#also on my ao3 if you prefer to read it there! may post the link in a reblog

[percki]

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar. 

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

[osleeplessflowero]

Oneshot Masterpost

A collection of my oneshots! Series gradually being updated. These links are specific to Tumblr, BUT I have also posted quite a few of these on my Ao3! I also have fics on there, which I will also be making a masterpost for + uploading the chapters to tumblr.

🏡Neighborhood Series🏡

A series of randomized oneshots that take place in the same universe, a timeline where the skeleton duos all live in their own houses in a singular neighborhood.

In order(with links attached):

{Lore Related v}

🌠Stargazing (Classic Sans! First oneshot I wrote.)🔭

✨Back To You (Also Classic Sans, takes place a little bit after the former.)💤

{Out Of Order/Bonus Content v}

🏍Stress Relief (Fell/Red! I need to write him again..)💢

📻Close (Blue/Reader) [I don't really like this one that much anymore but I'll keep it up for any that do]🎵

🏖Beach Day (Swap Bros!)🌊

☕️Relax. (Fell Papyrus/Edge!)❄️

🌃Late Night Walk (Rus/Reader)🛹

🪓Scare Actor!Horror🎃

A series mainly themed for Halloween where Reader has a chance encounter with Horror while going to a Haunted House with their partner. Takes place in a Post-Pacifist Horrortale timeline, so Horror goes by Sans.

Part 1: Scares and a Sudden Friendship🎃🪓

Part 2: Coffee Hangout☕

Part 3: New Experiences // Meeting Papyrus!🥄

📖Fairytale Series🪄

A series of miscellaneous fairytale-based scenarios featuring your favorite skeletons. Some may have connections to others!

🗡️Assassin!Red/Mage!Reader🪄

⚔️Knight!Blue/Reader🎶

👑King!Nightmare/Ruler!Reader(Start of a Bad Sanses series)💢

🌹King!Dream/Ruler!Reader (An alternate timeline to the former concept)🪄

🤠Cowboy!Stretch🐎

An AU where Stretch and Blue live on a ranch and work as cowboys. The other skeletons ARE present in other areas, but this mainly just focuses on Stretch and his growing relationship with Reader. Could be considered Farmtale inspired.

🥃Part 1: howdy.🍯

🐴Part 2: Going for a ride🏇

💚Nightmare/Multiverse Traveler!Reader✨

An endless(?) game of Cat and Mouse, where Nightmare chases Reader across the Multiverse in order to finally be with them. Mutual pining, we love to see it!!

🎭Part 1: Chasing🌌

🌺Part 2: Blooms. (Angst)🥀

🖤Bad Sanses Shenanigans🔪

A collection of scenarios with everybody's favorite villains.

🎃Pumpkin Carving! (was originally a part of a now cancelled Halloween writing challenge series.)🔪

☃️Snow Day! (Christmas Special)🌨

🛌Sleepover!💕

🛝i'm here. (Dust Comfort)💜

🔪"Knife" To Meet'cha (Killer/Reader #1)🍻

🌹Falling For Ya (Killer/Reader #2(?) ) 🌃

🔒Cornered (Dust/Reader) (Kinda steamy)💜

🌌Alone With You (Dust/Reader)💕

AmalgaMATE

A scenario where Reader is an amalgamate of several different Reader souls, and is hopelessly in love with Science/Classic? Sans.

🧪Part 1: me and the amalgamate i pulled by being a punny guy 🔒 🤍Part 2: Soulmates?!🤍

Standalone Oneshots

Oneshots that haven't been made into series yet/are intended to be by themselves.

☔️Chance Encounter (Dream/Reader)🚍

🎶Dream/Fem Reader (Requested)🌳

💌Messages + Confessions (Error/Reader)📄

🛍First Meeting (Fell Papyrus/Edge!/Fem Reader)🐾 (Requested)

🫧Into The Sea (Merman!Blue/Reader)🌊

☕Home (Cross/Reader)🏠 (Requested)

Star Sanses HQ Shenanigans(Star Sanses & Reader [Platonic]) (Requested)

Flirting With Death (Reaper/Immune!Reader) (Requested)

🎡Carnival Date (Classic!Papyrus/Reader) (Requested)🧣

😱Frightening New Friend (Horror!Papyrus & Reader)🎃 [Halloween Special]

🌊A Light In The Depths (Mer!Nightmare/Reader)🤿 😳Crushing (Cross x Swap Universe!Reader) (Requested)💜

🛞Immune (Siren!Nightmare/Reader)⛵

My oneshot requests ARE OPEN if you would like to submit one, you can check out my rules post here! (You can send requests via Ask(Preferred) or here in the comments if you'd like.) Happy reading!

[faerievampling]

An Unexpected Visitor

Summary: Ascended!Astarion and Tav have been together for thousands of years. One day, an unexpected visitor shows up, reminding them of their past and offering them a new adventure.

Word Count: 4k

Here's the link to AO3!

Pairing: (soft) Ascended!Astarion x Female Tav

Warning: 18+, Explicit. PiV. Oral Sex. Light bondage. Light dom/sub.

A/N: This is going to be a multi-chapter story I will be posting here and on AO3. Largely but not entirely based on my headcanons for Ascended!Astarion that you can read here: Part 1. Part 2. (Not necessary to read first!!)

I hope you enjoy!

Next Chapter

You wake up with a strong sense of unease. Astarion, your creator and husband, picks up on it immediately, of course. The two of you are so profoundly connected, your minds nestled together; he knows that you do not know the ‘why’ for these feelings.

Astarion kisses and cuddles you good morning, as he always does, but he holds you a bit longer this time, not wanting to get out of bed with his consort feeling this way. His hold on you is tight as he buries his nose in your hair.

Alas, Astarion has work to do, including ensuring the protection of his territories and assets, especially at a time like this.

The war, my darling. The war. Astarion reminds you again. You hadn’t been affected by it at all, and didn't really care. And Astarion really didn’t care that you didn’t care. He only wanted your happiness and wellbeing, and had worked hard to keep you away from it all.

But he feared that maybe you could sense it, or were beginning to. His weariness, his stress; those feelings he did his best to guard you from. 

Astarion cradled you to his chest, one arm on your naked back and the other nestled in the root of your hair, giving you gentle massages as you listen to the thump of his ever-beating heart. After a while, Astarion repositions the two of you so that he may offer his neck to you. He knows this is your (second) favorite place to feed, because you can feel the beat of his heart and drink in his scent.

He also knows you’d rather like to feed from the inside of his thigh, but now was not the time for that. Well, maybe it was, but the two of you were already late for court.

As you sup of his blood, you moan with pleasure - there is nothing better to a bride than the blood of her creator, and Astarion was a very generous master. 

“Your master adores you, my little darling,” Astarion whispers in your ear as you feed, his hand moving to caress the back of your head. His teasing words cause you to grind into his hips, and you can feel him beginning to get hard. 

“Enough, my pet,” Astarion says as he pulls you away, detaching your fangs from his ivory skin. As he meets your gaze, the memories of your days of madness wash over him like the shock of ice cold water. 

Long ago, Astarion insisted you feed on him and only him. There was danger in this, a bride feeding too much from her Master. This, Astarion knew, but his mind was shrouded with paranoia. 

In another land, one of the brides of vampire master Geldon Moth was poisoned and killed. Once Astarion heard the news, he came to a quick decision. 

Believing his blood to be the safest for you, you were to feed on him and only on him. After months of letting you gorge, Astarion saw the bridal madness for the first time. 

Astarion is quick to push the memory away. Before he does, you catch a glimpse of the scene: you’re inconsolable, starving, horny as a bitch in heat, and as violent as ever. Astarion is crying, begging you to come back to yourself. 

Astarion no longer remains your only food source. He is your primary one, indeed, but the essence of others is to be drunk from a goblet, not from lips to skin. That is reserved for you and your creator. 

Thou art mine. A thought rings in your head.

You help Astarion dress, as you have for the past…so many years. Astarion dismissed his footman so long ago, preferring to do the work himself with the help of his consort. His aversion to touch, anyone’s but your own, was an ever-growing symptom of the choices the both of you made so long ago.

Astarion plants a tender kiss on your lips before he goes, and your own maid comes in to help you dress and take care of your hair. She wants to put it in an updo of some kind, so that you match with the other ladies of the court. 

But you’ve been feeling rather rebellious, and Astarion sat on the throne, so you could do whatever you wanted. And so you did.

You keep it long, like a curtain, and now that Astarion had finally moved on from his insistence that you wear something low cut, you choose a dress that is modest, comfortable, but regal enough. You ditch the shoes. You’ve been alive for nearly two millenniums. You know your beauty is already unmatched, and you needn’t worry yourself with discomfort. Your feet rarely touch the floor, anyways. 

But your current maid doesn’t seem to agree, and always argues with you about the fucking shoes. Before she even begins, you hiss at her.

This maid, Bethild, is one you’ve had for a while now. First joining your service as a young woman, Bethild was now rather old and round, you think. She tuts at you for hissing before crossing her arms, ready to give you a lecture. 

“It’s not befitting of a Lady in your position to be hissing,” Bethild addressed you in ways others would die for, but you rather liked her, and Astarion did too.

But before she could continue, you use your vampiric telepathy to force your way in. THE DRESS IS LONG ENOUGH. NOBODY WILL SEE. You scream this into her mind, trying to cause her a bit of pain, maybe some nausea.

Bethild knows when she’s lost a battle, and she murmurs something about your Master hearing about this as she bumbles her way out of your room.

You roll your eyes at her as she leaves. Why must we do this everyday? You reach out to your husband. But he doesn’t immediately respond, because he already knows your grief: it is simply becoming increasingly difficult for you to tolerate mortals.

We can get you a new maid, my consort. Or we can get rid of them all together. Whatever it is you want, it will be yours. Astarion reaching into your mind is always comfortable, and the contact sends a shiver to your core.

You didn’t understand how Astarion could handle it so well. So much better than you. You were thankful that he could, of course, but you just didn’t understand. 

You’re perfect the way you are, my consort. You don’t need to be like me. You are mine, and I will always take care of you.

Once you’re ready, you float to your throne, making a bit of a scene because of your tardiness. Astarion doesn’t care; the subjects can wait, especially for you.

As you take your seat, Astarion holds your hand, idly (and a bit anxiously) playing with your fingers as he handles business. He likes to look at them as he mulls over the proceedings in his mind; he plays with your rings, twisting them around your fingers and sometimes switching them between digits. Every day, he looks forward to seeing what choice of jewelry you will make. It makes him feel tremendous pride to see the beauty of your soft and smooth hands, and to see the decadent jewels on your pretty fingers.

Whatever business Astarion is handling today is, frankly, totally lost on you. If something important happens, something you need to know, Astarion will tell you. 

So, you lose yourself in the folds of you and your eternal lover’s mind. You always enter this vampiric trance during court. You needn’t speak, because you trust your beloved creator to speak for you. 

After a few hours and a few dealings later, something briskly breaks you out of this trance. That unease. 

Astarion squeezes your hand to draw your attention to him. You meet his gaze, and you see a lot there: love, need, possession, inquiry, frustration. You’re having a hard time parsing through it, but what you gather is you are making Astarion extremely uncomfortable. 

We’re almost done here. After court, you will be sequestered away until I know you are safe. Is all he communicates with you.

It’s just a sense of unease, my love. Please just stay with me, you are all the protection I need. Don’t lock me away. You are practically begging at this point, but your face gives nothing away. You are dampened by your curse. Rather it be the vampiric curse or the curse of time, you aren’t sure. You are still you, but your light shines dimmer.

Astarion narrows his eyes at you. Your foresight has been right before. 

You shake your head at him. Now, you’re both starting to lose your poker faces. The mortals murmur around you, but the two of you exist only with each other at this moment, and the rest of the world is diminished. 

This is different. It’s just a feeling, nothing more. I’ve had no visions, Master. You call him this to soften him up; it makes Astarion’s cock twitch just to hear you say the word. 

