knowing He'll stay behind with me. I'm sorry, I know listening to religious people can be a trigger to some

i hope you can forgive the rant. I thought I could do well isolated, but i still find myself panicked and.. alone.

[kitten4sannie]

blood pact

pairing: vampire! wooyoung x human! reader (fem)

genre: vampire society au, a lil bit of angst, smut

summary: living in a city overrun by bloodsuckers is already hard enough on its own, but you’re really put to the test when one of them ends up being your only hope in the face of danger.

w.c: 4.3k

warnings: blood/injury, depictions of violence, death(s)? of a few vampires, hard-ish dom (slight tamer)! wooyoung, subby (tiny bit bratty)! reader, these mfs are nasty alr, some light brat taming, one or two little slaps, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, blood kink obv <3 (includes blood drinking/sharing), kissing, oral (giving), throat fucking, brief breath play, pain kink, mutual masturbation, lotus position but it’s rough !!, creampie

a/n: oh mannn i’m a bit late again 😣 but im excited to share this one with you all !! i wanted to thank my dear lily for beta reading this one for me and giving me lovely feedback that helps me grow as a writer, it truly means the world to me my dear 🩷 once again i do apologize if this fic seems disjointed in any way ,, things have been a bit weird but i won’t let life stop me from sharing nasty smut >:((( lol i hope you enjoy and please lemme know what you thought <33

song rec: dirt - depeche mode (we’re taking it wayyy back with this one <3)

fictober 2024

You were never able to pinpoint exactly when humanity went to shit, as it had always been in a state of constant conflict and disarray, but somewhere along the way, it turned into a raging dumpster fire — one that was close to impossible to put out once it was lit. Unbeknownst to humans, there was a society of vampires that lived in the shadows for centuries, waiting patiently until it was the perfect time to make their existence known and feared. What better time to take over the world than when the humans were too busy being at each other’s throats to even realize they had a common enemy, one that would drain them of their life source within a blink of an eye? 

Anyone with a pulse had no choice but to fall in line and succumb to their undead overlords, having to make up their mind about whether they would like to join forces with the enemy by desecrating their DNA and joining those that single-handedly brought upon humanity’s destruction, or grovel at their feet and become a slave, a house pet of sorts whose soul purpose was to feed and entertain their blood-sucking masters.

It was not an easy choice for most, and especially for you, so you simply found another solution — blend in. If you embodied everything a vampire was, even down to their immeasurable sense of pride and entitlement, how could they tell you apart from the others? And when they saw through your ruse, you would drive a stake through their still heart. You would never join their empire, let alone be one of their toys, especially not for some pompous undead prick that would treat you like a glorified juice box. 

Yet, here you were, drunk off your ass at a gothic nightclub that welcomed vampiric guests and shunned anyone with a beating heart, unless they were owned and branded. 

“Gimme another whiskey, neat,” you slurred, holding your empty shot glass to the poor excuse of a human bartender standing on the other side of the bar. You scoffed at the jeweled collar he wore around his neck, knowing he was owned by whatever undead asshole that ran the nightclub. You had your own collar, of course, but you had taken it from someone that was…no longer in need of it. You did what you had to, to make it through another night in the corrupted world you regretfully called your home. 

“I should cut you off, y’know, especially after being such a dick to me all night,” the man mumbled, despite reaching underneath the bar to grab an almost empty bottle of whiskey and filling your glass back up, not wanting to risk angering his superiors. 

“But, you won’t. Your vampiric asshole of a boss wouldn’t like that you’re denying a paying customer.” You stuck your tongue out at the man, much to his dismay. You sipped on the whiskey, liking the way it burned as it went down your throat, grateful that you could still feel something, even if it was a drunkenness that would most likely do irreversible damage to your liver. It’s not like your life really mattered, not in this timeline, at least. 

You lazily held your glass up in his direction, blowing a few strands of loose hair out of your eyes. The man simply held up the empty bottle and gave you a tight smile. “All out. Now, would you pay your tab?” 

“Fineeee, oh my god,” you groaned dramatically, standing up from the barstool and wobbling a bit, fishing for your wallet somewhere inside your worn trench coat. When you opened it up, you came upon the discovery that it was completely empty, looking up to find fear inside the bartender’s eyes. “L-listen, I can replace that bottle, okay? I-I’ll…just need to stop by the local temp agency first.” 

“I think you should leave, before they catch wind of this…” the bartender warned you under his breath, unconsciously tugging at his collar. 

Swallowing harshly, you glanced around the crowded, dingy club past the collar of your coat, before stumbling your way past many vampire patrons that were drunk off the blood of their human pets who stayed close to them, wishing your blurry surroundings weren’t moving in slow motion. Paranoid that somebody was following you, you looked past your shoulder, only seeing the same crowd of drunken patrons. Temporarily relieved, you swiftly faced forward again, only to accidentally bump into someone face-first, your teeth clinking into the metal of their lip ring, your hands almost getting caught in the many necklaces they were wearing. “I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t kill me,” you automatically apologized, already knowing they weren’t human based on the lack of a collar and color in their cheeks. 

“If I wanted to, I would,” Wooyoung teased in his own special way, quite aware of the way your heart rate spiked as soon as his light, airy words reached your ears. He enjoyed playing around with his food as much as the next vampire, but lately, it’s grown quite dull, like everything else in his never-ending life.

“O-oh!” you squeaked, letting out a nervous laugh, sticking one hand into your coat pocket to wrap your fingers around the sharp stake you carried with you everywhere. 

He brought one manicured finger up to tap against the jewel sitting snugly against your collared neck, leaning in to press his lips against the slope of your ear. “I’d take you right here in front of everyone, drink you dry. Let them all enjoy the pretty sounds you’d make. Does that sound fun?” 

“Oh, you can try it, if you want,” you goaded him, looking up at him with your big doe eyes once he pulled back, wondering if he knew just how unhinged you were, just how on the edge you really were. “But, what happens if I’m poisonous? I might not be worth the stomachache.” 

Wooyoung chuckled to himself, not used to any human acting so boldly towards him. “Fair point, human.” 

“Y/N,” you corrected him, letting go of you weapon in favor of wrapping your finger around one of his silver necklaces, teasing him back in your own way. “You should at least know my name if you’re going to drink from me.” 

Wooyoung mused at your actions, studying you with his sly fox eyes, licking at the mole on his lip. He would’ve pursed you if you hadn’t suddenly gotten spooked by something, turning his head to watch you continue making your way out of the club, noticing that the owner quickly followed after you. Things were certainly getting interesting. 

By the time you inhaled the cold night air into your lungs, you had already broke out into a sweat. You let your heavy coat hang off past your shoulders and leaned back against a nearby wall, regretting all the alcohol you had subjected your poor body into taking. “Fuck me…” you groaned, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back into the cool concrete behind you, hoping that would make the world stop spinning. 

“Is that an invitation…?” asked the very vampire you had been talking shit about to the bartender just a few minutes earlier. “It’s the least you could offer me in exchange for all the whiskey you drank in my club, filthy human.” 

Your blood ran cold. “D-don’t you even think about touching me…You aren’t my owner.” 

“Oh, because of this little collar you have on? You really don’t have a clue about our kind, do you? There’s no pheromones on you, just your own filthy human scent,” the vampire chided, running his finger along the worn band of your lace collar. It made your skin crawl. You struggled to keep down all the alcohol you had drowned yourself in. Just then, he ripped it from your neck and replaced it with his slender fingers, squeezing around it until your vision grew just that more blurry. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make up for all the lost time that you haven’t been used like a proper toy.” 

Blinding rage joined the revulsion you felt for the individual that continued to toy with you as though you were a defenseless child, the culmination of it churning around inside your body like molten hot lava ready to pour out of you. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” you barked, shoving your hands into his shoulders as hard as you could, your feverish anger growing that much more when he hardly moved. 

In response, the vampire tugged your coat down and ripped open your top, causing the buttons to fly off. His abhorrent words became nothing more than radio static inside your ringing ears, once you saw red, clutching the wooden stake inside your pocket so tightly that it pierced your fragile skin. You reeled your arm back and drove it straight into the owner’s side, so violently that the wood split into shards, not letting go of it until you knew that it was lodged deeply inside him, wishing, hoping he felt even a fragment of the pain his kind had caused you. “Die,” you muttered, searching his eyes for some sign of shock, regret, grief, anything. 

Confusion overtook your flushed features when the man simply laughed directly in your face, as though he were savoring a joke that you weren’t in on, suddenly feeling a white hot burning pain inside your abdomen. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t, not while you were gurgling on your own blood. You looked down to see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of your stomach, reality hitting you like a ton of bricks, rendering it impossible to draw in air. 

“It never ceases to amuse me when a blood bag thinks they can stop someone like me with something as silly as a wooden stake,” he began, letting out a small hum, as he drove his ritual dagger in as far as it could go. He leaned in close to you, twisting the knife around inside you just to hear the delightful sounds of agony that escaped your red tinted lips. “I’ve been alive longer than your entire bloodline, pathetic human, and I’ll be outliving you tonight.” And with that, the club owner ripped the dagger back out and strolled back into the building, licking the crimson that still ran down the sides of his blade. 

You should’ve known this would happen eventually in a world like this. You had no power from the very start. Why had you been blind to the truth until this very moment, when all you could see was your precious blood leaving your body? Regardless, it was far too late to ruminate over trivial things. Death’s gentle whispers were lulling you to sleep, its sweet promises of rest numbing out most of the visceral emotions that coursed through your veins. Slumping against the wall, you held your middle with trembling hands, gazing up at the full moon that loomed over you, wanting to enjoy her beauty one last time — at least, until someone blocked your view. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you see I’m dying here? Let me look at the moon in peace…” you murmured, weakly glaring up at the stranger you had met inside that godforsaken club only a couple minutes ago.

“You still got some fire in you, doncha, sweetheart?” Wooyoung mused, crouching down so you were at eye level, reaching out to gently ruffle your hair. “But, you’ll die of blood loss soon…pity.”

“You’re very observant,” you replied snarkily, leaning your head back into the wall, your vision growing darker by the second. You let out a long, defeated sigh, choking a bit on the blood left inside your raw throat. “Are you just here to watch me die? If that’s the case, can you do me a favor and make it quick?” 

“You didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.” He leaned in close to you, his crimson eyes shining that much brighter when he asked, “Don’t you want revenge?” 

His question echoed inside your mind, once as a whisper, and eventually as a desperate plea. “And what if I do…? It’s not like I can do much now…”

“Let me turn you.” He bared his fangs. “You’ll live, and you’ll be so much stronger than ever before.” He watched as your eyes widened, then returned to normal, figuring you were weighing your options, though they were vastly limited. “You’ll be free to take his life away, do with it as you please, just like he was going to do to you. Doesn’t that sound delicious?” 

A few drops of blood dribbled down the side of your mouth. The sand in your hourglass was about to run out. “What do you get in return?” 

Wooyoung’s lips curled up into a sadistic smile, his eyes resembling glowing crescent moons. “I’ll be your Master, of course. It’s only fair, being your savior, and all.” 

Though that was the very last thing you wanted, you were far too stubborn to die out in such a pathetic fashion. Not only that, but you were being offered the deal of a lifetime, at the end of your lifetime, to be exact, and in exchange for your mortal soul, you could enact sweet, sweet revenge and have a new tale to tell, one that no man or monster could ever take from you. 

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” Wooyoung joked slyly, tapping the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Alright, deal, but make it quick–” you were barely able to enunciate, before Wooyoung was all over you, one hand holding the side of your head, while the other felt where your artery was, immediately sinking his fangs deep into your neck to start the transformation process. 

When you came to, you looked up at your savior, your eyes as red as the blood he had sucked out of you, all of the immense pain that plagued your body gone as quickly as it came, instead replaced by an indescribable thirst. 