As Astarion’s thoughts turn lewd, a servant approaches him, informing him of the next visitor to be heard. You feel Astarion’s mind slip away from yours as he focuses on the world around him. 

But the words of the servant are tumbling around in his head. Scary, strange looking elf. 

What? You ask, probing into Astarion’s mind.

He looks over to you, his handsome features and lustful eyes (he’s still having some lewd thoughts) causes your breath to catch and sends your second heartbeat to race. He said the visitor knew us, and was a terrifying, strange looking elf.

A picture has already formed in Astarion’s mind of a strange green egg that was briefly in your possession during your adventuring days. Still holding each other’s gaze, you both silently acknowledge that the ‘strange elf’ is in fact, not an elf. 

The two of you further slip into each other's minds, a feeling so familiar by now yet no less pleasurable. The folds of your waking mind are fondled by his, and as he is weaving through you, he finds a memory he cannot ignore: that pretty clearing. His own version of the memory rises within him, meeting yours halfway. He is focused on that first kiss, that first taste of you, your folds, the taste of your sweat…

You can’t help but smile as you hear Astarion’s heart racing. The passage of time is cruel and has taken many things from you and Astarion both. But neither of you could ever forget that first night.

Focus, my lover. You poke at him. 

Astarion smirks. It must be a githyanki. We fought many of them, remember, little love?

You remember, only vaguely. Astarion’s memory was much sharper than yours, due to his ascended state. 

Deciding to give it no more thought, you drift off into your trance again, and Astarion lets you. You needn’t care about this mysterious visitor; you had other things to worry about, like drinking blood, striking fear into the hearts of mortals, and how you were going to convince your darling husband to get on his knees and put his pretty lips on your glistening, swollen sex later tonight.

You glance at Astarion as he’s listening to one of the servants. You focus on his pretty lips, and how perfect they look around your nipple, or your clit.

You think you’ll start by wearing a low cut dress to dinner - yes, that would be the right move. He wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off the plush curve of your breasts, especially if you could manage to wear a corset. You’re also thinking you’ll skip the panties, because surely you can goad him into putting a hand up your skirts. Maybe you’ll invite him to feed on your inner thigh; he loves that tender spot so much, he likely wouldn't be able to help himself to having a taste of you —

“I see your union has stood the test of time,” The sound of the woman’s voice snaps you back into the present with a whirl. You know her voice. You know her face, even: pretty, green skin, orange hair, she even looks rather young, still. 

“It is good to see you both. You look….well.” The githyanki says. She is wearing armor, and has a long sword sheathed on her back. She looks at you uneasily, but you see a fondness in her eyes and a comfortable sense of familiarity.

Lae’zel. Astarion tells you. She was once your lover. You can feel Astarion seething at the reminder that once, you were not his. You don’t really know how to respond to him, because you do remember your time with Lae’zel, but it was so long ago it is literally ancient history.

You knit your brows together as you take her in. Her coming must be that feeling of unease. And Astarion tells you as much as he converses with Lae’zel. She wants something, he tells you. Despite his broiling jealousy, Astarion keeps a cordial, straight face as he converses with Lae’zel. 

She has been in the Astral Plane, a place outside of time and space, fighting a seemingly never ending war with Vlaakith. And she has come to her only living allies on the mortal plane, the Ancunins, for help.

Lae’zel and Astarion come to an agreement for a private meeting on the morrow. Astarion’s emotions are all over the place; he ends court early, deciding to sequester you to the bedchamber early.

As he marches you to the boudoir, hand on your wrist as you’re barely keeping up with him, Astarion is stopped by a servant. Whatever message Astarion receives leaves him feeling desperate - his mind was disarranged, his face twisted in grief.

Parsing through his mind, you can’t even manage to make out a few words - whatever has happened, Astarion is either hiding it from you or still trying to process it himself. Likely a bit of both, you decide.

But once the two of you reach your bed chambers, he becomes a single minded man.

Astarion grabs both of your wrists with one hand and has you bent over the bed before you can even register your own movement. With his other hand, he is pushing up your skirts, finding his way to your naked sex. 

“How ignorant of me to believe all of your past lovers were dead,” His voice escapes through gritted teeth, low and raspy. Astarion maneuvers you on the bed so that you are now on your knees with your ass in the air, hands still being held behind your back. With no way to support yourself, your head rests on the bed. 

So much for your plan of getting Astarion on his knees for you.

Astarion’s grip on your wrists tighten as his other hand grazes your exposed labia, caressing the lips of your cunt with his dexterous fingers before sliding a finger inside of you until he is knuckle deep.

“Do you remember your time with her, my consort?” The sensation of his finger being dragged against your slick, spongy walls send you rolling your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

Yes, you think desperately, even though he already knows the answer. He’s surely searched your mind already, probably long ago. 

“Say it. Use your words,” His tone is harsh, but his fingers gentle as he slides another into you with little resistance. 

“Yes, I remember,” You say, the words feeling odd in your mouth. You realized you hadn’t spoken aloud in quite a while.

Astarion lets go of your hands and brings his arm around your front, a hand gripping your neck and bringing you upright, so that your back is to his chest. His two fingers are still buried inside you. 

“I am forever yours, Astarion,” His grip on your neck is gentle, and you’re able to turn your head to look at him. His ruby eyes bore into you, such a perfect reflection of your own. 

His own eyes are pleading. Tell me. Please.

You brace yourself. Not because you don’t mean it, but because you know you will never hear the reciprocation spoken aloud.

“I love you, Astarion,” You supplicate.

His eyes are wet, just for a moment, and then his lips crash into yours, his hand trailing up to grab your jaw, to guide you to him. He relinquishes you from his fingers and quickly removes his clothing, not wasting any time to put himself between your legs. 

Your dress is long gone by the time Astarion lines his cock up with your entrance, eyes locked with yours in an intense gaze. 

“Say it again. For your Master, spawn,” He growls. You knew this was merely just a part he wanted you to play sometimes, but it hurt all the same. He knew this. But he needed this from you.

“I love you eternally, Master,” You speak with a soft voice barely above a whisper as Astarion rubs his swollen tip against your puffy folds.

His ruby eyes bore into you as he pushes into you slowly; a moan escaping his pretty lips once he’s bottomed out, balls deep inside of you. He leans over and plants a kiss on your forehead before meeting your gaze again.

“You are my everything, Tav.” His voice is raw, and this is all he can manage before his lips meet yours again. You clench around his cock as he begins to set a slow, steady pace. 

That tiny longing inside of you vanishes, and you know that you are his everything. You tangle your hand in his hair and deepen your kisses; Astarion whimpers at this, and when he quickened his pace, your cunt is making lewd, squelching noises at the power of his thrusts.

“Gods above,“ Astarion breathes against your lips. He begins to play with you, adjusting his pace until he finds the perfect rhythm to exuberate the lewd sounds of your desperation.

Bringing himself upright, Astarion watches you; your lips are parted, showing off your beautiful fangs, which he loves so much. He admires your smooth, unmarred skin, as he was careful not to leave any scars on your body. Sure, he had wanted to permanently mark you, but he thought it cruel and pointless: you are his, and nothing will ever change that.

As Astarion slides his cock along your walls, you can’t help but clench around him as you eye your gorgeous husband.

Astarion’s beauty was that of literal legends; as you eye his disheveled curls, the cut of his muscles and jaw, and you know that every ballad, every poem, every story of the beauty of Astarion the Decadent, Hero of Baldur’s Gate, is true. 

Astarion needs to taste you now, and he slowly pulls his cock out from your desperate cunt, causing you to whimper from the loss. Astarion lowers himself between your legs before examining your sex.

“I’ve made a sloppy little mess of you, haven’t I?” Astarion smirks at you, his pupils blown with lust. With his fingers, he spreads your folds, eyeing you as your anticipation grows. He swipes his tongue from your entrance to your clit before he wraps his lips around your swollen, glistening clit and begins to suck; his tongue is so soft, so gentle, and the steady circles he is making with his tongue have you trembling beneath him.

“Perfect…” He murmurs against your sex, the vibration of his silky voice causing you to whimper. “You’re so…” He can’t even finish his sentence as he begins to devour you, and he is desperate to taste you as you come. He has you screaming his name in mere seconds, and you are putty in his hands as he brings himself back up to his knees and rams his cock in you.

You’re so wet, and to your surprise, Astarion inserts two fingers inside you along with his cock; the stretch makes you groan, and he smiles wildly as his other hand grasps your jaw, pulling your head aside to expose your neck to him.

Mine. Mine. Mine. To do with as I please. Body, blood, and soul. You’re mine to fuck, to stretch out, to eat, to use, and you can never leave me. This scares you, but you can’t deny your increasing wetness for him. And you can’t deny the truth of his words.

Astarion slides his fangs into you, making you shudder as he moans loudly; he is so deep inside you, you can feel his swollen tip hitting your cervix, and you claw at his scalp and his back as he drinks you in.

After just a few sips, Astarion is coming undone, and his arms are around you now, holding you so tightly to him that you can’t breathe. You can feel his balls contracting against the curve of your ass as he spills his seed inside you. He trails mindless kisses on your skin as he comes down from the high of his orgasm.

He holds you to him for a while, cock still inside of you, and you can feel the decreasing thump of his heart against your chest. Eventually, he rolls over, and when you’re released from his cock, you feel his seed spilling out of you, dripping down your slick folds and pooling at your pert asshole. 

“I’m going to commission a painting of you, just like this.” He says as he examines the damage. “I’d have to gouge their eyes out after, of course.”

Of course. You reach out in agreement with a smile on your face.

“Speak, my darling. I want to hear your pretty voice.” Astarion gathers you between his legs, your back to his chest as he wraps his arms around you and cradles you to him. He’s still trailing kisses wherever he can: your neck, your shoulder, your cheek, your ear.

“Sorry. Habit.” It was a habit, but nowadays, it was more of a preference.

“You needn’t apologize, lover,” Astarion rests his head on your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your skin. “I’d like you to attend the meeting with Lae’zel with me.”

You needn’t be anywhere but right by my side. Lord Moth’s estate was attacked again. A few of his spawn were killed.

Well, that is far better than being locked in the boudoir, you think. “Of course I’ll come with you.” 

After a moment, you speak again. “I can’t believe she’s still alive. I thought all our past friends were dead.”

“Me too. From what I can recall about Lae’zel, it was ignorant of us to think that woman could ever die.” The two of you giggle as you reminisce on old adventures, the ones Astarion is willing to dwell on, to enjoy. 

Astarion doesn’t mention his jealous feelings about Lae’zel’s sudden reappearance, but you feel it in his actions as the two of you spend the rest of the day in bed; he takes you again, biting you in places he had never before, coming in every hole of yours that he could, until you were well and truly taken and used.

Eventually, the two of you drift off in each other's arms, as you always did. But your lasting thoughts are not on blood, fear, or Astarion’s cock (well maybe a little bit), but on the ‘why’ of Lae’zel’s return. Astarion shares in your anxiety, but assures you to be patient, as all will be revealed on the morrow. 

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

Next Chapter

[domaystic]

It's Domaystic 2024!

Hello, hello! This is the third year of DOMAYSTIC, a domestic trope based prompt event running in May :D

This is the main post for the event and in the picture above there are the prompts.

They're 31 prompts (no alts this time), but they are also divided in three main categories, which I loosely labelled as "people from everyday life" from 1 to 10; "things from everyday life" from A to J; and "general-container-stuff that can be bent to one's own desires" from roman number I to X. Plus, at the very end, a free choice option (we never had one and the days are not even ahahah).

List of prompts

Category: people from everyday life 01. driver 02. shop assistant 03. plumber 04. public servant 05. teacher 06. receptionist 07. mechanic 08. health professional 09. baker 10. landlord

Category: things from everyday life A. konmari B. me/us time C. shopping points D. odd appliances E. building renovations F. frozen G. memento H. wild animal I. ritual J. dreadful weather

Category: general-container-stuff I. proverb II. tutorial III. poll IV. numbers V. emergency VI. quiz VII. cliché VIII. art IX. official document X. song

* free choice

Guidelines, tags example, AO3 link under the cut!