“How do you feel, pet?” Wooyoung asked, licking remnants of your life source from his manicured fingers. 

You bared your new, needle sharp fangs to your Master. “Hungry.” 

He smiled at you like a proud father would. “I think I know how we can fix that.” 

-

The last thing the vampiric club owner expected to see when he was sitting inside the comfort of his secluded office was the human woman he had just murdered out of cold blood stomping up to his desk and tossing it out of the way like it wasn’t made of marble. 

“H-hey, we can talk about this, right?” he asked nervously, holding his hands up, along with the stacks of cash that were in between his grubby fingers. “You want money? You can have it!” 

You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him towards you so violently, he just about broke his neck. “I don’t want money. I want your life.” 

When Wooyoung casually strolled into the cush office and pressed his back against the opaque door, the other vampire pleaded at him with his wide eyes. “Wooyoung, baby, this is your favorite club, isn’t it? Haven’t I treated you good here?” 

“Y/N will treat you good too, don’t worry,” he reassures sweetly, dragging his tongue across his pointed teeth. He brought his finger up to his chin like he just remembered something, nodding to himself. “Ahh, she does bite, though.” 

Just as Wooyoung’s cackles rang out inside the vast room, the club owner shifted his frightened gaze to you just in time to see your jaw open wide, gulping at the sheer size of your fangs. And just like that, you bit down onto the vampire’s neck, getting a good grip on his skin, before swiftly turning your head and causing a fountain of blood to rain over you. 

Once you were done feeding, there was hardly anything left of the club owner. Most of him was inside you, and the rest was left splattered across the pedestrian paintings he had up on the walls. Still sitting on the floor near scattered, bloodied hundred dollar bills, you licked up the rest of him from your fingers, your entire body vibrating with pleasure now that your killer was no longer with you, and for other reasons you couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with your new body and your newfound love for excess.

Wooyoung clapped his hands together with giddy delight, giving the top of your head a few pats as a reward. “What a good girl. Do you feel full?” 

Shaking your head, you reached up to Wooyoung’s waistband, undoing the belt buckle and easing his pants down, licking at your red stained lips all the while. The burning, mind-melting desire to consume didn’t leave you, it only multiplied. It clouded your mind, made you feel like you might lose your mind if you didn’t make it stop. “Not enough…my throat…need it filled…” 

“Ahh, I see,” Wooyoung sighed knowingly. This always happened with the humans he turned; they turned into insatiable monsters, always driven by their need for more. He could never get tired of it. Leaning his back against the dripping wall, he reached down to slide his fingers into your soft hair, angling your head upwards, cooing softly at you as he pushed his way into your mouth. “Be careful with your fangs, sweetheart.” 

Relaxing your throat upon the sudden intrusion, you opened your mouth wider, as to not pierce Wooyoung’s cock with your new fangs, feeling content once the entirety of his twitching length fit snugly inside. It was when the vampire thrusted further into your throat that you made a wet gagging sound, tears forming inside your crimson eyes, closing them. 

“Ah, ah,” Wooyoung tutted, giving your cheek a light smack, smiling sweetly down at you when your eyes opened back up. “That’s right, you better look at me with those pretty eyes of yours if you’re going to take me down your throat like this. That’s what a good pet does.” 

Once Wooyoung started to fuck your throat, eager to fill it with his cum, his pale fingers pulling tightly at your hair, you did your best not to choke around him, welcoming him in again, over and over, until saliva and pre-cum dripped down your chin and along your bare chest.

“Mmnh….nnnhmm…” you moaned in approval, reaching up to hold onto his bucking hips, digging your nails into his protruding hip bones. You blinked more tears away, wanting to see Wooyoung’s sadistic face without the constant blurriness that plagued your vision. Whether you had a penchant for punishment or you were simply bloodthirsty, it caused you to prod at the vampire’s cock with your fangs, the tangy flavor of iron joining the abundance of precum that lubed up your throat. 

“Fuck, you’re a naughty girl, biting me like that,” Wooyoung hissed in between violent thrusts, suddenly holding your head still when the entirety of his cock was inside your throat, your nose brushing against his pubic bone, satisfied with the filthy gurgling noises you couldn’t help but make for him, feeling more of your spit drip down his heavy balls. He smacked his hand against your cheek again, watching it grow rosy, before pinching your nose tightly. “But, you can’t help it, huh? You just want to be put in your place. I can’t blame you for that.”

The sensation was suffocating, the feeling of being used added onto the constant buzz of pleasure that was running through your veins; it was nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. It almost made you wish that you had let yourself be turned a long time ago. No one could stop you now, not even him. Maybe your humanity was slipping away from you, much like your sanity with each passing moment. 

It wasn’t until you could breathe again and something warm, heavy, was pressing down on the tip of your tongue that you faded back into reality, just in time for Wooyoung to shoot a seemingly never-ending cumshot down the back of your aching throat.

“You’ll swallow, won’t you?” he asked sweetly, giving the bottom of your chin a light tickle with his clawed fingers. 

When you stuck out your tongue to show him that nothing was left, Wooyoung grabbed you by the chin and yanked you towards him, biting the tip of your tongue to draw blood. You watched him suck it off with half-lidded eyes, having to close your thighs together to keep a fresh wave of slick from dripping out of you. 

Before you knew it, he was on the floor with you, not even needing to pull you into his lap, groaning into your mouth as you climbed into it yourself, the heated kiss you shared consisting mostly of tongue, pointed teeth, and blood. You swapped red-tinted saliva back and forth, your hands working in tandem to tear off each other’s clothes and grope one another wherever you could, trying to create as much friction between your lower halves as you could, Wooyoung’s stiff cock rubbing deliciously into your clothed cunt. 

You broke the kiss when your thirst once again grew too strong to ignore, reaching up to run your index finger over the mole on Wooyoung’s glistening bottom lip, hissing softly when he pierced it with one of his fangs. You both watched the blood slowly trickle down along your skin, sharing a similar look with one another, before you leaned in to lap it up, your tongues meeting in the middle. 

As though telepathically connected, you reached to slip your panties off from underneath your skirt the same time Wooyoung undid the buttons of his pants, immediately rubbing at yourselves in order to get off as quickly as possible. 

“Look at me when you cum,” Wooyoung demanded between huffs of air, staring you down past his wispy lashes, the speed at which he was stroking his cock producing lewd squelching sounds, his slender fingers slicked up with his abundant pre-cum. 

Trembling, you opened up your teary eyes to look at Wooyoung, the indescribable pleasure etched into his face causing you to throb nonstop, curling your fingers up in just the right way to launch you into a world of ecstasy. “C-cumming…” 

Wooyoung groaned at the sight and feeling of your release spilling into his lap, squeezing his hand tightly around the base of his cock, hot spurts of cum landing on your abdomen and dripping down your bare cunt, not even caring that you both dirted his designer jeans with your shared arousal. “I’m gonna make you do that again, on my cock this time, you hear me?” he growled at you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing and dropping you down onto his growing erection. 

“Fuck,” you gasped sharply, holding onto his shoulders to keep your composure, your thighs still shaking from your residual pleasure, a low, burning pain present within your core  as your hole stretched to accommodate the vampire’s size. “T-too much…” 

Wooyoung’s ego just about doubled in that moment, his ringed fingers closing in on your soft waist, suddenly bucking his hips up into you like it was his sole mission to do so in the afterlife. Smiling smugly at the small, broken noises he was punching out of you with his vicious thrusts, he couldn’t help but let out a few crazed giggles. “Can’t take it now that I’m rearranging these pretty guts of yours, huh?” He mirrored your pout, his lower lip jutting out. “But, I thought you were my cum slut, my good little blood whore.” 

“I am…! I–fuck, I am, Master…!” you found yourself crying out, tears inside your hazy eyes, tasting dried blood when you wet your dry lips, knowing you wouldn’t even recognize your reflection if you saw it now. You were a new model, remolded, changed for the better. 

His hypnotic eyes began to glow. “Be a good sleeve and take it for your Master, yeah?”

You did as he said, taking everything he gave you like a pliant doll, letting him lick, bite, drink from you, and fuck you dumb for as long as his still heart desired, wondering if he was even aware of how much your blood boiled inside you. 

Wooyoung was just like the others. They were all the same, treating you like a helpless toy, using you for their enjoyment and tossing you aside when they were bored, viewing your humanity as your downfall, and perhaps they were right. Like two magnets, you couldn’t live without the other, and now, you were a monster like him, one in the same. 

Just as you both reached your climax together, holding desperately onto one another, Wooyoung’s bewitching gaze no longer holding captive, you felt a supreme power rise within yourself. You didn’t need him, not when you were now your own Master. The only thing you served now was your endless hunger. 

Wooyoung couldn’t get you off once you latched onto his neck, gasping and sputtering, his constant struggles only forcing your fangs just that much deeper into his skin and the artery you had targeted, digging his claws into your back as a last ditch effort. “But, we…we made a pact,” he coughed out, his gravelly voice reflecting the immense pain he felt. He couldn’t fight back any longer, simply slumping back against the wall to accept his fate, holding his hand up to his torn neck, despite it not doing anything to prevent the crimson from flowing through his fingers. “I don’t understand…” 

“I recall warning you that I was poisonous,” you replied softly, licking remnants of his precious life source from your stained lips. 

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyes resembling half-moons. “Fair point, human…”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[marauroon]

hello !!! can i request a right person, wrong time with siri? maybe they broke up because of the war... and the reason is because siri doesn't want to put the reader into danger and then they meet again, all grown up and they still have feelings for each other and Siri has to grovel to win reader back again? And it ends with a happy ending (please) (Siri was the one who broke the relationship and reader was really hurt) it's very long yet vauge 😅

A CALL TO ARMS — S.BLACK

sirius black was the love of your life, and you were his. but sometimes higher priorities—and deep-seeded anxiety—can get in the way. but the invisible string of fate always brings people back together.

cw — fem!reader, details of the first wizard of war, reader and sirius have a messy and complicated relationship, harsh arguments, character death mentions, happy ending

sirius black x reader || hurt/comfort || 6.2k || requests open!!

a/n — let’s just pretend sirius doesn’t get avada’d like three weeks after this fic ends

The war put a strain on everybody. Some people had to leave their families to join the fight, some had to hide away to protect themselves from the Death Eaters.

Some didn’t have a family, anyone to worry about them coming home at the end of the day.

They threw themselves into it the hardest.

Then there was you and Sirius, a pair of outcasts who found solitude in each other. A pair who paid no greater devotion than protecting the people that you cared about from the ravages of Voldemort’s uprising.

You were barely eighteen when you both joined the Order, fresh out of Hogwarts and straight into the line of fire after the group had been offered a spot in Voldemort’s army and refused, leaving every one of you with a target on your back.

By the time you were twenty it almost seemed fruitless, with James and Lily being sent into hiding to protect them and their son under Dumbledore’s direct orders under fear for their continued safety and a Fidelius Charm placed over them to keep them safe. Sirius denied being their secret keeper with the explanation of it being too obvious a choice. What a mistake that was.

Then order members started dying.

And it all began to fall apart.

The brass framed picture in the entrance of the Black family home offered Sirius no empathy as he escaped the bitterness that October was serving him, the laughing faces of his friends and self-proclaimed family only serving to make his already dwindling morale dampen further.

Twenty-two people in the picture. And how many remained? Fourteen. In the span of five months.

It was Dorcus and Marlene that really did him over, and he could barely so much as glance in the direction of their hopeful smiles without feeling like he was going to throw up.

The trudging of his feet up the wooden stairs was proof enough of his arrival for any present members of the Order to hear, too fatigued and all together bleak at the continued state he was living in to announce his presence verbally.

“Sirius, sweetheart, you’re home thank goodness,” Not even the warmth of your arms around him or the relief in your voice as you pulled his head into your shoulder could satiate him anymore.

You shouldn’t have to be relieved that he walked through the door.

You shouldn’t have to hug him like it’s your final goodbye every time he leaves.

Every time you leave.

You didn’t deserve that. And neither did he.

“Godric you’re freezing, come and sit down,” You pull Sirius into his childhood bedroom with all of the care of a feather floating on a pool of water, squeezing his hands in yours like you’re trying to transfer your own heat to him.

He follows you with no real resistance, though he doesn’t make any move by himself, and you have to push his shoulders down to get him to sit in front of the lit fireplace that would hopefully quell the chill echoing across his skin.

You help him remove his coat with a sigh, dark frown lines marking your features as you take a seat beside him and rest the side of your head against his shoulder, your hand gently tracing over his to capture his palm in your own. He doesn’t return the small squeeze of your fingers.

You can’t blame him for being so dismal, the situation was something that nobody could make it through without a gargantuan crack in their emotional shield, but seeing Sirius display his almost funereal sentiment so fervently without so much as a hint of a mask was devastating.

Displaying even the tiniest glimmer of hopefulness was what allowed the Order to survive for so long, and Sirius couldn’t even muster that.

“Harry said his first word today,” You try to keep the conversation positive, ignore the downfall of everything around you and keep focusing on the small wins. “Dada of course, apparently Lily was pretty miffed,” You punctuate your sentence with a small laugh, although it’s more pathetic than genuine and even you can tell you’re doing a horrible job of trying to uplift Sirius’ spirit.

“They sent over a picture, Remus has it if you’d like to see—”

“Just stop.” Sirius shakes his head sharply, pulling his hand from yours and standing with his back to you.

“Sirius—”

“I don’t know why you keep trying to pretend that everything’s okay, it’s not. Our friends are dying and you’re acting like its completely fine.” There’s more malice in his voice than he’s intending, and logically you know that he doesn’t really mean to get so angry at you. It wasn’t you that was the problem, it was the world in which you were living.

But logic can often times get overridden by other facets.

“I am trying to stop anyone else from dying.” Your words are more desperate than harsh, and they’re not laced in anger like Sirius’ are, but they carry just the same amount of conviction. “If we lose hope then we may as well just hand ourselves over…”

There’s a stuttered exhale as you trail off, and Sirius swears he hears your voice crack as you try to take his hand in yours again. “I can’t bear to see you like this…”

“You should leave the Order.”

You’re almost not sure you heard him.

“What?”

“You don’t belong here, you’re not fit for this,” He sounds almost resigned, and his shoulders drop just enough that you’re not sure he really believes what he’s saying. “You should leave before you get hurt.”

There’s a moment where all you can really do is let out a breath of astonishment, and then there’s an overwhelming need to defend yourself against Sirius’ accusation. “I am perfectly fit for this, Dumbledore agreed that—”

“Well I don’t agree with it!” He cuts you off harshly, turning around so that you can see the anguish that’s drenching his features. “People are dying, our friends are dying, and you are on the goddamn list of whose next.”

He takes your upper arms in his hand and shakes you like it’s going to make you see his point, practically shouting at you as he desperately tries to get you to see his point of view. “You are a brilliant witch, and you are in so much danger that it makes me want to rip my heart out so I don’t have to worry about you any more—”

His rant doesn’t stop once his hands halt, and they stay gripped uncomfortably tight around your biceps to the point where you’re sure it’ll bruise. “Dorcus died because she was brilliant, Marlene died because her father was a muggle, you are like the two of them wrapped up in a package practically serving yourself up to the Death Eaters every time you step out of this goddamn house and I cannot take it anymore.”

Sirius practically pants as his yelling comes to a halt, and he almost immediately regrets getting riled up as he sees the reflection of the fireplace in your glassed over eyes.

“I love you. I love you so much and I can’t live like this anymore.” His hands move from your arms to cup the sides of your face, and you flinch at the contact like you’re afraid he’s going to hurt you.

It breaks Sirius’ heart.

“The Order is falling apart love… I don’t want you to be here when it collapses,”

You pull his hands from your face with yours at his wrists, shaking your head as you blink through clouds of tears. “I’m not leaving the Order, Sirius. You really think I would abandon my friends like that? My family? You?”

“Then I’ll make one of the hard choices for you,” Sirius lets his hands fall to his sides on your prompting, taking a step back from you to hide them in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“What—” There’s nothing but absolute betrayal written across your face, and Sirius almost breaks down immediately. “Sirius—”

“If you want to stay here and watch shit hit the fan then be my guest, but I will not put myself through watching your downfall.” He doesn’t give you the courtesy of replying before opening and slamming the door behind him as he leaves, but you’re not sure you’d be able to articulate anything even if he did, your only response being the start of a sob that echoes off of the empty walls and back into your ears to amplify your own anguish.

You move your belongings out of his room that same evening, taking refuge under Remus’ open arms as you cried yourself into an uneasy slumber, so emotionally exhausted that you could barely formulate any sense of coherency.

Lily and James died two days later.

The news hit you like a truck when Dumbledore relayed it to you, and whilst most of the Order were left in a blanket of shock, Sirius took off in a rage before he could even finish his sentence.

It was enough for you to push the grief aside to not cost you any more.

“Sirius wait—” You weave your way through the others and past Dumbledore to rush after him, the first words either of you had spoken in the other’s direction since the argument. “Where on earth do you think you’re going the Death Eaters might still be there—”

“I hope they are.” Sirius’ tone drips with venom as he pulls his motorcycle helmet from the coat rack at the front door, and you just barely catch his wrist before he has the chance to leave.

“You’re going on a suicide mission—”

“They murdered my brother, I have nothing to lose.” He again leaves the conversation with a slammed door, and you don’t know whether the possibility of his death or the fact that he’d seemingly accepted it hurt you more.

He had nothing to lose.

It was the biggest insult he could’ve possibly left you with.

And it’s all he did leave you with.

For twelve years.

You grieved the loss of Sirius like you did James and Lily, like he too had entered into an early grave of which he would never return. Azkaban may as well have been.

You were angry at first, disgustingly loathing the thought of what those twelve poor muggles had to endure as their final moments. You were less empathetic towards Peter’s fate, although your grief for him was replaced with a deep-seeded betrayal that sunk into your muscles all the same.

Then it settled into an uneven weight in the bottom of your chest, something that you carried with you from that point onward.

You moved out of England soon after, with nothing but a silent vow to Remus that if Voldemort were to ever return, that you’d be there, a final standing against the allegiance that stole your life from you.

You couldn’t stay there anymore, every street of London reminded you of him, of them, of all the people that you lost and how the prime years of your young adulthood were unceremoniously ripped from you under the false belief that you could actually make a difference.

As weeks turned into months, and then into years, there were days that passed where you didn’t think of what happened, of how your previous life had fallen apart and left you as a shell of yourself, and eventually, you managed to pick up the pieces and live your life like it hadn’t happened.

Apart from a single shard of your heart that had lodged itself at 12 Grimmauld Place, underneath the black silk sheets you and Sirius once shared.

You were thirty three when a letter from R.J.Lupin was sent through the letterbox of your house, and it was like those twelve years of growth and acceptance disappeared in an instant.

—

‘I hope this letter finds you well, I know I promised to contact you only for something of the upmost urgence regarding the resurgence of you know who, but I believe this is appropriately important.

Wormtail is alive. He was the one who caused those muggles to die without reason. Which leaves no question of Padfoot’s innocence.

I don’t know if you have kept up with the wizarding news, but he escaped from Azkaban, and is in a safe and secure location known only by the Order.

I understand if this news is too much for you to digest, but he has asked me personally for your consideration in returning to the place where everything began.

Yours sincerely,

R.J.Lupin’

—

The aftermath of your reading was a mess of shallow breaths and an elevated heart rate.

Panic.

You hadn’t felt so horrible since the day that James and Lily had died, the day one of your closest friends betrayed you and the love of your life was taken away presumably to never be seen again.

And now he was just out there? You were just adjusting to living without him, and now he was being thrust back into your life by his own doing.

He threw you away right before your house of cards toppled, and now he was trying to worm his way back into your life?

It took you almost three weeks of staring at the sheet of parchment before you made a decision, and it ended with the letter going up in flames and you watching on with a sunken expression, no tears left to cry over the man who’d ruined you.

All of those months where you’d pondered, where you’d asked yourself over and over again what might’ve happened if you’d have just not spoken to Sirius that day, if you’d just let him rest like he’d obviously wanted rather than try pathetically to lift his mood.

If it might’ve meant he would regard you as something to live for and stop him from blindly running off to avenge James and Lily without a second thought.

All of it went straight down the drain. Because you could have him back if you wanted. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to go back and see him again because the minute his name invaded your mind all you could think about was that god awful argument and it’s aftermath.

And it ripped you apart every single time.

—

“She’s not coming Pads…” Remus’ hand on Sirius’ shoulder was almost apprehensive as he gave it a soft squeeze.

It was almost three months of having to watch Sirius treat the front door like it was his lifeline, his head turning at the smallest creak of the wood in the fruitless hope that when it opened you would be on the other side.

“I know…” Sirius lets out a small, pathetic laugh as he rakes his fingers through his hair, his facade of indifference threatening to break with every breath he took. “Can’t blame me for trying though right?” His voice betrays his devastation, tone wavering and quiet, cracking when he tries to push it to sound more convicting.

“Pads…”

“I’m fine,” Sirius shakes his head with a dismissive hand, clearing his throat and blinking away the starts of tears from the corners of his eyes. “I’m gonna go get some sleep, gonna need all I can get if we’re gonna fight these sons of bitches hey?” Sirius nudges Remus with his elbow as he plays a characature of his former self, although it’s poorly executed at best.

“Yeah…” Remus consciously suppresses a sympathetic sigh that tries to escape his mouth, pressing his lips together. “Goodnight Pads,”

“G’night Moony,”

—

There’s eighteen months of radio silence before another letter is slotted through your door, and you have half the mind to burn it on sight when the familiar red seal is left face up on your patio tiling, but the handwriting on the back wasn’t Remus’, and it was definitely not Sirius’ either.

The scrawl of your address was almost unmistakably Dumbledore’s, and you were left in an emotional state of uneven limbo as you debated why he of all people would be personally sending you a letter.

Logically, you already knew the reason, but your brain chose to ignore that logic as you ripped the envelope open, only for that denial to be thrown right back at your face once the seal of the Order inked itself into the folded parchment.

You didn’t even need to read the letter to know what was inside it.

Three words.

Invitatio ad arma.

A call to arms.

You barely remember packing your bags, leaving the sense of normalcy you’d built over the past fourteen years to throw yourself back into the line of fire and more devastatingly, right back to Sirius Black.

The train ride to England almost felt like a fever dream, your body left in a state of dissociation where you couldn’t discern whether your actions were real or just a part of some vivid nightmare that you couldn’t wake from no matter how much you tossed and turned.

And by the time you reached the front door of number 12 Grimmauld Place it felt like you were right back where you started, just barely twenty one thrust into a war that could leave you in your grave at any unfortunate minute.

It felt almost foreign to you as you entered, the hallways that once proved to be your substitute home reduced to unfamiliar sights covered in dust and peeling wallpaper. There was no brass lamps to warm the sight, no picture of your closest friends on the wall, not even the mirror that had been hung beside the door had survived, reduced to a half shattered mess that hadn’t been replaced under higher priorities.

“Oh—” The slightly surprised sentiment draws you away from your almost depressing nostalgia, drawn instead towards an almost perfect capture of teenage James Potter, down to the slanted circular glasses sat over his nose bridge.

It’s enough for you to genuinely consider for a second that you’d actually stepped back in time, right into your graduation year when you were all so young and full of hope.

But it couldn’t be James. As much as your heart desperately wished it was.