General rules and guidelines

Domaystic is open to any fandom or original content.

Any kind of media is welcome. You choose your way of expression.

There are no limits/restrictions on how your fill should be.

There’s a total of 31 prompts for 31 days.

To join the event one can do a prompt a day following the list as it is; or following the sequence they prefer; or only the ones of their liking, even just one.

Or, and this is my challenge proposition for anyone who wants to take it: try to combine one prompt from each one of the three categories + the free choice. Which in total would produce 10 fills + 1 if all are done.

Share your work anywhere you want or keep it to yourself, that's fine. If you share it on tumblr and tag this blog, I’ll reblog it.

If you also want to combine these prompts with another fandom event, that's okay.

Domaystic runs actively throughout May; if you join or tag the blog on a later date, that's fine too, I just reblog on a lower pace after May is over.

In case of lengthy posts on tumblr, use the "read more" option: ctrl-shift-k on rich text; [[*MORE*]] on html (remove asterisks)

AO3 collection

The domaystic2024 collection is open from May, 1st: click here - info and prompts are also on the profile page.

Tagging your tumblr post:

Mention the blog in your post @domaystic - tracked tag: #domaystic2024

State the fandom name or if it is original content

State if it is sfw or nsfw

Please, always TAG PROPERLY for any trigger warning. I will base my own reblog on your tags so, please, take even a moment longer to carefully tag it. I hope all participants to stay safe in this event.

Here’s an example:

It took me 2 nights to write this @domaystic, look at my stuff! #domaystic2024 #[fandom name or original content] #[sfw or nsfw] #[trigger warnings that I get from your post] tw

And this is it! For any question, doubt, etc. the askbox is always open :)

Hi @thebigbangblogproject, can you reblog this? Thanks :D

[seraphont]

FAQ & Important Info

About me:

bday: march 30th

lgbt?: im bi

What can we call you?

Seraphont is fine, its supposed to be a play on of Seraph and Serif Font, you can call me Seraph!

What pronouns do you use?

I'd prefer They/Them, but you can use She/Her.

Whats your Main blog?

not posting it publically for now.

Dying and Getting Over It (DaGOI au) Related:

Where can I read DaGOI?

It will be uploaded to my Ao3. its currently being written, so there is no link to the fic yet.

When will you post the fic?

short answer: I'm not sure, possibly by early october. its my first time writing a fic, so I ask you to be patient with me! the outline is written and being tweaked, and its going through adjustments now that MD ep 8 is out. Im also moving across the world, so I'm a tad bit busy rn.

Will you include MD ep8 into the canon of your fic?

at first I was on the fence, but its grown on me, its being integrated now.

Will you be drawing all of DaGOI in comic form?

if I was a stronger man I would. I'll mostly be drawing key story moments. making comics is an aid to helping me write. so I'll be making a lot, but I may not be posting them until the chapters start coming out (trying not to spoil everything). to give you an idea, as of writing this, I have 6 comics on the backburner lol.

Art Related:

What art program(s) do you use?

Procreate -Brushes: Shiyoon Kims Wet Brush pack (X) (everything you see on this blog is made with this brushpack) and several Max Packs (X) for procreate

How long have you been drawing?

I've always drawn, but I started getting really serious at 14, around the same time I first made my main blog. I was self taught up until I got into animation school.

What do you do as a career?

I'm currently doing Freelance work for publishers and individuals. I was previously an animator, I'm making the move to storyboarding

Do you take requests/commissions?

I do have commissions open. only lineart, and flat colours are available. if you want a rendered piece: slots are closed, but you can dm me for interest.

Asks and Messaging:

Rules for asks/tagging?

Anyone can send me an Ask, Mutuals, Anons or not!

Dont send discourse or anything explicitly NSFW. you'll be blocked lol. I'd prefer if you didnt send suggestive. if you send me triggering content I’ll mind blast you into dust. (block).

Do not send and DNI's?

Transphobia, Homophobia, Acephobia. All the obvious bigot contenders.

SA, pdfilia and incest are absolute no goes.

are you okay with me direct messaging you?

only if we have spoken before/ you're giving me a headsup about something/ I've prompted you to send me one.

***minors: please refrain from dming me to chit chat, im not down to.***

Why don’t you answer my asks/dms?

my main has 1000+ asks and my other side blog is pushing 250+, sometimes the ask's get lost in the sauce. that being said, some ask's go unaswered because: 1. it might spoil too much if I were to answer. 2. I simply have to think hard to reply. 3. its super nice and im hoarding it all for myself.

Misc

Can you reblog my donation posts?

no. too many scams.

[asleeponelmstreet]

Burnt (part 1)

Part 2 Part 3

You are an imp with a mysterious past who recently moved in to the Hazbin Hotel. Not necessarily to be redeemed like a sinner, but you are seeking some sort of redemption. Helluva Boss characters will be heavily involved in the story in future parts, but for now... you just have your memories.

Tags: Alastor x female reader, allusions to past Blitzø x female reader, angst, PTSD, panic attacks, eventual smut, I have no idea if there is an audience for this but I wanted it so maybe someone else will like it

wc: 3,018

This is from a female reader's perspective! If people like it, I'd be happy to write a male or GN counterpart. This was initially written for just me, but I like where its going so I thought I'd share it. Also, I've already written the next two chapters but I want to rework them because I want the story to go in a slightly different direction. So I def plan on continuing this! I also posted this on AO3, but I'm not sure where it will get the most traction. I'm still figuring out this whole posting my fanfiction thing, usually it just sits on my computer.

If you'd prefer to read it on AO3, the link is here.

Minors DNI!!!

Screams filled you with terror. The rumbling roar of the fire followed, but a high-pitched ringing overpowered it. The steady sound drowning out all the other clamor distracting you from finding help.

As everything around you burned, the temperature rose. Sweat collected on the nape of your neck and dripped down your forehead, obscuring your vision. Your nostrils flooded with the smell of ash and burning flesh. The scent was so pungent, it mixed with the metallic taste of blood on your tongue from when you bit into your lips.

You ran barefoot, trying your best to avoid shards of glass and the other broken things that lay at your feet. Flames danced around you, licking at the charred ribbons. The only remnants of the tents that once surrounded you.

Your breaths came out short as you panicked. Your entire body quivered when you allowed yourself to think you may never get out. You may never find help. May never see those you loved most again.

A loud screech rang through the air, breaking through the buzzing in your ears. It was only when it ceased that you felt the raggedness in your throat. And you realized that you had been the one to create the sound.

“Where are you right now?” The heated voice whispered against your cheek was so familiar, but also different. Not quite the voice of a childhood friend or a long lost lover.

His breath against your cheek hitched. “Where are you? What’s wrong?” Panic registered in his voice. He lifted his weight off of you but tears blurred your vision so you couldn’t see him.

“Fuck. Answer me damn it. You’re really freaking me out right now.” Even without his body pinning you to the bed, you couldn’t move. It felt like something invisible was holding you down.

A sharp pain blossomed across your chest. You tried to get words out between shallow breaths, but nothing ever came.

“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” Those were the last words you heard him say before it all went as black as ash.

Startled awake by a loud crashing noise, you sprang up in bed. Relief washed over you when you realized it was just another nightmare. A familiar nightmare, but a nightmare all the same.

You took in your hotel room that you had grown familiar with over the past few weeks as you collected yourself. But the sight of the red stains on your white sheets startled you, making you shove yourself out of bed and tumble to the floor.

You had just built up the nerve to stand up and investigate the bloody mess when someone slammed open your door.

“What was that sound?! Is everything okay?” It was Angel Dust, another resident at the hotel. His room was just across the hall so it made sense that he would investigate the cacophony of sounds coming from your room. But he was also quickly becoming someone you would consider a close friend, so you hoped his intrusion was a sign he cared.

“I-I fell out of bed.” You said the first thing that came to mind. Your head still foggy from sleep. Your simple response clearly did not work for the porn star whose mouth was agape as his eyes locked on your torso.

You looked down at your nightgown and saw it was soaked in blood. Deep gashes in the thin white material cut through the skin across your chest. Your mouth dropped open with a barely audible, “Oh.”

“Doll face, what happened?” Angel came up to your side and wrapped you in a side hug, attempting to comfort you without covering himself with blood in the process.

Your brain was taking its sweet time thinking of a response. Before you could get words out, two more faces peaked into your room. One belonged to Charlie Morningstar, the princess of Hell and the owner of the Hazbin Hotel where you were currently residing. The other was her girlfriend, Vaggie.

Both women looked like they had just woken up, still dressed in pajamas with their hair mussed from sleep. “We heard a noise. Is everything okay?” Vaggie asked as they tentatively let themselves into your room.

Seeing the worried looks on their faces seemed to jumpstart your brain a bit. At least enough for some semblance of words to come out of your mouth. “I’m okay, guys. I’m really okay. I must have scratched myself in my sleep, but the blood just startled me when I woke up so I fell off the bed.” Concerned looks were still plastered on all their faces. “I’m really sorry if I woke y’all up. I really need to file my claws.”

The buzz of radio static sent a shiver down your spine. Your body went stiff. You knew what that noise meant. He was near.

“What is all the commotion in here?” Alastor, the radio demon, appeared in the doorframe and welcomed himself into your room as if he was walking into a party. He twirled his microphone like a cane until he saw you in your disheveled state.

“My, my dear. What happened to you?” He said, his red eyes narrowing. His tongue darted out of the corner of his mouth, wetting his lips as his gaze rested on the blood splattered on your chest. It made your skin crawl.

“I was just telling everyone that I scratched myself in my sleep. I was just really startled when I woke up covered in blood. It’s really not a big deal.” Your skin flushed in embarrassment as you explained the story to the deer demon.

“You should use a nail file to prevent this sort of scene then.” You rolled your eyes at that comment, wondering if he had been listening in on the conversation before making his grand entrance. What a pompous tool, you thought.

“Is that it?” Charlie asked, looking at you sweetly with those huge of eyes of hers.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need to get cleaned up. And maybe, Nifty wouldn’t mind cleaning my bedsheets. If not, I really don’t mind doing it.”

“No way,” Vaggie said. “It’s her job. You should take a bath and we’ll send her up to take care of the bed.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling at her. The angel could be cold towards you, but a part of you felt like the two of you could be good friends one day. It will just take some time to warm up to each other.

“Again, I’m really sorry if I woke any of you up. I used to scratch myself when I was younger but it���s been a while.” You tried to not let your mind wander to the last time this had happened in your sleep. “And there was just so much blood.”

“Nonsense!” Alastor chided. “Don’t your worry your pretty little head.” He tapped you with his microphone, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eyes. It made you feel like a child… and made you want to sink your claws into his grey skin. “I’ve been awake for hours.” He turned on his heels and waltzed out of the room, humming an upbeat tune on his way out.

Charlie reached her hand out yours, giving it a little squeeze before she and Vaggie left too. Angel was about join them, but you stopped him.

“Wait, Angie. Don’t leave.” You said, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts quite yet.

“Sure thing, toots. What’s up?”

You tried to think of something to say, but that was when Angel’s foot brushed up against a shard of glass on the floor. “Hey, what’s this?” He followed a trail of glass to a small broken picture frame. That must have been the crash that startled you from the nightmare.

Angel picked it up and scanned his eyes over the photograph. It was an Imp couple with beaming smiles, proudly holding their baby girl. “Aw, is this baby you and your parents?”

You nodded, tight lipped and too scared to let yourself speak.

“You’re so cute! Look at that lil’ baby tail. And your mom is gorgeous. You look just like her…” he squinted a bit, “But definitely with your dad’s eyes.”

“Thank you,” you responded politely.

Angel picked at the corner of the photograph and your stomach dropped. “Wait, is there another picture behind it? Can I see?”

You grabbed the picture frame from his hands. “No,” you growled. But seeing the hurt in the spider demon’s eyes made you feel horrible. “Uh, maybe later. I’ve got to wash all this blood off, but I’ll see you at breakfast.” You followed him out the door, locking it behind him.

Once it was just you in the room, you leaned on the back of the door sinking to your knees. You let the facade break and tears rolled down your cheeks as you carefully took the second photo out of the frame. There were actually three in total. But you couldn’t bare looking at the third photograph so you just slipped out the second one without peaking at what lay behind it.

The picture featured three imp children. You, in the middle, with your arms slung around the boys on either side of you. The three of you were so close together in the image that your cheeks squished against one another’s as you all wore huge grins.

The memory almost made a small smile form on your own face beneath all the tears. You lovingly traced a finger over both of their faces, longing for a time that seemed so far away now. But then the feeling of rage bubbled up inside of you, and your bloodied claw scratched across the face of the boy with braces who stood on your right.

Shame followed and you wished you could rewind time to undo what you had just done. You ruined the last memory you had of that happy boy. Before the fire. Before everything.

A knock at your door jolted you out of your self-pity. “Open up,” Nifty said. “I’m here to clean up your mess!”

Once you scrubbed all the blood off your body and dressed for the day, you joined the rest of the hotel in the kitchen for breakfast. Almost the whole Hazbin Hotel crew had finished their meals — Angel was still picking at some fruit left on his plate — but they were still hanging around.

Well, everyone except Alastor, but he enjoyed his unique tastes in the privacy of his own room. That was a relief.

You loaded up your plate and sat next to Angel across from Charlie, who was showing Vaggie some scribbled plans for the hotel on her notepad.

“Hey Angel, I’m really sorry about how I reacted when you saw that picture. I’m not really comfortable sharing.”

He stopped his nibbling and pulled you in for a hug. A real one this time. You melted into his touch, the feeling of his soft fur against your skin. “It’s okay. I get it, babe. You’ve had a rough morning.”

Husk approached you on his way to the kitchen sink with his dishes. “Hey kid, heard you had a lil’ accident this morning. I’ve been there, especially when I first got to Hell. Wasn’t used to having to maintain these claws.”

You could tell the bartender was trying to be comforting, but it embarrassed even more. Not because someone told him about your mess, but because you were born in Hell. You had these sharp talons your whole life.

“Thanks Husk,” you said, taking a sip of the coffee you had just poured. “Honestly, I’m normally good. I just had a nightmare last night.” You were hoping the excuse would make you feel less pathetic but then Angel let out a fit of laughter.

“A nightmare? We’re in hell. Hell, you’re from hell. You’re in the nightmare, sweetheart.” Your skin grew heated and tail flicked in annoyance. You could see from the look in his eyes that he realized how insensitive it was and regretted making fun of you. Joking was just his knee-jerk reaction.

Charlie chimed in just in time before things could get really awkward. “Ya know, what might be fun?!” She bounced in her seat. “You, me, a night out on the town! I finally have someone who I can venture outside of the pride ring with!”

You shifted in your seat, not sure what to make of this. A little worried that Vaggie might be jealous, but when you looked at her she looked totally unbothered. In fact, she looked quite pleased.

“Sure, Charlie. That sounds like fun.” You looked down as you picked at the food on your plate, trying to hide your uncertainty.

“Maybe, there’s a show tonight in the greed ring!” You hesitated at the mention of your old home, but the all-imp circus was long gone and so were most of the survivors. Many dispersed, escaping to the simple farm life in the Wrath Ring or the absolute dumpster fire that is Imp city.

“Sounds good. Thank you for inviting me.”

She bounced out of her seat so quickly that she knocked over the empty plate she had pushed to the side. But she didn’t care, she was too excited. The princess was genuinely one of the bubbliest, kindest individuals you had ever met in Hell, which was shocking considering the people she ruled.

“I’ll go look up tickets and then I’ll let you know what time to be ready!” she said as she sped off with Vaggie picking up the mess the princess left in her wake.

“Is that going to make Vaggie jealous?” you whispered to Angel.

“No, it was her idea. They were brainstorming ways to cheer you up while you were getting ready,” Angel said, a bit louder than you would have liked. “I’m jealous though.”

Charlie told you to be ready at 5, so when you finished your makeup and hair a half an hour early you decided you would make yourself a snack. Back in the kitchen, you gathered some cheese and hot sauce from the fridge. Squirting a bit of the red sauce on a big chunk, you took a bite and were mid-chew of the delicious combination when the whirring sound of a radio stopped your enjoyment.

“What an odd combination, my dear.” Alastor appeared right behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin. “Is that a normal snack for your kind?”

Something about the way he said “your kind” made you want to punch him. “No,” you said proudly. “It’s just something my best friend showed me as kid.” You almost gasped when you realized what you had just revealed to him. And that you still referred to him as your best friend. “Want some?” You offered, knowing the overlord would refuse.

“No thank you. It’s not exactly my taste.”

“You won’t know until you try it!” you said, thinking only of him. Not the radio demon standing before you. “And who are you to judge? You’re a fucking cannibal.”

“Such foul language coming from the lips of such a pretty creature,” Alastor paused, humming to himself for a moment. “You look absolutely divine tonight darling.”

You almost choked. Is he flirting? You couldn’t really tell. So many of his words were just lies to manipulate soaked in honey. But you were dressed a bit differently than you normal tonight since Charlie had told you to dress up.

You didn’t know what to say so you settled on being polite since you knew it would appease him. “Thank you, Alastor.”

“What are you all dolled up for?” He grew closer to you, his face now only a few inches away from your own. You backed up to create some space between you two but hit your back against the counter.

“Charlie and I are going to see a show.” You nervously ran your hands up and down your arms as if it was cold – even though the room was getting quite toasty.

“Oh, how wonderful. Would you two ladies want a gentleman to accompany you on your outing tonight? I just so happen to be free.”

“No,” you said. His eyebrows raised and he squinted those devious eyes at you. “No, thank you. And anyways, we’re leaving the pride ring so unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to join.” You gave an exaggerated pout as if you were actually devastated at the thought of Alastor not being able to crash your night out with Charlie.

Alastor’s smile never wavered, but you thought you could see a twinge of disappointment in his eyes. “I never learned why you moved in to this old hotel with us. Certainly a hell born imp like yourself wouldn’t think she could be redeemed.”

You wracked your brain for what to say and settled on the same censored, but true story you told Charlie weeks before when you had arrived on her doorstep. “I wanted to help. I may not be redeemable, but at least I could try and do some good.“

“Mmm-hmm.” You could tell he knew you weren’t telling the whole truth. The whole truth would be too much.

“I’ve done so many horrible things during my life in hell and I thought this might be my only opportunity to make up for it.”

Alastor’s smile grew even wider, clearly glad to get at least a little more information out of you. You hadn’t told that last part to Charlie and you honestly wondered what made you share it with him now. Before you could get too lost in your thoughts – speak of the devil’s daughter, she saved you.

“Oh, hey Al,” she said, looking surprised to see you two talking so close together. “You ready to go? I know it’s a bit earlier than I planned but I want to make sure we can beat the crowds.”

“I’m down!” you said, happy for the excuse to slip out of this oddly intimate conversation with the radio demon.

Thank you so much for reading! I thought I was done with the next part but I want to rework it to make it better. Until next time...

Part 2

[gallavichthings]

It's time!

How would you all like 21 22 fics on the 21st 22nd of December?

The Gallavich Masquerade Ball 2023 is now open! Grab a glass of champagne or anything else you'd prefer, some hors d'oeuvres, and choose your (first) dance partner for the night!

You can check all the fics in our AO3 collection or on this post, after the cut. A list of all authors with links to their profiles is also included. This post is pinned so you can check it whenever you want.

And here's the link for the form where you can put your guesses. It's only one form for all the fics, so please wait to submit your guesses only after you've read them all.

Here's the updated point system:

Points for readers: Correct guess on first choice: 5 points. Correct guess on second choice: 2 points. Incorrect guess: lose 1 point. (Please note that you only lose 1 point per story, even if you guess incorrectly on both choices.)

Points for writers: If someone correctly guesses your fic (regardless of in the first or second choice): 1 point. If someone wrongfully guesses your fic: 3 points.

Leaving kudos and comments is allowed and appreciated! Writers are also allowed to answer, but it's up to them whether to already do it or wait until everyone's identity is revealed so as not to give anything away accidentally. Oh, and if you want to post something about the fics here on Tumblr but can't tag them, I can serve as buffer for now lol.

Oh, and the surprise? The winners will get some great fanart, courtesy of the talented @doshiart! Isn't that awesome?! 🥂

Cheers!

Keep reading to get a list of all the fics with their summaries and word count, as well as a list of all the authors, with links to their AO3 profiles.

FICS:

AITA?  (2,072)

AITA? My new clients (29M and 31M) threatened me and I want to fire them. I know that’s not official therapist speak. TLDR; I want to encourage them to have healthier boundaries and find a new therapist, but until then, what do I do?

Attitude adjustment (4,483)

Post-canon Ian and Mickey figure out some relationship issues. That includes insults, (play-)fighting, more insults, and orgasms. Or: Mickey is having an attitude. Thank god Ian knows exactly what to do.

Black Charcoal meets Fiery Red (1,838)

Ian poses in a life drawing class. A straight forward job, if not for the guy with the blue eyes who can't stop staring at him.

Carnival (3,136)

Ian and Mickey spend the evening at a carnival... "Ian locked the car’s door, and put his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, as they walked towards the carnival. He had brought the leaflet home a few days ago, wiggling the colorful sketch of a carousel and the outdated font under Mickey’s nose with some hopeful glee. Mickey had protested for habit sake, but had caved in pretty easily..."

Five Dates with Brad f*cking Pitt (4,269)

Sometimes things may not be what they seem. Especially when there are assholes around who add fuel to the fire just for the sake of a fucking joke.

Groceries (2,260)

A routine trip to the store turns into a trip down memory lane.

The Guardians (4,879)

3,000 years ago, they had to join forces to defeat an evil sorcerer. Now, the sorcerer was back, and more powerful than ever. Could they defeat him for good?

i'll find a new place to be from (5,947)

They stand in silence for a couple beats, unspoken words lingering above their heads. The cig in his hand has long burned out and Ian resists the temptation to light up another, and another. He feels his mouth open, and close, then open again–but nothing comes out. Time’s up. "See you inside, Red," Mickey finally says before pushing the door open, and Ian remembers how to breathe.

Infused Attraction (3,434)

Mickey has to receive Iron infusions. Ian is a student nurse who is assisting the other nurses with the infusion. Mickey is interested in the redhead. Ian is seemingly interested in him too. Let's see how it goes!

Italy (I Trust And Love You) (3,183)

"Ian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his damp hair. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath, as if to steal himself for some monumental task, and walked off down the sidewalk. The rain made quick work of drenching him. Ian didn’t seem to notice. In the dirt beneath the tree, drawn in crude blocky letters made with the toe of his boot: I + M." OR A story mostly told through Debbie's eyes during world war two, as she worries for all her brothers, but particularly the one sent home much before the rest.

Jump To Recipe (5,977)

Hiring Mickey Milkovich - Freelance Photographer to shoot the photos for his food blog was the best move Ian’s ever made. Mickey’s a fantastic shot, plus he’s committed to the success of Ian’s blog. (He’s fucking hot, too. But that’s just an added bonus.) And the best thing about him, is that in all the ways he’s professional behind the camera, he’s refreshingly unprofessional to Ian’s face. Which means when he comes around, Ian always knows he’s in for a good laugh, intriguing conversation, and an ego boost - Mickey never shy about how much he loves Ian’s food when they dig in after the shoot. Ian’s made chocolate lava cake today. But when extra time leads to their at-home appointment going way off script - Mickey wanting to update Ian’s headshots, but with a twist - who will the spicier photos leave wanting more, the “housewife army” from his blog’s comment section, or Ian and Mickey?