“You’re another member of the original Order of the Phoenix right?” The boy takes a few steps towards you, wonder still lingering in his eyes despite the film of knowledge that cloud them. Knowledge of just how unfortunately dark the world actually is. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m—”

”Harry…” Your interruption is barely more than a breath of air as you take in the sight of one of your closest friend’s child, a child that he never got to see grow into an almost perfect replica of himself. “You look just like your father…”

There’s a mix of shock and a small amount of sadness in his expression at your statement, and it’s enough for the glimpses of Lily to shine through in his demeanour. “Thank you,”

It’s enough for your eyes to well with tears, and you blink them away with a small clearing of your throat to regain your composure in front of the boy. He didn’t need to see you cry over the fact that he looked like one of your dead friends with the personality of another. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Harry, properly,” You extend your hand almost hesitantly as you introduce yourself, and he takes it graciously in his own with a small sympathetic smile. Being proxy comforted by a teenager, how pathetic.

“It’s nice to meet you too, my parents have good friends,” You give the boy a small nod with a small, sad smile, and he mirrors it himself in turn.

“I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve any of this,” You let your hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly in a terrible attempt at consoling the sadness riddling his expression. “You’re just a boy Harry,”

“I know,” He gives a small sigh and a more confident smile, sympathy lingering in the creases of his cheeks in a perfectly Lily fashion. “I’m sorry for your loss too, I know they probably meant a great deal to you,”

“They still do, that’s why I’m here,”

“Thank you,” He sounds more confident in his thanks this time, more determined, and the remnants of his parents continue to show on full display as his focus returns to the reason you’d arrived here in the first place. “We’re about to sit down for dinner, join us?”

“I’ll be there shortly,” You give Harry a small nod and another small squeeze of his shoulder before excusing yourself up the stairs to leave your belongings.

—

“Good evening everyone,” Your voice is taught and awkwardly flat as you push open the door to the dining room, and you stand there with your hands wrung together behind your back as your eyes flicker over the room.

There are so many people that the table is almost entirely too crowded, and a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces in your presence, although those who do recognise you leave their seats almost immediately to greet you properly.

“It’s good to see you,” Remus reaches you first, wrapping you in a secure hug that you happily return with your own.

“It’s good to see you too, Remus, it’s been too long,”

“Welcome back, we need all of the human shields we can get,” Mad Eye’s reuinionative statement is much less heart felt, but you give him a small laugh and a “Thank you,” nonetheless.

Then there was Sirius. Stood at his chair, not daring to walk into your little bubble under fear of whatever consequences that might come from it.

He looked almost as you remembered him, but he was leaner, more gaunt, his hair more unruly and his skin even more paper-white than the almost impossibly pale complexion of his teenage years.

He was still Sirius, but he was different, and it took less than half a second of eye contact for him to realise that you were different too.

“Welcome back,” His voice is hesitant, almost catching in his throat as his brain catches up to the fact that you’re stood in front of him, less than ten feet away after all of those years he’d spent desperately dreaming of what it would feel like to have you in his arms again.

Now you were here. And you were a stranger.

“Thank you,”

Dinner progresses pretty much how you expected, a mix of awkwardly introducing yourself to the Order’s new members and horrifically failing at avoiding eye contact with Sirius from across the table.

Then the topic of interest moves to the Order’s plans, and things seem to spin into a downwards spiral all too quickly.

“We don’t have enough members to reliably be able to pull this off,” The argument was entirely valid from a logical standpoint, a weakness that quite a few of the Order seemed to have choice opinions about.

“Yeah well we’re not getting any new members are we?” Sirius leans back in his chair exasperatedly. “With the way Fudge is portraying Dumbledore and the lack of official credibility, we’re on our own here, there’s no use in waiting around,”

“I’m inclined to agree, we all know you know who isn’t going to waste any time,

“It’s reckless,” You shake your head with furrowed eyebrows. “We not ready to face something like that head on.”

“We’re never going to be ready,” Sirius shakes his head with a sigh. “We have to take action before he has the chance to build himself back to where he was all those years ago.”

“Sirius is right, we need to do something,” Sirius gestures towards Harry’s response like it’s the final nail in the coffin against your reasoning.

“Harry, sweetheart, I appreciate your enthusiasm but you don’t know the extent of what we’re dealing with,” Your voice is as gentle as it is assertive, not wanting to put him down too much but also wanting to make sure he understood the true extent of what was going on.

“He killed my friend in front of me—”

“And he’s killed dozens of ours,” You shake your head softly but firmly. “Jumping in without a plan is only going to make things worse, trust me.”

He seems more than a little shot down, but he gives you a small nod of understanding nonetheless as he backs down from his standing.

Sirius doesn’t pay you the same mind.

“So you’re suggesting we just wait in hiding for what, forever? We need to act,”

“The last time you ‘acted’, Sirius, you spent twelve years in Azkaban for it.” Your rebuttal holds none of the softness that was present when you were talking to Harry, and you can see it eroding the calcified shield behind Sirius’s eyes.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Sirius presses his teeth together to keep himself from raising his voice, his back straightening alongside his defensiveness. “At least I’m trying to do something, if you don’t want to contribute maybe you shouldn’t be a part of the Order at all,”

“I will not have this argument with you again Sirius!” His chastation seems to finally get under your skin as you rise yourself from your chair with your hands on the dining table, ignorantly ignoring the uncomfortable gazes of everyone else present as you’re forced back into that evening fourteen years go all over again.

“Okay, I think it’s time we called it a night,” Remus, seemingly the only normally functioning person at the table, rises from his chair slowly, taking your shoulders in his hands to guide you away from the group and calm you down.

“Yes right you are Remus,” Molly stands up with a nod that’s almost too enthusiastic clasping her hands together. “Off to bed, all of you,”

You can practically hear the lingering exasperation in Remus’ breathing as he leads you up the stairs and into the room he was staying in, and the second he shut the door behind you you knew what you were in for.

“You need to speak to him.”

“I know,”

“Properly.”

“I know,”

You’re sure the sigh you let out echoes across the house’s first floor, and it’s enough for Remus’ eyes to shift into displaying a concerning amount of sympathy in your direction.

“He misses you, you know,” Remus takes a seat on the edge of his bed with a soft sigh. “He said the thought of seeing you again was the only thing that got him through Azkaban,”

“Yeah well he wouldn’t’ve gone there in the first place if he hadn’t’ve been such a hot-headed twat,” You wouldn’t lie that Remus’ statement didn’t hit you a little where it hurt, but the lingering anger towards Sirius’ situation was clearly still more forefront in your mind.

“It’s a carried trait in all of us ’m‘fraid,” Remus tilts his head knowingly, and you have half the mind to roll your eyes at the clear implication of what he’s saying.

But he isn’t wrong, not really.

“You know where to find him,”

There’s a small moment of silence, then a sigh. “Do I have to?”

“The longer you wait the worse it’ll be,”

Sometimes you hate how logical Remus can be.

With another sigh and a loll of your head, you reluctantly stuff your hands in your pockets and turn towards the bedroom door, muttering a soft—and only half genuine—“thanks,” in his direction as you leave.

The wooden door that barricaded you from the former love of your life felt more like steel than anything else. Tall, dark, and intimidating to the point where you couldn’t even consciously lift your hand to knock against it under the blood rushing behind your ears from how fast your heart was pounding in your ribcage.

It really shouldn’t be so scary, you’d spent weeks, months in that room when you’d originally joined the Order, yet now it felt entirely foreign to you.

Maybe it was the fact that the wood was slowly rotting away with how unkept it was. Maybe it was the knowledge of what—who—was on the other side of it. Or maybe, your mind was just so completely and utterly fucked that the idea of confronting the consequences of your own actions was more nerve-wracking than the idea of standing face to face in a death match with Voldemort himself.

You stand there staring dumbly at the door for almost two minutes, and when it opens your eyes widen like it’s a new form of magic that you’d never encountered.

Sirius halts halfway out the door, arm stretched straight with the doorknob still in hand as his face seems to go through an insurmountable number of emotions in the half-second it takes for him to realise you’re there.

You don’t say anything as you make eye-contact, head immediately ducking downward and stepping aside so that he can leave without you blocking his path, but he just stays there, staring at you like you had been the door, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

You clear your throat with a feigned cough, pursing your lips together with a muttered “excuse me,” as you turn around to leave, but Sirius catches your wrist in his hand before you even manage to take the first step.

“Wait—” He loosens his grasp almost immediately after he feels a resistance, but his eyes convey just how determined he was to keep you where you were. “Let’s talk, please?”

There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, and you almost crumble on that alone, but you manage to maintain your composure with a small shake of your head and a gentle pull of your wrist from his hand. “I don’t think it’s worth it Sirius, not anymore,”

“Don’t say that, we can fix this,” Sirius mirrors your head shake with his own. “You just need to talk to me,”

“I tried talking to you Sirius, and look where it got us,” You gesture between the two of you with exasperation in your tone.

There’s a small pause where the two of you share and almost identical mask of composure over your agony.

“It just wasn’t meant to be, that’s it,”

“That’s not true,” Sirius shakes his head again, more confidently this time, and his inky black curls bounce against his shoulders like they’re trying to torment you with the memories of your fingers raking through them. “We can fix this, us, we just have to try,”

“I don’t want to argue with you anymore,” You lower your gaze away from his so you don’t have to see the heartbreak in his irises. “Especially not over this…”

“Then don’t, let’s work this out properly, like adults,” He reaches out his hand cautiously towards yours, and you flinch away as your fingers make contact. “Please,”

“Sirius…”

“I’m sorry.” Sirius lets out a heavy, pathetic breath as he retreats his hand to run it through his hair. “I am so sorry. I made the biggest mistake of my life and it cost me the person that I love more than life and I have suffered the consequences of it every day for the last fourteen years.”

Sirius lets his hands fall to his side with a start, voice beginning to tremble under the strain of his emotions as he desperately tries to voice everything that he’d bottled up over the last decade and a half before you leave him to rot in his own depression again. “I spent every hour in Azkaban imagining what it would be like to see you again, to hear your voice, to hold you and tell you that you’re the one thing in this goddamn hell that we live in that actually makes anything worth fighting for,”

The breaths between his words are shallow and weak, and your expression starts to blur as his eyes glass over with the beginnings of tears. “I love you so much, and I’m so— sorry that you had to live through everything I forced on you and I just—“ He takes a sharp, stuttering breath in. “—I need you to know that I will spend the rest of my life devoted to you, to correcting what I’ve done even if you don’t so much as spare me a glance,”

He’s not sure when the tears started running over his eyelids, but he can feel them fall in drops to dapple the ivory skin of his fingers. “And if I die tomorrow, I’ll take whatever punishment hell has to give me so that you can rest easy,”

The end of his rant is echoed by laboured breathing and a horrific attempt at muffling a sob that leaves his throat, bouncing off the walls of the hallway to settle into your muscles as you stand stationary in an astonished silence.

You’re not sure what to say. You’re not sure there’s anything you can say. How on earth are you supposed to respond to something like that? Something so desperate and raw and real?

Sirius Black, after fourteen years of radio silence, still loved you like you’d never parted.

“Sirius…”

And you’d be absolutely damned if you weren’t the same.

“I forgive you…”

It’s like a tsunami of relief ravages Sirius’ body at your words, barely a whisper escaping your mouth but invading his ear canals like a nuclear explosion, and it’s enough for that sliver of composure remaining to erode under the waves of his tears until he’s sobbing into his hands, hunched over with trembling shoulders as he lets everything go all at once.

“I’m so sorry—“

His final apology is doused in so much heartbreak it might as well rip your heart right out of your chest, and your at his side almost immediately, gently pulling his hand from his face to pull his head into your shoulder with a soft shush of consolation.

He clings to you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance to, tears damping the shoulder of your shirt and his arms wrapped so tightly around your torso you’re not sure he intends to ever let go. You’re not sure you’d complain if he didn’t.