A Lot (4,245)

What could have happened if Ian had told Mickey that he was worried about going to Mexico with him?

The man in the van (2,141)

“Suppose I should thank you for the compliment then,” Ian teases, smirking a little. The guy snorts. “Don’t mention it, Red. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” He proceeds to shamelessly check Ian out again, licking the corner of his mouth as he does. or Ian Gallagher wouldn't mind some excitement in his life. Enter one Mickey Milkovich, ready to oblige.

ole red (5,596)

Mickey is out of prison and walking the straight and narrow with help of his cheering section, P.O. Larry . It’s hard being tough in a pastel polo and dad shorts. Old Army is just a paycheck until he meets the assistant manager, Ian. Finally he figures out Ian was Mandy’s Ian from their teen years. Mickey is attracted to the redhead but is still closeted. Ian responds to Mickey lashing out by revealing he knows Mickey’s secret. Mickey decides to be brave and the reward , huge 😈

The Reason to Exist (4,851)

lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: can you stop stealing my loot lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: this team only needs 1 sharpshooter anyway 😐 mm1234567890 [18:23]: shut up u f** lieutenantcolonel [18:23]: WHAT

Red Hot (4,364)

Ian's workday has been shitty... but his afternoon might just be very different. Thanks to his favorite nephew and a certain mouthy and opinionated stall owner at the winter farmer's market.

A Salute Before We Sink (4,601)

The world will end tomorrow. Ian's only chance at survival is to earn a spot in an underground bunker. One man stands in his way.

Snowballs and Sneaking Out (2,441)

Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.

So drunk on you (3,878)

"Then Mickey launches himself into quite a detailed account of the previous evening and there goes Ian’s sanity. He’s learned over the months to hone his selective hearing. That is, he’s not tuning Mickey out completely but he’s trained his brain to gloss over the facts that fall under the TMI category and focus on the highlights. Again, for the sake of his sanity. Because the thing is, he’s so gone on Mickey it’s actually embarrassing. And he’s been gone pretty much from the very beginning." Just another friends-to-lovers story.

Span the Distance, Bridge the Border (4,988)

Ian and Mickey are happy, living on the West Side and adjusting to life as husbands in their new apartment. Things are going well, really well, until one day Mickey’s brothers show up. And God only knows what they could possibly want.

weight of the world (3,360)

Mickey thought he was fucked for life and that he’d never see his mom again. Turns out he was wrong about both of those things.

Wonderful- a Gallavich Christmas Mini-fic (5,030)

In which Mickey learns the reason for the season or How the Mick gained Christmas.

AUTHORS:

Blodeuwedd

Calli_Writes

Captain_Jowl

energie_vie

Gallabitch73

gallawitch

Gembu

GrandSelfMythology

IanGalagher

JuliaKay

lingy910y

MissSnowwhitepink

mmmichyyy

My_Brain_Melted

NotHereNJ

Rayrayor

sam_writes_fics

Suzy_Queue

sweet_perversion

Sweetbee78

whatthebodygraspsnot

whatyouandihave

[duckprintspress]

Fandom 101: Getting Started on Fanlore.org

Not long ago, we at Duck Prints Press decided that we’d like the Press to have a page on Fanlore. To accomplish that, Press contributor Shea Sullivan made an account and figured out the nuts and bolts on how to add pages to Fanlore. Turns out, it’s not very hard, and now in this guest blog post, Shea will teach y’all how to do it too!

Making Your First Fanlore Page!

Hello! I am an editor on Fanlore as of a few days ago. Before that, I’d worked with mediawiki (the open source platform Fanlore uses) for unrelated projects, so I had a general understanding of how things worked, but no idea how Fanlore preferred their pages to be formatted or organized or linked.

This is how I got started!

First: What is Fanlore and Why Should You Care?

Fanlore is a wiki specifically dedicated to the fandom experience. It’s not for canon info about a specific fandom; rather, it’s for information about how fans interact with media and each other. Fanlore is run by the OTW, the same organization that brings us our beloved AO3. This context helped me in understanding the focus of Fanlore. It’s about fandom: the ups, the downs, the trends, the drama…all the things that can get lost forever when sites disappear or there’s a purge. And that said…well, you may still not care. But if you do, read on!

Second: You Care. Now What?

(read more)

Get an account. Right now. It’s worth getting the account, because you won’t be able to create new pages for a few hours. So, get the account first, figure out what to do with it later.

Go to fanlore.org and click on “Create Account” in the upper right-hand corner:

Third: You Have the Power (Soon)!

Read up! No need to invent the wheel in this post – they’ve got some great resources for getting started already written on their webpage.

Fanlore Getting Started Page

General Help Pages on Fanlore

Four hours after you create your account, you can create pages! Congrats! There are a ton of help pages out there, but the questions I had initially were:

How do I make sure this page doesn’t exist already?

Search. Search for the page. Search for key phrases associated with the page. A page name is a fiddly thing, so search for significant phrases in a few different ways before you determine it doesn’t exist. Always make sure you check before you set out to create page!

How do I add this page?

If it’s not there, you’ll see it come up in red when you search. Type the page name you want to create in the search bar. Click “Search” to get all the results, and then click on that red link.

How do I format this page?

You now have an empty page. When I was getting started, my big question was: what should my page look like? Well, Fanlore has templates that can help with that! The templates are in a markup language, but do not fear! Copy and paste the template (everything in the blue box on the template page, typically starting with curly braces), make some updates, and click “Preview.” You can repeat those steps indefinitely until you get the hang of the markup. There’s also a ton of information on the Fanlore.org cheatsheet. (If you’re still confused, keep reading, there’s more specifics under the infobox section.)

Once you have the page created and published, you can edit it without the markup language if you prefer – there’s “Edit,” which gives you a non-code-based option, and an “Edit Source” button, which gives you the code-based option.

If your proposed page topic doesn’t have an official template created for that topic, you can look up similar pages and see how they’re structured.  If you’re not sure how they managed to make something look a certain way, click the “Edit Source” button and look at the code there to get a sense of what they did. Be sure to cancel out of the edit when you’re done so you don’t make unintentional changes to someone else’s page! Some pages are locked down (like the template pages) so you can’t make edits, but most “normal” pages will have those links at the top so you can dig in and see what’s there and how the people who wrote that page made it look the way it does.

How do I add an infobox?

Those infoboxes on the right of a lot of pages give a quick overview of important information. These are templates, and you can find a list of available infobox templates here.

The templates, when you click into them, have a heading and some info that you can fill in. You can’t remove items from the template without making a new template, which I don’t recommend trying when you’re getting started. Use the template, fill in the information, and mark “N/A” if you don’t have information to insert in a specific field. A sample template for an infobox looks like this, and you fill in information after each “equals” sign. You can add a list, and you can add links to these after the equals sign using the markup for internal and external links on the Cheatsheet.

{{FanProfile |name=  |alias(es)= |type= |fandoms= |communities= |other= |url= }}

If you’re still confused, let’s go to Astolat’s fan page and click “Edit Source” and see how the infobox looks behind the scenes:

See how everything that was in the original template is still there, there’s just a list of information after the equals sign?

And here’s how it looks formatted:

How do I categorize this page?

Categories are important because they help Fanlore’s back-end coding group pages together so people can find the page you’ve created and so the page is in the right place in the site map. If you can’t figure it out, though, don’t worry, there are people who will find it and take care of it!

If you have an infobox from a template, this is taken care of. 

If you didn’t use an infobox template, you can add a Category to index the page.

Finding a Category can be a little overwhelming. If you have an example page (another page that contains the same type of content as yours), you can scroll to the bottom of that page and see what Category has been assigned to it. You can add that Category to your page by editing the source and adding that category into your page at the bottom with 2 square brackets, like this: [[Category:YourCategory]]

Use “Preview” to make sure you set it up correctly before saving the page.

If you need to find a category and can’t find a good example page, I recommend going to the sitemap, finding what fits your article the best, and clicking into it. Categories are set up in hierarchies, so click through until you find the Category and Subcategory that fits best.

Add it at the very bottom of the page, and it should show up when you preview, at the very bottom of the page.

How do I add those nifty citation references[1]?

Review theFanlore page on citation formatting for details. The basics are:

Add a blank References heading at the bottom of the page.

Add tags and include the source information.

What is the difference between a citation and an external link? Good question! I don’t know for sure, but the way I’ve been using it, if I make a statement about a thing and I want to direct you to the “proof” (article, webpage, etc), I will use a citation. If there is a thing I’m linking to because it is relevant but not as proof of what I’m saying on the wiki, I will add it as an external link.

Fourth: Don’t Worry

You’ll find there are a lot of instances when you might not be sure what the “right” way is to do whatever it is you’re trying to do. Don’t let that stop you! Do a little research, do your best, and be okay with a learning curve.

The thing about wiki editing in general, and this includes Fanlore, is that it’s a community project, and everyone is doing their best. It’s worthwhile to think about trying to make your pages consistent with other pages where you can, because it will help people who are trying to find what you’re providing. So, poke around similar pages first and look for common trends in how they’re organized, and mimic that for your own page.

All that said, there is very little hierarchy in editors and few rules set in stone. It’s a community site put together by volunteers. You may find that you’ve labeled, referenced, cited, categorized, etc, a page incorrectly, or that you added a page that was already there under another name, or you may have put in a canon page when that’s really not what Fanlore is for. No problem! A page can be reverted to a previous version. It can be removed by a “Gardener” (higher-level editor), or edited by someone else who is more familiar with the inner wiki workings, or you can even tweak it yourself when you learn a better ways to code the page. 

There is always a path forward, so get in there and get started!

Happy creating, happy fandom, and welcome!

GO VISIT FANLORE NOW!

[tswaney17]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

@elriel-month | Once Upon a Dream

I'm so excited to share this Tangled retelling fic. It came to me last minute and I'm still in shock I managed to bust this one out. 😅 This story is heavily inspired by two songs, "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?" and "Cassandra" both by Taylor Swift. I recommend listening to them to get the full experience of this fic. 💗

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: Some minor descriptions of violence

Word Count: 7,053

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read the beginning below or click here to head to AO3.

Azriel buckled his weapons belt over his hips, tightening the straps around his thick thigh that contained the legendary dagger at his side. It was his preferred method to kill the monsters he was paid to end. Though he carried a few other daggers and a long sword strapped down the center of his spine, they weren’t Truthteller.

They weren’t the dagger that stories were told about around village fires.

They weren’t the dagger children pretended to wield when they played knights and dragons and thieves.

His lips curled up at the thought of them using wooden swords and declaring themselves knights of the kingdom. Slashing the toy as if they held his blade in their small hands. The idea was completely absurd.

Because Azriel was no knight.

He traveled from village to village, kingdom to kingdom, taking coins from the townsfolks or the royals themselves to slay whatever beast was terrorizing them. Using the knife believed to have magic embedded within the very blade to always strike true. The only magical thing people dared to accept in this world.

The stories he could tell would cower most people, but not a single monster had ever given him pause.

Until today.

Until he was called upon to slay the sorceress who retired to a tall tower in the woods. Azriel wasn’t too familiar with sorceresses or the power they possessed. But the coin offered by the town was too good to pass up.

Read More

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved most of my fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist: 

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

@elainsweetcobalt

@emilyondemand

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

[chestnutisland]

Are you ready for our annual Chestnutfest?!

Posted a month in advance, I hope that's enough time for you lovelies to whip up something sweet to celebrate our favourite DBZ OTP♥ Please click Read More to view this year's details!

Happy creating everyone! And pls do share the post around!♥

As always, here are some guidelines.