That familiar musky scent of cigarettes and faux leather hits your nose once he’s close enough, and that’s where you break too, silent tears streaming down your face as you bury your nose in his hair.

You’re eternally grateful that everyone on this floor of the house is already asleep, either that or just polite enough not to interrupt the two of you out in the hallway, because the state the both of you were in was definitely not meant to be seen by other people.

A desolate, broken side to the two of you only trusted in the company of the other.

“Stay with me tonight, please…” His plea is barely more than a mutter against your shoulder, and you’re sure he wouldn’t even have to ask to know what your answer would be.

And so you find yourself back where you started, tangled up underneath the silky black sheets of Sirius’ bed in the warmth of his embrace, that tiny shard of your heart finally recovered and back in it’s rightful place.

Right where you belong.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

WOULD YOU LOVE ME IF I WAS A WORM?.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ S. BLACK

SUMMARY ৎ୭ sirius black has survived detentions, duels, and even mcgonagall’s wrath—but nothing could’ve prepared him for the ultimate relationship test: the worm question. one wrong answer, and now he’s fighting for his life

WARNINGS ಇ. sirius being an absolute idiot, the ultimate test of true love: the worm question, fluff

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,841

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual evening buzz. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the scattered armchairs and sofas where students unwound after a long day. Yet, something was distinctly different about this particular evening, and it wasn’t just the sight of Remus Lupin trying to hide a smile behind his book.

Sirius Black—usually the life of the party, the source of everyone's laughter—was pacing the room with the expression of a man who had just been told he was being disowned (again).

The reason? You, his usually forgiving and smitten girlfriend, were sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand howlers. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife—or at least thick enough for Lily Evans to finally take notice.

“What’s going on with you two?” she asked, setting down her Muggle novel and looking between you and Sirius with a raised eyebrow.

James perked up immediately. “Yeah, Pads, why do you look like a puppy that’s been kicked? Did you finally tell her that awful joke about the werewolf and the moon?”

Remus shot him a look. “Don’t even think about it, James.”

But Sirius was too busy grovelling to engage in their usual banter. “It wasn’t a joke! I was just being honest!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with the kind of desperation that made Peter look up from his sweets.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a look that could have curdled milk. “Honest? You call that honesty? You could have at least pretended to be romantic!”

Peter, munching on a chocolate frog, looked between the two of you in confusion. “What did you do, Pads?”

Lily leaned in closer. “Yeah, what did you say that was so terrible?”

You finally looked up from your magazine, fixing Sirius with a glare that could melt the snow on the highest peak of the Forbidden Forest. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—like a fish out of water. “It’s not that bad…”

“Not that bad?” you scoffed, slamming the magazine shut. “I asked him a simple, hypothetical question—”

“A trap,” Sirius interjected quickly, holding up a finger. “A trap disguised as a question.”

You ignored him, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “I asked if he would still love me if I were a worm.”

A beat of silence.

Then, James erupted into laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair. “A worm? You asked him if he’d still love you if you were a worm?”

Remus was struggling to keep a straight face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked between you and Sirius. “And… what did you say, Sirius?”

Sirius looked pained. “I… I said no.”

James fell out of his chair for real this time, clutching his sides as he howled with laughter.

Lily, however, looked scandalized. “You said no?”

Sirius nodded helplessly. “But—”

Lily cut him off with a look of pure betrayal. “Why would you say no? She asked you if you would still love her as a worm, Sirius! The correct answer is always yes!”

“I know that now!” Sirius exclaimed, looking around the room as if begging for backup. “But at the time, I wasn’t thinking about the emotional implications! I was thinking about the logistics!”

James was gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he tried to compose himself. “Oh Merlin, this is too good. Padfoot, mate, you’ve really done it this time.”

“What logistics?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not that complicated! Would you still love me or not?”

Sirius threw his hands up in the air. “But you’d be a worm! How am I supposed to know it’s you? What if I accidentally step on you, or you get eaten by a bird? And what would we even do together? It’s not like we could… I don’t know, go on dates or—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you could’ve seen the back of your skull. “That’s not the point, Sirius! The point is that you didn’t even hesitate to say no. I could’ve been anything—a cat, a dog, a bloody flobberworm—and you just shot me down!”

Sirius threw his hands up in the air. “Well, yeah! I mean, how am I supposed to love a worm? It doesn’t even have a face! Or a personality! It’s just… squirmy and gross!”

You shot him a withering look. “So that’s it, then? You’re only with me because I have a face?”

“Wha—no!” Sirius spluttered, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

Remus, barely containing his amusement, decided to chime in. “Pads, I think what she’s trying to say is that you should’ve said yes, no matter how ridiculous the question was.”

Sirius looked like he was having an existential crisis. “But it’s a worm! How am I supposed to kiss a worm? Or hold hands? Or—”

You cut him off, your voice icy. “Oh, so that’s all I am to you? Someone to kiss and hold hands with?”

Sirius’s eyes widened in alarm. “No! That’s not it at all!”

James was now thoroughly enjoying the show. “Sounds like it to me, Pads. You’re only in it for the snogging.”

Peter, ever the peacemaker, tried to step in. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that…”

But you were on a roll now, standing up from the sofa and glaring down at Sirius, who was still kneeling in front of you. “If I were a worm, Sirius, I’d have a heart, even if it’s small and squishy! But apparently, that’s not enough for you!”

Sirius, now in full panic mode, reached for your hands, trying to make you sit back down. “But I don’t want you to be a worm! I love you as you are—human, beautiful, with a proper face!”

You yanked your hands back, crossing your arms again. “So you only love me because I’m not a worm. Not because of who I am.”

Remus snickered behind his book. “You’re in deep now, mate.”

Sirius shot him a desperate look. “Not helping, Moony.”

Remus decided to step in. “Sirius, you have to understand—these questions aren’t about the actual scenario. It’s about the sentiment behind them. She was looking for reassurance that your love is unconditional.”

Sirius threw his hands up. "But it was a worm! I thought honesty was important!"

You finally looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. "Honesty? You just admitted you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm, Sirius. That’s not honesty, that’s cruelty!"

Peter piped up, "But… how would he know if the worm was you?"

Everyone turned to Peter, who shrinked slightly under the attention. "I mean… if you were a worm, how would Sirius know? And… does a worm even have feelings?"

Lily shakes her head, still laughing. "You boys are impossible. The worm is a metaphor, you idiot!”

Sirius rubbed the back of his head, still looking confused. “A metaphor for what?”

You sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “For love, Sirius. For whether or not you’d love me no matter what.”

Realization dawned on Sirius’s face, and he looked genuinely horrified. “Oh… Oh. I see now.”

James, having finally caught his breath, piped up, “Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? You’ve got to make it up to her now, Padfoot.”

Peter nodded sagely. “You really messed up this time, Sirius. Girls don’t just ask you if you’d love them as a worm for no reason.”

Sirius turned to you, eyes wide with desperation. “Okay, I get it now. I was wrong. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve said I’d love you even if you were the slimiest, wriggliest worm in the world.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting him squirm under your gaze for a moment before speaking. “And why should I believe you?”

“Because,” Sirius said, his voice softening as he took your hands in his, “I love you. And I don’t care if you’re a worm, or a dog, or a… or a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I love you for who you are, not what you are. And if you were a worm, I’d find a way to make it work. I’d carry you around in a little jar, and I’d protect you from birds, and… and I’d even learn what worms like to eat!”

But you weren’t having it. “Too late for that, Black. You’ve already made your feelings clear.”

James leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. “You know, Pads, if you’d just said yes in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess. But now, she knows your true feelings.”

Sirius turned back to you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated pleading. “Please, love, I’m sorry. I was just being stupid. You know I’d love you no matter what, even if you were… I don’t know, a Blast-Ended Skrewt!”

You blinked at him. “A Blast-Ended Skrewt?”

Sirius nodded earnestly. “Yes! Anything but a worm!”

Remus couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “And you think that’s better?”

Sirius groaned, running his hands through his hair again. “Okay, bad example. But you get what I mean, right? I’m sorry. I love you—worm, human, Skrewt, whatever.”

You paused, staring down at him as he knelt before you, looking thoroughly pathetic. The room was silent, all eyes on you as they waited to see what you would do next.

Finally, you sighed and sat back down, though you still kept your arms crossed. “Fine. I forgive you. But you’d better start thinking before you answer stupid questions in the future.”

Sirius beamed, his relief palpable as he quickly scooted closer to you on the sofa. “I promise! No more stupid answers!”

James leaned over, whispering to Remus. “Bet he’ll say yes to anything she asks now.”

Remus smirked. “No doubt about it.”

Sirius, now fully back in your good graces, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. “So, just to be clear… I’d love you no matter what, even if you were a worm. A very cute worm.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though you tried to hide it. “Good. Because if you ever hesitate again, I might just have to turn you into one.”

Sirius laughed, pulling you closer. “And I’d still find a way to love you.”

James, watching the two of you, sighed dramatically. “Merlin, if this is what love is like, maybe I’m better off single.”

Lily rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. “Oh, please. You’d have said the same thing if I’d asked you.”

James grinned, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You wouldn’t have to ask. I’d love you no matter what.”

Lily blushed, playfully shoving him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

James smirked. “So, Sirius, if she were a Blast-Ended Skrewt—”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, “We are not going down that road again.”

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work.

[miley1442111]

(part 2) choices and chances- art donaldson

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

summary: the last time you're second-place to tashi

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment, hurt, etc. +

PART 2 of 12

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Art ran through the science building, tennis bag swinging from his back as he raced through students to get to you. Patrick was hot on his heels, shouting ‘where are you going?’ and ‘can you slow down?!’. 

Art did not slow down. Art kept running. 

He knew this was his last and final chance, that if he didn’t make it to this, he would lose you for good. He was still sweaty from a warm-up session with Tashi 10 minutes ago, his hat was practically falling off his head but he couldn’t have cared less. 

As he came to a halting stop outside the lab you were having an exam in, his heart dropped when he saw the lights off and the chairs empty. He checked the time, 2:48pm. Your exam finished at 2:30, right?

Art opened your texts and scrolled back to the text in which you had told him about the date of your final exam, asking him to pick you up at 2:00pm. 

“Fuck!” Art shouted, gaining many stares from the students around him. He quickly dialled your number (he had learnt it by heart) only to be met with an automated voice telling him that his number was blocked. “Fuck!” 

His tennis bag was swung to the floor and he sat against the wall, anger and shame eating at him. You had a match against Tashi and a final science lab today, and he was too busy with Tashi, helping her warm up when he should've been with you. 

“Hey, at least you’re off the hook,” Patrick patted him on the shoulder and Art blew up. 

“I don’t want to be off the hook! I want her to be angry with me, I want her to see me, to want to see me! I want her to fight with me, because that’s all we fucking do nowdays and it’s all my fucking fault! Once again, I ruined the best chance I’ve ever had with tennis!” He shouted, standing up tall in front of Patrick. “And yes, Patrick, I’m aware that you’re dating Tashi and that you think I’m jealous, well I’m fucking not! I just want my girlfriend to still want to be my girlfriend! My Y/n to still be my Y/n! So don’t come to me every fucking time Tashi pisses you off, telling me that ‘I can have her’ because I don’t fucking want her!”

Patrick sat there stunned. Art had never raised his voice at him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find my girlfriend,” Art said after gaining his composure once more, and starting to walk down the hall. 

“Ex-girlfriend!” Patrick shouted after him, rubbing salt in the wound. Art flipped him his middle finger, and set off to find you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Art didn’t find you before the match, but he was sitting beside an upset Patrick. 

You came out in your Nike tennis outfit, Tashi in her Adidas, and the match began. 

What ensued was real tennis. Tashi was talented, yes. But you, you were on fire. You beat Tashi Duncan. You actually beat Tashi Duncan. 