Starting the 12th of September, upload your submission for the day's theme, note that 9/18 is a free space but you can also use the theme Indirect kiss for that day, and tag me so I can re-blog your marvelous creations! Please use the following tags in the first 5 tags of your post so I can see them in my tracked tags. They are the blog tag Chestnutisland and this years specific tag Chestnutfest2k24. You can also Mention me as @ chestnutisland (without the space) and I will get a notification.

Preferably upload the theme for each day on the actual day but if you can't or rather upload them all at the same time for example, or maybe can't finish on time for one of the days, or just want to participate for one or a few days, that's fine too. As long as you use the tag system I will see it.

Of course, this is Tumblr we're talking about so if for some reason I don't see your work, please send me a DM.

Of course, you are also welcome to use the submit post button to directly submit to me!

Any medium is allowed, art, fics, AMV's,moodboards, playlists, anything you can come up with.

Any rating is allowed, however for NSF(W)T works, please censor your work and use a link to a different website to view uncensored. Please use a Read More as well as a community label and tag appropriately. In example, Ao3 and Pixiv both allow these kinds of works.

No works that break up K18, please. And Absolutely No NTR or ANYTHING of that nature. I will not share it and I will instantly and permanently block you if you submit it.

Please use Tumblr's link feature for off-site fics like on AO3 or FF.net, use a read more if you post fiction directly to Tumblr, that way we don't clog up everybody's dashboards.

Other characters are allowed in your works, of course, hey the more the merrier right? But do make sure K18 is the main focus, please.

The exceptions to the above rule are submissions for 9/17. I decided to dedicate one day of the fest to Android 17 and/or Marron. You can focus on one of them for that day or both, as long as one of them is the focus it's totally cool. Oh and just in case and to be crystal clear because it is out there...**Do not submit Mar17 works, I do not condone those sorts of works for these two characters together!** Ship art of either of them with different characters is allowed as long as it is appropriate. For example, MarTen or 17xOC is fine.

As always, if you have any questions, just send an ask or DM my way, and I'll happily answer any you may have!

This post will be queued a few more times before the start of the fest.

[conjectureand-gloom]

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ welcome! ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

important information ⬎

alex

they/he/xe/it

non binary 💛🤍💜🖤

lesbian ❤️🧡🤍🩷💜

youreverydaydemikid -> conjectureand-gloom (15/01/24)

minor (february 8th)

multifandom

fanfiction writer

GMT +10:30

INFP-T

2w1

lyn lapid fan blog @tlit21c

i stand with palestine 🇵🇸

my new main account is @holesofmy-sweater

links ⬎

my ao3

my spotify

my pinterest

my instagram (that i’m barely active on)

hamilton fanfic recommendations

2023 reflection post

fandom list, fanfiction request masterlist, written works, wips, asks, tags and mutuals under the cut

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ fandom list ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

hamilton (feel free to request for any hamilton ship, i love them all so much, alexander is the absolute DREAM for a multishipper. alexander is my main target for angst! this is my main fandom)

jesus christ superstar (jesus/judas or jesus/judas/mary mainly for jcs, but feel free to ask for any other ships and i’ll consider it!! and no, i am not religious. i have been raised christian, but just ended up with religious trauma)

a good girls guide to murder (pipravi fluff and angst :) but i’ll so gladly write fics about sal and andie, or becca. ravi is my comfort character, and i just torture pip relentlessly)

nevermoor (personally i’m more of a cadence/morrigan girly, but fics for nevermoor will mainly be gen! i love found family, so jupiter & mog fluff or angst is my favourite)

in the heights (canon ships mainly, but feel free to ask for other ships! i’m not in the ITH fandom much, so these are going to be much more inaccurate)

newsies (again, more gen fics, but i do ship dave/jack. also i love angsty crutchie fics. this is one of my smaller fandoms, so these will be super inaccurate)

keeper of the lost cities (preferably marella/linh or tam/keefe! but again, feel free to ask for any ship!!)

hunger games (gen, preferably. but i’m team peeta in case anyone was wondering. fuck gale.)

maze runner (okay i haven’t read or seen TMR in ages but newt/thomas)

divergent (canon ships only. and no, christina/tobias is not canon.)

six (gen all the way. found family. also i love katherine howard angst over any other queen)

the song of achilles (achilles/patroclus? literally what other ship is there????? this is my favourite book)

wednesday (wednesday/enid. i feel like this requires no explanation. also. angst fics. i almost exclusively write angsty wednesday fics, rather than enid. i love the whole of the addams family, and i love familial hurt/comfort)

marauders (i’m not in the marauders fandom much at all, like i really only know the actual hp canon marauders. so.)

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ fanfic request rules ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

i’ll write for any fandom listed above, i love them all! however i am much more active in hamilton, agggtm, jcs, nevermoor and kotlc, so those fics will be much better than the other fandoms’ would be

i’ll write any genre other than smut, and angst/whump is my absolute favourite. any AUs you could think of, literally anything, i’m not picky!

i won’t write romanticised abuse, non/con, or anything like that. that’s not to say that my fics can’t have dark aspects, but i won’t romanticise any of that.

on that, i’m not going to write any non/con, romanticised or not

also, i won’t write omegaverse, nor will i write y/n or self insert fics. nothing wrong with those genres, i just don’t write them!

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ written works ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

It’s Only A Matter Of Time - A Hamilton Watches Hamilton Fic

i wish i could say that was the last time

call me son one more time

when they surround our troops

then a hurricane came

take a break

and his right hand man…

she was holding me

the great war

we got traffic on the west side

steal into my affections

the fact that you’re alive is a miracle

fools who run their mouths off wind up dead

my father wasn’t around

philip, you would like it uptown

i may not live to see our glory…

an outrageous demand

stay alive

my dear, angelica

to convince you that i love you

but this situation’s helpless

like mother, like daughter (agggtm)

“but now this room is spinning…”

“i’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”

“like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon”

me in your sweater, you said it looked better on me than it did you (gifted to @holes-in-my-false-confidence)

baby it’s cold outside

the entire exposé (inspired entirely off of @jittyjames’ fanfiction series ‘the price of his war’)

my world is burning (yet another fic based off of jami’s series ‘the price of his war’)

i’m sorry if any of these links are incorrect, i spent over an hour on just this section

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ wips ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

achilles, come down (last two works in series still need to be written)

je m’appelle… lafayette? (one chapter to go)

lams (taylor’s version) (a few chapters to go, unsure if it will be finished)

you’re the one who disappears (agggtm, unsure if it will be finished, or when)

judas’ death (jcs angst fanfiction)

untitled (hamil-gang liminal spaces au longfic thing idk)

febuwhump drabbles (possibly)

be my valentine challenge

so big/so small (so big/so small from deh but hamilton and his ma)

bloom like rose thorns (a longfic that may or may not ever be finished)

rewrite of ‘i wish i could say that was the last time’ and ‘call me son one more time’

baby don’t cut (lams angst based off of a song with the same name)

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ collaborations ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

fem!hamilton au with @jittyjames and @firebalda

if anybody is interested in collabing at all, please hit me up!! i love writing with other people!!!!

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ asks ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

please send me any asks at all!!! and also please put fic requests in my ask box, i did say that i would have your request out in 6 months, but i have had one sitting in there for over a year (sorry jami.) but um. i promise im trying to get better at that

also, feel free to ask for fic recommendations!!!! i’ve linked a post earlier in this post with a huge list, but it’s not fully updated with some more recent fics :)

‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ tags ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

asks- all the asks ive answered, these are also tagged with the url of the blog, or with anon dearest if it was an anon ask

akeyla ml- posts about/with my incredible incredible partner @holes-in-my-false-confidence who i love so much ❤❤❤❤❤❤

tag games- self explanatory, tag games :)

sleep is overrated- me trying to fix my sleep schedule in 2024

personal- personal vent posts. please block this tag, i have had someone unfollow me before because of these posts :)

₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧ mooties ‎‧₊˚✩ 🪐✩˚₊‧

@jittyjames

@like-the-stars-i-shine (irl friend for 5 years now)

@holes-in-my-false-confidence (my partner, irl <33333)

@felizusnavidad

@weeping-in-the-willows

@swiftieannah

@the1laff

@anixknowsnothin

@purpleblobfrompluto

@starduckys

@now-thats-his-bride

@kwilooo

@evilteapot (irl friend)

@my-dear-gal

@idontwanttobeabuzzkill

@mynightsoutofsight

@cc-horan28

i have more mutuals, but this is everybody who i interact with more often and i actually consider to be my friend. if anybody wants to ever message me or actually become friends with me, please do!!!! i love talking to you guys, please message me, i promise im not scary <333

[mlbigbang2024]

What is a Big Bang?

A Big Bang is a fandom-wide event where writers write a long (more than 10k words) fic, for which artists make fanart during the 6-month long creation period.

How does it work?

Writers arrive with a fic idea at the start of the event. Once they have begun writing, artists select fics to illustrate in an anonymous process. Then mods match writer-artist teams. Betas can get summaries of fics from authors and choose who they’d like to work with. They help with what the writer requests: bouncing plot ideas, helping with the flow of the story, and correcting spelling and grammar mistakes.

When can I apply?

Writer applications are open until the 5th of July. Beta and artist applications are open until the 3rd of September.

Where can I apply?

Application links will be posted in May.

What do I need to participate?

You’ll need an email address, a Discord account, and if you’re applying as a writer, an AO3 account.

What is expected of me if I get accepted to the Big Bang as a writer?

► Create a complete, previously unpublished fic for the event that is independent from your previous works (no sequels or prequels are allowed) and longer than 10,000 words. ► Work closely and communicate regularly with your collaborator partners. ► Keep the setting and plot of your fic a secret, and don’t talk about it publicly outside the event’s server.

What is expected of me if I get accepted to the Big Bang as an artist?

► Create at least two pieces of complete, previously unpublished artwork. If you’re paired with one writer, you’ll create two pieces for one fic, but if you’re paired with two, you’ll make one artwork for each fic. ► Work closely and communicate regularly with your collaborator partner(s). ► Keep the details of your illustration(s) a secret, and don’t talk about it publicly outside the event’s server.

What is expected of me if I get accepted to the Big Bang as a beta reader?

Work closely and communicate regularly with your collaborator partner(s). Provide technical spelling and grammar corrections, along with language, characterization, structure, and plot feedback to the writers if they ask for it. The extent to which writers decide to incorporate this feedback is up to their own consideration. Keep the setting and plot of the fic a secret, and don’t talk about it publicly outside the event’s server.

Do I need to get my fic for the event beta-read?

We encourage the fics to be beta-read. However, it isn’t required. You can also invite your personal beta(s) to the server if you’d like, or you can be matched with one in the event.

How will the matching of artists and writers happen?

After writers submit their Project Proposal on August 30th, all summaries, tags, and snippets will be shared anonymously with artists. From September 5th-12th, artists will fill out a survey listing their preferences for fics they might like to illustrate. Mods will announce writer-artist pairs on September 16th.

If I apply and get accepted as a writer, is getting art for my fic guaranteed?

Artists have the right to decline any work they do not wish to illustrate, so while we will do our best to match each fic, writers are not necessarily guaranteed an artist partner. However, we try our best to keep an even match of writers and artists, and it is likely that all writers will be paired up. All writers can also still produce a long fic to be proud of, with the support of the Big Bang Discord community. Other benefits of being in the Big Bang are getting your fic added to the AO3 collection and reblogged by the Tumblr blog.

Can I apply for multiple roles?

Anonymity in the lead-up to the pairings is very important for this event. For that reason, you can only be accepted as either a writer or an artist. However, writers and artists can also be betas, as well as pinch-hitter artists who can be called on to step in if needed.

What happens if I need to drop out of the event?

If you need to drop out, please contact a moderator ASAP so they can inform you of the procedure! If you ‘ghost’ and fail to communicate your change in status, you may not be able to participate in next year’s event. Exceptions will be made for extraordinary incidents affecting a participant’s ability to communicate.

What happens if my partner drops out during the event?