Art couldn’t have been more proud. Or worried. 

What if this actually was his last chance and he blew it on Tashi?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He knocked on your dorm door with a bunch of lilies in his hand, your favourite. He had a whole plan, he would apologise, grovel, congratulate, then fuck you. Then, he’d spend all weekend with you and go into San Francisco for a city break. 

You opened the door wearing one of his sweaters, a sleepy, but upset look in your eyes. “What?”

“Can we talk?” He asked, a smile on his face at your beautiful and drowsy state. 

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes and stepped outside instead of letting him in. Odd. 

“I’m so sorry, I thought that the final ended at 2:30 and when I got there you were gone-”

“What time did you get there?” You asked, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“2:30?” he lied. 

“No you didn’t. I waited until 2:40 for you Art, fucking praying you would show up, don’t lie to me.”

Art sighed. “I’m sorry baby.”

“Look Art, I’m getting really tired of being second place to everyone, sorry- to Tashi, in your life so please just let me go,” you asked. “Now, I would really like to get back into my dorm.”

Art knew he had to fight for you. “Please, I wanted to make it up to you, I thought he could go to San-Fran this weekend, just you and me, no tennis, no distractions.”

“I have a match this weekend Art,” you rolled your eyes and Art sighed, realising he’d forgotten. “Y’know, the one you promised me you’d be at so you could meet my parents?”

“Yes of course, you know I’ll be there, I meant after we could go to San-Fran,” he smiled, his hands on your hips. 

“Don’t bother coming, we’re done,” you shoved his hands off your body and walked back to your door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very hot guy from my science class who would like to fuck me again, so I’ll see you around Arthur.”

You slammed the door in his face and his heart broke, he had lost you. 

He had made his choices, and lost all of his chances.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

PART 3: choices and meetings

art donaldson masterlist :)

[forestdeath1]

Sirius’s attitude towards Peter

This is going to be a bit controversial because in the fandom, it's commonly believed that Sirius loved Peter. People backs this up with two points:

Sirius suggested Peter as the Secret Keeper.

Sirius said he'd die for Peter.

In my view, their relationship was a bit more complicated than just "he loved him." Emotions aren't just about love and hate, there's a lot of grey area in between. But personally, I don't see any evidence that Sirius truly loved or respected Peter.

From what we know in the books, teachers saw Peter like this:

Pettigrew... that fat little boy who was always tagging around after them at Hogwarts?’ said Madam Rosmerta. ‘Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall.

For an observant and clever person like McGonagall, the group dynamics aren't a secret. It's exactly what people saw from the outside.

We know for sure that Peter visited the Potters, and Lily worried about him being sad, whereas there's no mention of Remus. In the Order of the Phoenix photo, Peter stands next to James, Lily and Sirius, while Remus is on the other end. So at least during the war, Peter was closer to the Potters than Remus.

Here's what JKR says about their relationship with Peter:

"Pettigrew, who they, in a slightly patronizing way, James and Sirius at least, who they allowed to hang round with them, it turned out that he was a better wizard than they knew. Turned out he was better at hiding secrets than they knew."

And it makes sense. Patronizing. They didn't intend to be friends with Peter at all, it was Remus who felt sorry for him and persuaded James and Sirius to include him.

Remus, always the underdog’s friend, was kind to short and rather slow Peter Pettigrew, a fellow Gryffindor, whom James and Sirius might not have thought worthy of their attention without Remus’s persuasion. Soon, these four became inseparable. (Pottermore)

And what we see in their relationship in reality:

Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. 

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’ 

Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned. 

Peter's behaviour:

Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows; Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face. 

How can someone like Sirius, who literally hates groveling ("I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself?"), respect and love someone who constantly grovels? Was Sirius blind not to see that? Everyone saw it. Remus simply pitied and was kind to Peter ("always the underdog’s friend"), and James loved Peter's adoration. James is the kind of person who really loves attention, and at the same time, he has a pretty black-and-white view of the world, and probably considered Peter a good guy, albeit one he could sometimes make fun of ('How thick are you, Wormtail?' said James impatiently. 'You run round with a werewolf once a month –')

But Sirius didn't need attention, he wasn't an attention-seeker. He could see pretty well who and what everyone was.

Many say that what Sirius says in PoA,he says it after many years of reflection in Azkaban and on emotions. I don’t think so:

‘Lily and James only made you Secret Keeper because I suggest- ed it,’ Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backwards. ‘I thought it was the perfect plan ... a bluff ... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you ... it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.’ 

Sirius came up with a bluff. A plan where Voldemort was supposed to come after him, Sirius, not Peter. It wasn't just that Sirius trusted Peter. The point was that Voldemort would NOT come after Peter. Why was he so sure Voldemort wouldn't come after Peter?

Because first of all, I think Sirius really, as he said, believed that Voldemort would never pay attention to Peter. And secondly, Sirius was sure that Peter admired James too much and loved him too much to betray. The one who was always attached to them, the one who always looked up to James in admiration.

Sirius underestimated Peter's "bravery" and cunning.

‘I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter – I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us ... me and Remus ... and James ...’

He always saw that Peter was attached to them as "big friends," but Sirius, being arrogant, underestimated that besides them, Peter could have other "big friends." He was too convinced that Peter idolized James.

At the same time, it's pretty obvious why Sirius didn't trust Remus. He always respected Remus more, considered him smarter and more capable. He couldn't not trust James, James was everything to him, but Remus, who also often disappeared on missions, he could. This distrust shows not so much that they had bad relations, but rather that Sirius considered Remus a more capable and independent person, not just an appendage to James, like Peter.

So why were they considered inseparable and why did Sirius say he would die for Peter?

‘He – he was taking over everywhere!’ gasped Pettigrew. ‘Wh-what was there to be gained by refusing him?’ 

‘What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?’ said Black, with a terrible fury in his face. ‘Only innocent lives, Peter!’ 

‘You don’t understand!’ whined Pettigrew. ‘He would have killed me, Sirius!’ 

‘THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!’ roared Black. ‘DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!’ 

Sirius has a very strong sense of honor. For him, dying for those he considers «ours» is a matter of honor. This is a nuance in his character — he may not particularly like or respect someone, but if they're "ours" he'll defend them (even someone like Mundungus).

He considered Peter their friend, he was with them from the first year, James loved Peter, Remus loved Peter, Peter helped in their mischiefs, and Sirius treated Peter okay, as a friend, but without much respect or some unearthly love that fandom usually portrays. He could see what Peter was like, and surely there were tense situations between them, but Sirius wasn't a bad person, and Peter knew how to play the helpless and miserable guy. It's like a patronizing friendship, where you're friends not because you really respect and love the person, but because they're in your group, and you're used to them. It was a childhood friendship. There was no sacred friendship. Children often start friendships simply because they end up in the same bedroom.

And Sirius isn't afraid of death. His death – it's not the worst thing for him. He tells Peter the same thing. Better to die than betray friends. That's his honor—he doesn't understand betrayal. The concept of honor isn't linked to love. For some reason, many think that a person can only decide to die for those they love. But some might choose death because their honor demands it. And if Sirius considered someone a friend, and he did consider Peter a friend, then dying for him is a normal reaction.

JKR on this: "Sirius would have done it. With all his faults and flaws, he has this profound sense of honor, ultimately, and he would rather have died honorably, as he would see it, than live with the dishonor and shame."

And Sirius would die not just for Peter. He told the twins about their father, who was on a mission: "You don't understand - there are things worth dying for!"

So, I don't see any evidence that Sirius truly loved and respected Peter. Did he consider him a friend? Yes, he did. Not personally his own, but their friend. James's friend first and foremost and an integral part of the Marauders. Would he die for him? Yes, of course. It's a matter of honor. But he always saw him as lesser than themselves, not as worthy, not as strong, not as smart, too cowardly, and sly. And it's precisely because of his arrogant attitude that he thought Voldemort would never pay attention to Peter, making Peter the perfect Secret Keeper. Also, in his opinion, Peter would never betray James precisely because Peter supposedly idolized James too much and loved him too much. But "it turned out that he was a better wizard than they knew. Turned out he was better at hiding secrets than they knew."

[dakusan]

Heyyy it’s 🦔 anon. And back with something elseee.

Ok so basically imagine this. Vampire skz and you have a fight. And you are pretty mad at them. Like silent treatment, sleeping in a different bed mad. Like they forgot your birthday or a big event. What do you think they’d do to like make you forgive them?

Also I HOPE YOU’RE HAVING AN AMAZING DAY!!!

hey my lil spiky soulmate, you came back to inject EMOTIONAL DAMAGE into my bloodstream huh? as if i didn't already have 8 feral vampire boys haunting my dreams and now you wanna make them messy and guilty too??? ok. okay.

you want vampire SKZ grovelling? BEGGING?? doing unhinged shit to win your forgiveness?? baby. say less. i've already torn open the coffin.

LET'S GET INTO IT

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

V A M P I R E ! S K Z : t h e y f o r g o t . y o u ' r e p i s s e d . w h a t n o w .

CHAN

you're not talking to him. you didn't even look at him when he tried to bring your favourite drink.

he hasn't fed in days. refuses. punishes himself with sleeplessness, pacing the hallway in front of your door like some ancient beast in exile.

writes you a 7-page apology letter on crumpled paper with blood-stained corners. builds a playlist for you literally says "you can kill me if you want, just don't leave"

MINHO

laughs bitterly to himself the moment he realises. doesn't chase you immediately—lets the guilt fester.

next morning, the entire bedroom is redone: black roses, velvet bedding, a handwritten poem on your pillow.

cooks your favourite food perfectly (even if he doesn't eat it) and places it next to a wrapped box with a note:

"i have no excuse. just a throat you can rip out if you need."

sits shirtless on the floor like a punishment altar until you speak.

CHANGBIN

freaks out. absolutely devastated. doesn't understand how he forgot but it haunts him. shows up at your door with 3 apology cakes, a bouquet of midnight lilies, and tear-glazed puppy eyes.

writes you a song called "bitten but not forgotten" and sings it outside your window like a vampire romeo

would physically cry if you sleep in another room. begs in raspy half-voice: "just yell at me, baby. please. anything's better than silence."

HYUNJIN

you don't speak. he paints. your face. in grief. a whole series.

every hallway is now lined with mourning versions of you—sleeping, angry, radiant, ghostlike.

tries to "accidentally" bump into you shirtless and wounded like "oops i haven't healed yet guess you should stab me again lol"

also buys you an expensive ring with a ruby the size of his guilt.

writes you a letter title:

"The Eternal Night Without You Feels Like Ash In My Throat"

JISUNG

he forgot and now he's in the guilt blender. pacing. babbling. writing you 12 drafts of apology texts he never sends.

creates a full mixtape with tracks like "You Deserve a Better Immortal" and "I Bit Myself Thinking of You"

you wake up to a note taped to your mirror that says:

"i'm under the floorboards. just wanted you to know. sorry again." (is he serious? maybe. are you kind of impressed? also maybe.)

cries when you forgive him. tongue-tied. "You can bite me. just...real hard. please. i deserve it."

FELIX

he gets very quiet. soft. small. disappears for a few hours and comes back with a handmade gift full of warm little things: your favourite snacks, a locket with your photo, his favourite hoodie that smells like him.

whispers, "i made this because i love you... and i was stupid."

writes a list of every moment he remembers loving you (it's 84 items long and still growing)

offers to be your pillow for the rest of eternity.

SEUNGMIN

tries to pretend he's fine. fails miserably. everything is too quiet.

cleans the entire house. organises your bookshelf. alphabetises the bloodbags in the fridge.

slides you a note under the door:

"i know what i forgot. i also know that forgetting doesn't mean not loving. punish me if you want. i'll still choose you."

doesn't sleep. doesn't speak. just waits for your voice like it's oxygen.