If you’re an artist or a beta, you can choose to work with another writer. If you’re a writer, the mods will make every effort to find an artist to fill in for you (this person is called a pinch-hitter).

Can writers collaborate on fics?

Yes, writers may collaborate on a fic. In this case, please indicate so in both of your sign-up forms.

What kind of content is allowed?

Your work can be about any ship(s) or no ships!. The Big Bang is a chance to commit to a big project with an unusual amount of support, so feel free to be creative! Crossovers are strongly discouraged, though, as we can’t guarantee that artists/betas will be familiar or interested in the other fandom.

Are NSFW fics allowed for the event?

Yes, NSFW fics—both Mature or Explicit—are permitted. If a fic has sexual content warranting either of those ratings, however, it must be disclosed on the project proposal so that it’s only shown to artists who are willing and able to see NSFW content. Likewise, a fic’s NSFW status should be disclosed in postings on the server’s #beta-requests channel. You’ll be able to brainstorm and discuss these works on a specially designated part of the server. All characters in NSFW works must be aged-up (18+), and adult-child ships or bestiality are not allowed.

Who can work on an NSFW fic?

You may only apply to write, beta, or make art for an NSFW fic if you’re over 18.

Can I share part of my fic/art with anyone during the creation period?

We ask you to keep your idea and progress as private as possible except for in the Big Bang’s Discord server. This requirement is in order to preserve the anonymity of the writers before the artist pairing process, and to keep the suspense and excitement in the general fandom about the pieces.

I already shared some details of my fic before I knew about the Big Bang. What now?

Let us know in your sign-up form! We’ll make case-by-case judgements based on the situation. It’s alright if you’ve previously brainstormed the concept publicly or discussed potential details with friends. Our goal is to preserve anonymity for artist pairings and the posting period, so if you’ve done so, we’d ask that you hide/delete the posts and refrain from further public discussion.

More Information:

Mods || Schedule || Rules

[meowmeowriley]

Hello! As a fanfic author, what is your opinion on/preferences regarding fics inspired by your own works?

Do those preferences change if the derivative work contains explicit or taboo subject matter (blood play, non-con, somno, etc)?

I may or may not have had a small idea for a smutty one-shot involving watership but I wanted to check before attempting to do anything with it 😅

Hello friend!

Personally I love the idea that my silly little fic could inspire someone to create something themselves. Weather it's art, a drabble, a little headcanon, or a whole fic, I love to know that something I made helped someone else feel inspired to make something too! ❤

You asked this anonymously, so I'll respect that if you'd rather keep it to yourself, BUT if you're willing, there's an option on Ao3 when you upload a fic to check a box that says: This work is a remix, a translation, a podfic, or was inspired by another work and if you drop the URL to my fic in the little drop down, then our fics will be linked! (This goes for anyone who wants to as well, the more the merrier!) Yours will appear on mine, mine will show up on yours, and the readers win because they get more content! Again, you absolutely don't have to, I just love the idea of giving people an easier way to find more projects that are similar to my own.

Now as far as the subject of your fic is concerned, blood play, somno, and non-con, as long as your fic is appropriately tagged, rated, and has the correct archive warning, then I see no issue. All I ask is that you be responsible and respectful. Personally I won't touch non-con, I can't handle reading it, but the archive is a safe space to write and post what you want, and tagging will help make sure that only the appropriate audience is exposed to your works. (That being said, I do have to approve the fics being linked like that, and will have a friend review it to make sure I'm not making a mistake. It's highly unlikely that I'll reject the link, just know that it is possible.)

I'd also like to point out that right now the tag list on Watership is not complete, and will be updated as we go. Now, I don't want to spoil anything prematurely, but there will be smut, it will get weird, and it will be tagged both in the tag list, and also at the beginning of any chapter that contains sensitive material, because I want to make sure everyone reading is well informed and has the best experience possible.

So. Yeah. Smut good. Creating things based on my work good. Sharing is caring. But above all else please remember to tag appropriately because fanfic is an escape and I'd like to make it as pleasant an experience for my readers as possible. ❤

[r-2-peepoo]

Do you have any good Codywan fics to recommend? Preferably on AO3, preferably not too spicy, and preferably ones that will leave me happy inside and not drowning in a post-Order 66 pit of despair. If you don’t feel like answering this, that’s fine, I hope you have a good day! :)

First of all, I am so sorry for not replying to this sooner. I didn’t see the notification and also I really wanted to make sure I gave you a good list. I love getting asked this so thank you for giving me an excuse to make another one of these posts. Here is a link to the first one I made.

These are all masterpieces in my mind. I have like twenty bookmarks in total even though I read fics all the time so here are some of my holy grails:

AUs

Oh, the weather outside is frightful by Celaestis (Christmas fluff modern au)

 I wish there were more Christmas fics because I just love them and it certainly doesn’t hurt that the writing quality of this one is nothing short of breathtaking. This is ever so slightly spicy but its mostly fluff. Just a line or two of spice and it’s implied too. This writer has a way of describing things that is so intricate and intimate and I am just obsessed with their writing style.

love me long, be my sunlight by ricken (love island au)

I have never been able to sit through an entire episode of Love Island but when I tell you I screamed when I first saw this au. It is the most fun I have had with a fic in so long but it’s also actually incredibly heartwarming too. And what a creative idea as well. This is one of the fics I reread a lot and if you give it a go, you’ll understand why. It’s positively delightful and is such an original concept too. 

Probably the spiciest fic on the list but there’s nothing crazy. It’s mostly just dialogue and references (it is a dating show after all) and the spiciest scene is interrupted. I had such a blast with this one and I really wish more fics were like this.

hunger + dreams by catboydogma (hockey/figure skating au)

Tell me why Codywan suit every genre. The very concept of a Codywan figure skating au is enough to make me screech but this one!!! It’s just so cute. Truly the most adorable little getting together fic and it does such a good job characterising everyone too. The interactions Obi Wan has with Anakin and Ahsoka are so much fun and Codywan deserve to be happy above all else and this fic absolutely delivers that. I would read a thousand chapters of this if I could.

Silver Lining by Wixiany (skiing au)

This fic!!!! Oh my god!!!! I have always believed that Codywan have suffered too much in canon that every au they are place in should be a romcom and that is precisely what this fic is. The sweetest little romcom ever. This fic has everything. A ski-slope accident meet cute. A Cody’s scar origin story. An Omega cameo (if you know me, you know that my opinion of any Codywan fic skyrockets if my fave Star Wars girl makes an appearance). Basically no angst!!!! I think this fic cured all of my problems ngl. I cannot recommend it enough. I genuinely just found this like thirty minutes ago and it has instantly become one of my favourite Codywan fics ever.

An Officer and a Gentleman by jimmytiberius  (regency au)

I read this one last year and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. This is a Codywan regency au and regency era literature may be the only thing I love as much as Codywan so naturally the being combined is immaculate. This fic does a fantastic job of capturing the delicate romanticism of the time period and it’s a style that suits Codywan down to the ground. It just makes sense for them. I mean a Sense and Sensibility au??? Are you serious??? What an amazing concept. If you’re familiar with Jane Austen at all, you’ll feel right at home with this fic because it is just so incredibly sweet.

Rhapsody in Blue by KCKenobi (orchestra/mystery au)

Now I know I mentioned it on my last post but I have vowed to always recommend this fic whenever anyone asks. It is truly my favourite fic of all time and I’ve read it multiple times now. How many fanfics can you say have their own soundtrack? I think this is the third time I have recommended this fic in a post but it really is that good. This is a warning for some angst but I would never recommend a fic with an unhappy ending unless specifically asked so you can rest easy knowing that everything resolves well in this story. 

What I also adore about this fic is that it does brilliantly what so few others do, which is that it doesn’t ignore its side characters. They are not just props in Obi Wan’s story. Each person, no matter how small their appearance, feels like a real person. They’re so believable and every relationship, platonic, romantic or otherwise, is completely fleshed out.

There's also a very sweet Codywan oneshot here but it is set during the pandemic and is a bit of a heavy read depending on how much that topic affects so be careful.

I would also like to say that, while this author doesn’t generally write Codywan, first of all when she does it is magical. Secondly, she is absolutely fantastic if you like platonic fics. There’s so many to read and every single one I have read so far has been wonderful. 

Canonverse fics

Incognizant by marshMeister (5+1 fic)

It wouldn’t be a true list of recommendations if I didn’t mention a fic by one of my favourite humans @legobenkenobi. When I say he is one of my favourite writers ever, I am not just saying it because I talk to him basically everyday. I cannot think of a single other person I would trust more to characterise both Cody and Obi Wan. It’s perfect every single time, whether its just in a post or in a full fanfiction, and this fic is such a good example. It’s that classic 5+1 format but it’s so sweet and so in character. 

What’s the one thing that could improve a Codywan fic though? Anakin being completely oblivious and (lovingly) made fun of for it. He has absolutely no clue how Codywan feel about each other even though basically the rest of the galaxy knows so this fic is him figuring that out and it is joy to read (and then reread like six times).

Also if I could make it required by law to read everything Ben has ever written, I would. So definitely check out literally all of his other fics.

if i don’t make it back from where i’ve gone (just know i’ve loved you all along) by thebitterbeast (featuring art from thegreencarousel) (time travel, non linear fic)

This fic does have some angst but rest assured everything works out eventually. It’s such a unique take on the events in canon and I already enjoy a time loop/ time travel fic. But the part I love the most about this fic is that it’s pro-Jedi. Too many Codywan fics find it necessary to disparage or misrepresent the Jedi and their beliefs in order to make the relationship work but Jedi are allowed to love! And this fic is such a beautiful reminder of that. It also captures the gentleness that Cody and Obi Wan have in their relationship with each other in such a lovely way. I fully accept this as the new canon.

Ghosts of the Dead by Just_Here_To_Procrastinate (zombie au)

This is definitely the heaviest fic on the list but trust me. It’s a masterpiece. Also happy ending too, so don’t worry. Just be cautious for mentions of blood and gore if that isn’t your thing. It doesn’t go overboard with it at all but better safe than sorry.

This is a zombie au and I understand that genre isn’t for everyone, but when people say that they’ve read fanfictions that are better than traditionally published novels, this is the kind of this they’re talking about. There’s a section of this fic which is maybe one of the most beautifully written things I’ve ever read. I wish I could give more context but it happens to be at the most pivotal moment of the entire story and I don’t want to spoil anything so you’re going to have to trust me. This fic is insanely good. It’s quite a long one and worth every single second you spend reading it. I love the narrative style and how it fits into the actual plot of TCW too. The characterization is fantastic too.

[ssmygiftexchange]

❄ Welcome to the 2024 Sasamiya & Hirakagi Winter Exchange! ❄

This is a secret santa gift exchange event to celebrate the world and characters of Sasaki and Miyano and Hirano and Kagiura by Harusono Shou. Fic writers and fanartists of all skill levels are welcome!

Please take a look at the schedule below, and Keep Reading for the full info and guidelines!

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

「 Schedule 」

Sep 1 - 15: Sign-ups Sep 20: Assignments sent Oct 1: First Check-in Nov 1: Second Check-in Dec 1: Third Check-in/Last day to drop Dec 24 - 31: Gift reveal

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄

「 About 」

What is a gift-exchange? It’s an event in which participants are given an assignment to create fanart or fanfiction for someone based on their requested prompts. Since it’s a secret-santa style event, participants must keep their gift and recipient a secret until the posting period.

How do I sign-up? You can sign-up through our Sign-up Form between September 1 - 15.

How are matches made? In the sign-up form, you will be asked to provide the details of what you’re interesting in receiving and creating, including your likes and dislikes, so that we may match you with someone with similar preferences.

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「 General Guidelines 」

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If you have any questions, send us an ask!

[cheshiresense]

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

Character or Ship: Hadrian from CLV, I love Hadrian/Orion but that might not work here so it's totally up to you!