JEONGIN

he's DEVASTATED. borderline trembling.

shows up at your door holding a cake that says "i'm sorry i'm undead and dumb"

makes a scavenger hunt of apology letters around your shared space. each one is funnier and more tragic than the last.

the final note:

"i'd rather be staked than make you feel forgotten."

you find him curled up in your bed. looks up all teary eyes and goes: "can i hold your hand again? i swear i'll never mess up again."

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦔ANON I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY I AM FOAMING

thank you for the pain. thank you for the chaos. thank you for enabling my vampire brain rot.

i hope YOUR day is as sweet as felix's blood popsicles and as dramatic as hyunjin's apology art gallery 🖤🩸🖤

[lightningant]

Severus Snape thoughts

I've prodded him with my thoughts before but now I need to post through it. Because he's my princess.

I think a lot of what makes Snape so complex (and so compelling) is that he is neither a good person nor a just person. He really is beefing with that 11-year-old. He really did scoff at Albus saying that he would protect Harry because he cares about him. (LMAO, btw). He really is just a horrible guy, which honestly makes his efforts that much more brave and noble!

When we see the Prince's Tale, Severus Snape personally curates his timeline to showcase his bigotry to Harry. He specifically isolates moments where his antipathy for muggles is contrasted with his love for Lily. He does not show Harry his home life, or how much Lily liked him, he is on topic: I hated muggles, but I loved her. And then he isolates a moment where Lily finally explains how troubled she is by his friends, and he cuts off whatever teen drama motivated her to say it. He shows his worst memory again, something he was shaking with rage and fear at Harry discovering. He shows the aftermath of him grovelling.

And after that is the timeskip. His feelings are not relevant. In fact, all of his memories may as well be from Lily's perspective. It is significant that all his memories are essentially from Lily's perspective.

What Snape was showcasing to Harry is that he knows that he was not listening to her. He knows he was being patronizing, that he prioritized his exclusive access to her over feelings, that he treated her beliefs as if they were irrelevant or biased.

Snape took on a patron-like relationship with Lily, teaching her wizarding culture and presumably acting as the source of her incredible potions ability (despite her expertise clearly being charms). He most definitely assumed that in the Dark Lord's new order, people like Lily would be coveted for their magical skill alone, and he would not really care if the Death Eaters executed Lily's parents and sister because they're just muggles.

And then she is murdered for protecting Harry Potter too well. She is disposable. He had to have heard it. She's just a mudblood.

Snape gives himself no excuses in the Prince's Tale. He did not include what he did for her in his memories, because he prided himself in uplifting her star and probably still does, and the memories in that bottle exhibited his shame. He provides no context which might paint himself in a better light. He is giving Harry his remorse, with raw, open honesty. 'Here is where I went wrong.'

Snape's character is that of someone who is bearing the excruciating burden of not only being responsible for the death of a loved one, but silently de-radicalizing himself, all alone, while still on the inside. He lives in his muggle house. He intentionally repaired the link between his current self and his shameful muggle origins in order to acknowledge his values were wrong and the way he treated Lily was unforgivable. He won't even let paintings use slurs.

There is a temptation to polish his image, to say he was justified or uniquely victimized, without acknowledging Snape is messy and cruel has always been fundamentally incapable of empathy, yet he has passionate feelings on doing the right thing. He spent 10 years making an active choice to be a good person, a thing that does not come naturally to him. The point of the Prince's Tale is that it does not come naturally to him!!!!! And he does it anyway!!!!!!

He doesn't want Harry to die because he's the last thing he has left of Lily (🙄), but because the right thing to do, the Lily thing to do, is to not raise a boy for slaughter, let alone her boy.

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.” 

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?” 

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about. 

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.” 

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?” 

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.” 

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.” 

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile. 

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly. 

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression. 

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.” 

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone. 

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you. 

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently. 

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation. 

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–  

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?” 

He thought your eyes were pretty? 

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out. 

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @lilly-aliyah @milivanili99 @stars-havefallen @spidergwnn @prongs-moon @joeytribbiani18 @yeahright0h @ronancebot @ropickle @regulusblacksposts @lovelywritersgarden @helloitsmeeeeeee @xobridgertonblues @azuredgalaxies

please comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - LDPDL: Burning Questions

I was reading this Variety article, and they mentioned something that made me think of fan critiques of Louis' opaque motivations in the finale, and the fun laughs we've shared over how he's so unbothered by vamp nonsense that he never seems to ask important questions.

I'm drafting a separate post specifically about "Vampire Grace," but I wanted to focus here on only one point in particular:

PAUL.

We always talk about whether Louis chose Lestat over Claudia; "you take him with you, in HERE!" But I haven't seen talk about how Louis chose Lestat over Paul, and how that factors into Lou's habit of not asking HELLA important questions that could've saved Loustat DECADES of resentment.

Paul's suicide "opened the series," setting this whole thing in motion. Florence blames Louis for his death, making Lou feel like a failure.

--the first time we see Louis outright say to someone's face "I love you," it's mere seconds b4 Paul jumps off a roof. (The only other person we see him say it to is Armand, right after saying they're not companions. 💀)

Paul's memory is wrapped up in Louis' love of Lestat, cuz until Les showed up, Paul had been Lou's one and only companion--the sole person he could TALK to. As a closeted gay man, Lou was desperate for MALE companionship: understanding, acceptance & love.

Sure, he had Grace & Lily (& later Claudia)--all WOMEN--but:

his daddy's dead, and who knows what their deal was, but it couldn't be worse than effing Florence. So there's a lingering want of a father-figure; someone older/wiser who could teach & guide Lou when he was feeling "lost...in a dark way" (*cough* Armand *cough*)

a father or brother is still not the companion Louis REALLY wants/needs, so ofc there's things Lou can't tell Paul, or have with him. Les's an upgraded Paul-- a HUSBAND, not a SIBLING (*cough* Claudia *cough*).

(deep down) Lou was jealous of how candid & honest Paul was; regardless that Paul's lack of a filter was a side effect of his mental illness & religious fanaticism (cuz vampirism's an allegory for sexuality--and even in gay mecca Paris & SanFran Lou was still tryna "find himself" as the Zodiac Killer *cough Daniel *cough*)

Paul's dying wish was for Loustat to never be together

and Lou felt he'd betrayed Paul; that he'd lied/hadn't kept his word

folding like a leaf rather than saying NO, or killing himself like he'd implied (suicide by vampire instead of cane-sword/alcohol poisoning)

(and Queen Claudia called Lestat the "Father of Lies" (aka The Devil), and she ain't never lie a day in her life, either)

So the Catholic guilt was extra strong, cuz Saint Paul was right about Les; but Lou chose Les anyway--in the church, on the altar--after Paul died trusting that Lou WOULDN'T take him back.

Instead, we get this boatload of excuses from Louis about the "vampire bond," when the only bond that matters is LOVE. But this is the crux of Louis' personality/problems, and why the interview took so long for him to attempt either the 1st or 2nd time around. Cuz Louis is a hypocritical coward stuffed to gills with self-loathing & GUILT. He runs away from the truth, he runs away from his issues, and he hides from himself and everyone around him.

So OF COURSE Louis doesn't ask important questions. It's not that he doesn't care--it's that HE'S SCARED of asking, and terrified of what the answer is. So it takes him forever to even BEGIN addressing the elephants in the room.

Louis ALWAYS suspected. But he was:

Scared of the answer/truth

Scared that Les would LIE

Scared he'd forgive Les regardless

Paul died in 1911. It had been 26 YEARS until Lou finally piped up in 1937 (the end of Les's Grovel Era). But this was the PERFECT chance to call Les' bluff & get some honest answers out of him for once, cuz:

If Les (unapologetically) caused Paul's death, he can just stay gone

It's in Les' best interest to tell the truth regardless, cuz he's been desperately tryna get back in Lou's (& Claudia's) good graces for 6 years, and being sincere will earn him more cookies (he'd also be banking on Lou forgiving him regardless, cuz he's been missing Les so bad, even after being beat into the next decade & dropped a billion miles in the air)

If Les IS lying, how would they even frikkin know if they can't read his mind? Lou just wants to see what Les will say

(In 2x6 he waited to ask Madeleine if she only saw Claudia as a replacement for her dead sister--a question he should've asked BEFORE he Turned her, but... 🤷 Moot.)

So in the finale, there's 2 painful truths Lou has to contend with:

WHY is he doing the 2nd interview?

WHO saved him during the Trial?

It takes Louis 77 YEARS to reclaim the "pieces of myself" he'd lost/forgotten. He ALWAYS knew things weren't adding up with Armand. He KNEW there were things missing. Even in SanFran, BEFORE the mind-wipe, he was already losing his mind/memories--PTSD from all the awful things he'd been through.

Even book!Louis knew about Claudia's diaries for a decade b4 he finally got the courage to ask the Talamasca if he could read them & speak to her ghost.

Although Lou's naive AF, he's not an idiot--he HAD A HUNCH that Armand knew more than he was letting on, which is precisely why he kept ignoring Armand every time he asked to stop the interview.

However, for once, Lou actually wastes VERY little time with this one:

As soon as he learns the truth about "Banishment," he divorces Armand, and runs back to NOLA to find Lestat. Memory is a monster Lou'd been running scared from all this time. He's tired of running away, wasting so much time, wasting the gift, when he could be actively tryna solve his problems to make life bearable/better. The hellish prison he'd lived in was by his own design--only he could chose to stand up, take control of his life; and finally ask the burning questions. "Truth and reconciliation."

Lou could finally make peace with the memory of the two people he'd been avoiding for so long; whom he felt he'd let down the most:

For once Lou chooses to be "companion enough for myself," and live with/for himself, not relying other people to save/fix/determine his life for him anymore. That's really the only way he'll be able to be with Les in a healthier, guilt-free relationship in the future.

[thehomophobe]

Demon Slayer Swap Au Part 2

Kagaya Ubuyashiki and The Twelve Kizuki

Kagaya Ubuyashiki: The story begins similarly to Muzan's: Kagaya was born ill until a doctor prescribed him medicine made with the blue spider lily. The prescription works and Kagaya's cured; it's a Christmas miracle, right? Kagaya wanted to spread this revolutionary gift to others like him; who knows how many people are dying at the cruel hands of disease? This could change lives! He needed more of it. He must know how to create it. Of course, the doctor would love to produce more medicine if it weren't for how manic Kagaya was acting. Soon that mania evolved into cannibalism, and the doctor just calls off the entire project. Kagaya, unamused by the sudden cancellation, attempts to turn the doctor into a demon in the belief that his blood benefits the work effort, but backfires and kills him instead. Now the new demonic Ubuyashiki on the loose, he perfected his technique of creating more demons and conducted his research on the blue spider lily.

And thus, began the tale of the Demon King.

He sees his demon as his beloved children, with them in return calling him "Father", as they look up to him like an eternal paternal guardian due to his soothing voice and gentle face. With it, he'll never scare his children or use force as a punishment; just that gentle smile only can make a demon grovel in shame. But he is incredibly strong physically and mentally, so he's not to be trifled with.

Upper Moon One: Yoriichi

Obviously, if one twin is on the light side, the other has to be on the dark side. The whole lore is the same as in Cannon, the only difference is that Yoriichi didn't develop a hatred for demons, making Kagaya able to manipulate him into offering his blood and becoming a demon. Driven by the grief of the truth, he blindly follows Kagaya, becoming Upper Moon One and finally a part of the family he wanted. All of the other Kizuki called him "Yorii-nii" or "older brother" as he was the first person to turn.

During his demonhood, Yoriichi ends up meeting Michikatsu, who was enraged that his brother found a shortcut to power. The two fought until Michikatsu was defeated, but Yoriichi decided it would be interesting to see how much his brother could grow as a human, sparing as a hope they would meet again for a true fight. 

He fights using his sun breathing techniques and uses six swords for each of his arms, kinda like that Yoriichi Type Zero doll. He still owns the flute Michikatsu gave him.

Upper Moon Two: Gyomei

Same backstory as usual, however instead of a demon killing the children, it's a murderer. Gyomei is too late to save the other kids, so with all his might he defends Sayo until the murderer escapes and the townsfolk come to investigate the commotion. Sayo "rats" out Gyomei and gets arrested. Before the day of his execution, however, Kagaya swoops in and rescues him from his demise by turning him into a demon. Now Gyomei is loyal to the Demon King and runs a cult under his name as he believes the King brings miracles to the helpless and unfortunate. He is the second eldest brother only transforming a few years after Yoriichi.

Upper Moon Three: Muichiro

This is where things start to get controversial. I know many people have their own opinions on who's stronger amongst the Hashira and therefore transfer that into their ranks, but this is how I would rank the Hashira from strongest to weakest so bear with me.

Same backstory, however instead of Amane visiting the Twins at their home, it's Kagaya. After the Demon King found out that Michikatsu was on the opposing team, Kagaya fell in love with the thought of the two Tsugikunis battling each other. But, he later sniffed out another blood relative still living in the era. Kagaya visited the Tokitos home and offered to take the twins into custody after their parents died. Yuichiro, not impressed by this random man, shoos Kagaya away from their place until he returns again. The same song and dance happen until Kagaya just stops coming. A few days after the last visit, the same demon breaks into the house and murders Yuichiro, to which Muichiro retaliates by slaughtering it. The older twin, saying his final prayers, dies and rots while the younger twin slowly fades away from blood loss. Before Muichiro could die, however, Kagaya returns once again. The Demon King liquifies Yuichiro's corpse into demon blood and Muichiro absorbs it, turning him into a demon. 

While he was the last Kizuki to turn, he challenged the upper moons for their ranks, except for Gyomei because he's strong as hell, making him Upper Moon Three. They call it The Great Shift. The other Kizuki calls him "little brother" because he's the youngest of the Twelve. 

Upper Moon Four: Tengen

With leaving his father and brother behind and having to kill his other siblings, Tengen was at a loss in his life. Although he happily married three wives, they all died during his Shinobi years. Luckily, Kagaya offered him a new life and a new family as he turned into a demon. He was the original Upper Moon Three until The Great Shift occurred. Best friends with Kyojuro obvi.

Upper Moon Five: Kyojuro 

The story is the same until after a horrible fight with his father leading him to take a breather outside in the nearby woodlands. Soon, a certain flamboyant demon happens to just hang about the area and offers a better life, away from the pain. Kyojuro at first was hesitant; he had to think it over for a few days until he accepted. Loses his memory in the process except for a few glimpses. Originally Upper Moon Four until The Great Shift occurred. Best friends with Tengen obvi.

Upper Moon Six: Mitsuri

Same story: Got rejected and decided to run away from home until she encounters Obanai and turns into a demon. Believes that she could find a husband since she's finally beautiful enough to be desired. Is very strong and incredibly flexible. Uses a long pointed succubus tail like a whip. Gets along with Obanai but hates it when he teases her. Originally Upper Moon Five until The Great Shift occurred.

Lower Moon One: Sanemi

Backstory is the same, but during his mother's transformation, Sanemi absorbed some of her blood and turned into a demon. It was hard for him to take care of Genya; the amount of willpower he needed to not eat his brother was ungodly. Sanemi was forced to starve himself for years until Kagaya came to save them brothers. He turned Genya into a demon, so they could both be together in the the Infinity Castle. He's incredibly loyal to Kagaya now, willing to do whatever he needs. Originally Upper Moon Six until The Great Shift occurred. Was PISSED when a little kid beat his ass to rise up the ranks and demoted him to the lower moons. He challenged Tengen, but failed. He challenged Kyojuro, but failed. He tried to manipulate Mitsuri into swap, but that failed so he challenged her and  failed again. Takes his anger out on the lesser demons and Giyuu. Is highly protective of Genya.

Lower Moon Two: Giyuu

Backstory is the same; after Sabito died, Giyuu quit the corps altogether due to the overbearing grief. Kagaya found him and turned him as he resonated with his sorrow. While he's a part of a new family, Giyuu decides to disassociate himself from his brothers and sisters. Only talks to Yoriichi as he sees him as an older brother and can relate to his introversion. Shinobu and Mitsuri like to talk to him. Originally Lower Moon One until The Great Shift occurred. Didn't really care about the shift unlike Sanemi, who was tweaking out like crazy. Both he and Obanai loathe his presence.

Lower Moon Three: Obanai

Actually turned from the snake demon his family worshipped, making him the last remaining survivor of the Iguros, but doesn't remember his past. Dislikes women except for his little sister Mitsuri. Actually turned Mitsuri into a demon. Likes to bully her for fun. Also likes Sanemi and loathes Giyuu. Originally Lower Moon Two until The Great Shift, which pisses him off too because he planned to usurper Giyuu from his rank and manipulate Mitsuri to take her spot. Has a giant snake body spanning from torso to tail, making him the tallest of the Kizuki. 

Lower Moon Four: Shinobu 

Same story as usual. Kanae suddenly disappear a long time ago and never returned. She had to care for Kanao alone until Kagaya came to tell the bad news: Kanae got eaten by a demon. The Demon King then offered the two a better home with his family, this turning them into demons. Runs a laboratory with Kanao, Aoi and the butterfly girls for research. Originally Lower Moon Three until The Great Shift. Shinobu actually ate Kotoha.

Lower Moon Five: Kanao

Same story. Was cared for by Shinobu alone after Kanae went missing. Kagaya told them that she got eaten and decided to take her and her sister into custody and become demons. Works at the laboratory with Shinobu, Aoi and the butterfly girls. Originally Lower Moon Four until The Great Shift. Second youngest of the Twelve.

Lower Moon Six: Genya

The backstory is still the same except Sanemi got infected by demon blood from his mother. Sanemi cared for him ever since until Kagaya stepped in and offered the two news lives as demons. Had forgotten his past but remembers Sanemi being related to him somehow. Challenged Kanao for her rank multiple times and constantly fails. Gets picked on by Muichiro a lot.

[tedwardremus]

Hi there! Reading Rage and wondering what you think it would have taken for Snape to go back to Voldemort during the second war. In some ffs they have him turn to support Draco, but I don’t really think their relationship was so close. I have also always felt that Dumbledore’s reasons for trusting him were so ridiculous! The man showed no remorse for anyone but Lily. If I were to advocate for him I’d definitely keep him under close watch and not let him loose on the poor children, lmao. Tbh this ask is both about Snape and Dumbledore, would love to see him get his comeuppance for playing people like chess pieces.

Thank you so much for reading Rage! Ahhh that is so nice of you!

The wizarding world operates on wealth, connections, and bloodlines. Success is often determined not by talent or effort, but by the family you're born into. Without the right name, financial security, or network, it is nearly impossible to rise. Snape is ambitious and intelligent, but he lacks all three: no wealth, no social capital, and a Muggle surname that immediately marks him as lesser in elite magical circles.

He longs for a system that recognizes ability over ancestry—a world where his intellect and hard work are enough. This longing fuels his deep resentment toward James Potter, who seems to glide through life effortlessly, handed admiration and opportunity simply for being rich, popular, and born into the “right” kind of family. Snape sees James’s arrogance not just as personal cruelty, but as emblematic of a society that was never going to reward someone like him.

To Snape, Voldemort initially represents the promise of meritocracy. Voldemort claims to value power, talent, and usefulness above all else. If Voldemort, the most powerful wizard of their age, is willing to recognize Snape’s value, then perhaps Snape’s blood status doesn’t matter. Snape is drawn to that promise: a system where effort is rewarded, and he no longer has to grovel at the feet of those born into privilege.

But Snape is not naive. His decision to go to Dumbledore after learning Voldemort is targeting the Potters reveals that he understands Voldemort is not truly benevolent or just. This moment is pivotal. It marks the breaking point where Snape realizes that Voldemort’s promise of reward for loyalty and competence is a lie. It’s not a meritocracy—it’s a cult of personality and Voldemort's violence has no limits.

Does Snape ever truly let go of his prejudice against Muggle-borns and Muggles? I don’t think so. His treatment of students (especially Hermione and Neville) suggests he continues to carry deep-seated bias and bitterness. He remains a man who resents the world for not conforming to the system he believes is fair. But the moment he defects to Dumbledore is still meaningful. It does not make him a reformed man, but a redeemed one.

He remains cruel, petty, and interested in the Dark Arts. Ethically, he is not transformed. But Dumbledore leverages the one thing Snape cannot ignore: his guilt over Lily’s death. Dumbledore offers him a form of redemption, not through moral purity, but through service. Snape does not need to love Harry or become a better person. He only needs to protect the boy, and in doing so, atone.

Would Snape have ever gone back to Voldemort? I don’t think so. He comes to understand that Voldemort will never offer him the justice or recognition he craves. If Snape ever gave up on protecting Harry, he wouldn’t switch sides. He’d vanish. He’d retreat to Spinner’s End, worn down and bitter, drinking himself into oblivion as the regret of Lily’s death consumed him. Detached from the war and disgusted with both sides, he would live and die in quiet disillusionment, broken by the realization that neither the Dark Lord nor the Ministry nor Hogwarts ever had a place for him.

Dumbledore was a strategic leader in a time of war. Of course, he had to move pieces around the board. That’s the reality of war: hard choices, sacrifices, and sometimes playing people like pawns. But he was also a man full of regret, someone who loved deeply and searched desperately for better, less brutal ways to win. Dumbledore doesn’t need to “get his comeuppance” because he would be the first to admit where he went wrong. He carried the weight of his mistakes, fully aware of the suffering that came with victory, and he never pretended the cost wasn’t real.

[izelthewashbear]

Six stages of grief - chapter 3 (fragment)

Apparently I never posted a fragment for chapter 2? Oh well I needed a bit of a break from Canary's thrill, I hope this is a sufficient replacement

Martyn had to watch his step while he tried reaching Scott's base on a path made out of lily pads. He grimaced as he looked down at the deep, blue sea just inches under him. He could swim - after Ren taught him, another painful memory that his mind just resurfaced - but not very well, just enough to get back to the shore and not die. Most likely. The man stopped on the edge of the island, where a lone pair of doors blocked his entrance. It wasn't as if he couldn't get in around it - there were no walls or fences preventing him from just avoiding the door. Still, if he came to apologize, he felt like he needed to be respectful of Scott and his strange design choices. He took a deep, shaky breath and knocked on the door.

"Scott...?" he called out.

"What are you doing here, Martyn?" the blue-haired player asked. His tone was rather calm, but with a tinge of frustration. "You wanna finish your Boogeyman murder?"

"No, no... I'm over that already. And y'know what, killing BigB felt good..." he chuckled in a bitter way, resting his arm against the closed door. "I've come to grovel. Can I come in?"

"Hmmm... A moment."

The man approached the door, whilst nervously fidgeting with the bracelets he carried on his wrist. He saw the death message, so Martyn was not bluffing... But would someone as prideful and stubborn as him really come and beg for forgiveness? Ultimately, Scott grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open. Martyn, who did not expect that so soon and was still leaning on it, immediately lost his balance and fell on the grass with a muffled thud. Scott let out an amused giggle.

"You good, man?" he asked, looking down upon his friend.

"Yeah... I'm used to falling" the Listener huffed, rubbing the dirt off his face. He did not get up from the ground, however. As if he was ready to literally beg on his knees. "So, uh... I hope I'm not interrupting you...?"

"No... I was just sorting through my chests. After a certain blond guy tried to murder me" Scott pointed out in a sassy way. Martyn nervously smiled.

"Yeah, uh, about that... I'm sorry, dude. I was being an idiot..."

"Yeah, you were."