AU/Trope: I'd love to see an AU where instead of the CLV dimension, Hadrian is sent to a universe still with BWL!Neville but more similar to canon. Maybe with Slytherin!Hadrian and Hadrian taking some of the other Slytherins under his wing? I just really like the idea of a world where the "good guys" win and instead of (or in addition to) Orion it's the Slytherins who need Hadrian in their corner. Doesn't have to be all of them, whoever you prefer writing is fine. I am also down for bashing if you need to work that in. Thank you!

Tags: CLV AU, Slytherin!Hadrian, Canonical Prejudices, Draco Malfoy Bashing, kind of?, tbh this is more or less how I see him in canon lol but I know he's a fan favourite so fair warning, he's not the CLV version here, at least not yet.

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Author's Notes: Hello, it's been a while since I've worked on these. I think I mentioned before that my tumblr inbox got glitchy so I actually couldn't find the other 6 requests from the last batch of 10 you guys sent in for 5+ Headcanons. So I set up an airtable form instead and got someone to test it, and this was the one they sent. It works, so in the future, I'll toss out a new post with the form link for more requests, and maybe I'll get through them in a timely manner lol.

If you're not in the UraIchi server, then you might've noticed that I've sort of been MIA on the writing front for a while now, the last time I wrote and posted something was like back in May last year, and honestly I've been kind of tired and burnt out ever since, and real life is kicking my ass a bit, so when I do have spare time, all I feel like doing is reading fics or webnovels and sleeping. But the winter hols were a nice break for me, and I've started on a couple new fic ideas and added to some wips on and off over the past few months, so I'm slowly getting back into it, and this 5+ Headcanons prompt was one of the things I've been working on. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back into posting fics soon.

ANYWAY, on to the stuff you actually care about: Slytherin!Hadrian, so basically amp up the hardened war vet and dial down the friendship magic XD Way back when I first started CLV, I did consider Slytherin for his House but it felt like everybody did that, plus the politics I would have to get into gave me a headache and I felt like I couldn't do it justice anyway, so I went with Hufflepuff. Slytherin does give me more options to play with a powerful Hadrian who has less morals about flinging that around to get what he wants though since he would be viewed as a halfblood at best and he'd need that currency to make sure nobody messes with him, especially if this universe is more canon than CLV (lbr, almost everybody is at least 50% nicer in CLV lol). So okay, let's give this a spin.

(AO3 Link Here -- I’ll add this to the collection fic on my AO3 to make it a round 15 but this one will be the last for that. If I do more, I’ll start a new fic.)

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1.

Hadrian ends up being a Hatstall. He sits on the stool for a full seven minutes as the Sorting Hat sifts through his bloodstained memories with a silence so grim Hadrian is tempted to comfort it. Then it proceeds to send back memories of its own, the major points of recent Hogwarts history that would best help Hadrian fit in - Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived; an image of Hadrian's counterpart and an entire family still alive; Quirrell vanquished in first year, a basilisk slain and a diary that bled itself to death in the second, Remus teaching in the third but no Pettigrew in sight; Neville at odds with Potter, Gryffindors at odds with Slytherins, and Death Eater children who hadn't managed to come out of the last war as financially and politically secure as families like the Malfoys, subtly shunned for their parents' sins, while children from the Light side, the winning side, with parents who'd openly defied Voldemort, can do almost no wrong. On the surface, everything looks bright and happy. Beneath it, malcontent and despair bubbles and brews with hardly anyone the wiser, and those who are, are glad to look away.

The Sorting Hat offers no opinions of its own after it is done, only continuing on to extol the virtues of all four Houses while making an argument for why Hadrian would be perfectly suited for each of them in equal measure, before finally leaving the decision in Hadrian's hands.

"Even I cannot be certain where you would do the most good," the Sorting Hat tells him. "Nor do I know which House would do you the most good. There are many children in this school who could use a helping hand such as yours, and likewise, you too would benefit from the same. Who am I to decide which is more important? Perhaps it is most accurate to say that no matter where you end up, who you will help, and who you will allow to help you, a new future will unfold, one made possible only by your existence. Yours is a fate that demands change, Mr. Evans, for better or for worse. But when peril looms on the distant horizon, when our society insists on blind stagnancy, and its people have long stood divided, change is exactly what this world needs. Thus, I leave the choice to you. Where do you wish to go?"

Hadrian says nothing - thinks nothing - for a long deafening minute. The mounting whispers in the Great Hall are easy enough to tune out, and within the confines of his mind, the Hat too remains patiently silent.

The truth of it is - Hadrian is tired. Even now, in this moment, in this place, one year and an entire dimension and seven years away, he still feels like he does on most days— as if he's just walked off a battlefield at the end of one of those kinds of days that can break a man even when you think there's nothing left to break, yet still hyper-alert for the next enemy, the next fight, the next death, because he doesn't know how to do anything else, how to be anything else. On all the rest, of course, it feels as if he never left the battlefield at all.

He is tired, and he honestly doesn't feel like he's capable of helping anyone, not children, not the reflections of his loved ones, and certainly not an entire world that's rapidly revealing itself to be as stuck on a one-way train to hell as his original world had been.

He doesn't want to be a hero, doesn't know how to be one even after all these years, even when other people had always so desperately wanted him to be. A hero, until he'd proven unable to meet their expectations, and then he'd been their villain, right up until they'd needed a hero to stand in front of them again, and round and round and round they'd gone.

The only thing he could never be was just Harry, just himself, and now even Harry Potter is no longer his to claim.

But maybe that's not so bad, not when Harry Potter has always been more story than reality, a patchwork fairytale portrait of a boy, a man, a weapon, a sacrifice, stitched together by every hand except his own.

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

Gryffindor feels too much like repeating history, and Hadrian would rather not be forced to stare at the majority of those long dead to him day in and day out. Hufflepuff is too prone to crowding together for his liking, persistently eager to be friends with their own members even if they're quick to turn on those who aren't, and Hadrian doesn't think he can bear the overenthusiastic socializing that would require.

 Ravenclaw might be best, a House where even the most introverted can find a home if they have a thirst for knowledge, but at the same time, for a lot of them, once they latch on to a question unanswered or an opinion that doesn't fit their worldview, they won't let go until the question is exhausted or the opinion has conformed to what they consider acceptable, and Hadrian has too many secrets and no more patience to be what others what him to be to fit in with those sorts of people anymore. Besides, he's never quite forgiven that House as a whole. Marietta Edgecombe had been Ravenclaw. Quirrell and Lockhart and Trelawney had been Ravenclaws. Every single one of Luna's bullies had been Ravenclaws. He'd worked with members of that House over the years, taught them back when the DA had been up and running, and even been friendly with some of them beyond just Luna, but generally speaking, he has no positive emotions regarding Ravenclaw. He knows that he isn't being entirely fair, because Voldemort had been from Slytherin, and Pettigrew had been from Gryffindor, and the worst of the lot who'd spearheaded the damaging gossip and baseless accusations incriminating him - first for the Heir of Slytherin debacle in second year, and then the Cup nonsense in fourth year - had all been from Hufflepuff, but still, Ravenclaw simply stands out as that one House that holds no appeal for him.

That really only leaves one place he can go though, and Hadrian finds that he minds that a lot less than he once would've. Slytherin will have its own problems, him being a halfblood at best with a very obvious muggle surname, but Slytherins also respect power, and most of them have the sense to back off if they realize they're picking a fight with an opponent they can't beat. And once that's dealt with, Hadrian will most likely be avoided and left to his own devices, with only the occasional curse to his back to worry about. From a bunch of schoolchildren, that's a negligible issue.

In his head, the Sorting Hat chuckles. "Very well then. If you're sure, better be-"

"SLYTHERIN!"

But Mr. Evans," the Sorting Hat says in the seconds before it's removed from Hadrian's head. It sounds thoroughly amused. "Do not be so quick to underestimate your own heart."

And with that last ominous statement imparted to haunt him, Hadrian stands to lacklustre applause and makes his way to his new House as his tie settles into green and silver stripes.

The briefest of glances over the stretch of the Slytherin table tells him that none of the students seated where most of the fourth-years are gathered have moved to make room for him. That's fine. Hadrian would rather not be boxed in anyway. He takes a seat at the end of the table, smiles at the suspicious first-years around him, and then waits for Dumbledore's opening speech to finish so they can start the feast.

Fifteen minutes later, one treacle tart and a glass of pumpkin juice is all he can manage. He sips at some water for the rest of dinner even as he wishes it was something a lot more alcoholic. He speaks to no one, and no one tries to speak to him, although plenty of prying eyes and sneers of disdain find their way to him throughout the meal.

It makes him feel, Hadrian thinks with some humour, almost nostalgic.

Near the end of the evening, he thinks about going over to the Gryffindor table to find Neville, Ron, and Hermione. But he's in Slytherin now, so he doesn't know how they'll react, and after another moment of contemplation, he decides against it. Not much can embarrass him anymore, but he'd still rather not be put on the spot if the Golden Trio rejects his overture of friendship. It won't help his reputation in Slytherin either if he ends up making a spectacle of himself like that. There's plenty of time tomorrow to see how they'll feel about maintaining ties with a Slytherin without too big of an audience watching, and if they're against it, then, well, it's not as if Hadrian hasn't been living as a recluse over the better part of the past year anyway. He sees no problem carrying on exactly as he has.

Fate sent him here against his explicit permission but she sure as shit can't make him dance.

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2.

Hadrian ends up shuffled into a dorm room with five very familiar Slytherins - Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott. He gets the remaining bed that's presumably been empty since the others' first year, and a very pointed silence coalesces at his back as he starts unpacking his clothes into his wardrobe.

He ignores it. Instead, he absently begins a count of how long it will take for someone - he's betting Draco - to put their foot in their mouth first. He casts a glance at the floor-to-ceiling window next to his nightstand; like the Gryffindor dorms, the room is circular so everyone has a view to the outside, but here, instead of winds and open skies, it's lake water that shimmers against the glass, with the shadows of passing aquatic life flickering by. It's not bad, just different; the ambience of it is almost soothing.

Someone clears their throat behind him. Hadrian hangs up his winter cloak before moving on to his books. They each get a desk too, complete with a mini bookcase, which the Gryffindor dorms don't have. They have to do their homework on their beds or in the common room. How unfair. But at least Hadrian gets to benefit from it now.

Someone clears their throat again, louder this time. Hadrian smothers a twist of a smirk and bends over his trunk again to fish out his towels and toiletries. His more personal belongings can remain inside, although he'll have to ward everything to the nines anyway.

A displeased noise that comes out gilded with that distinctly familiar Dudley-esque whine of a child who's been spoiled since birth and has never known hardship reaches his ears, and then finally-

"Are you deaf, Evans?!" Draco demands, and oh, look at that, Hadrian wins the bet.

He straightens and turns, idly fiddling with a packet of quills as his gaze falls on the blond standing puffed up and bristling by the bed opposite Hadrian's on the other side of the dorm. He looks him over, looks at Crabbe and Goyle bracketing him with twin expressions of oafish scorn, looks at Zabini standing a ways away, watching the whole room with a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, looks at Nott who doesn't look at anyone at all.

His attention returns to Draco, considering him for a moment longer before asking mildly, "Did you say something?"

Draco's cheeks flush pink even as he draws himself up and snaps, "You should at least have enough manners to introduce yourself!" His face narrows into a sneer, and Hadrian can almost predict his next words. "But I suppose even that might be too difficult for a mudblood to learn."

For a second, Hadrian wonders if he should tell him he's a halfblood. Then again, it doesn't really matter, and also some people consider halfbloods to be mudbloods too. And now that he thinks about it, the person he is in this world might actually be a muggleborn. But he was homeschooled so at least one of his fictional parents had to have known magic, right? Then again, they could've just been related to a witch or wizard but were muggles themselves. Who knows. Certainly not him since Fate couldn't be bothered to inform him.

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

Hadrian blinks out of his thoughts. "Yes, I'm listening, what is it?"

Draco glares. His features are so… pointy at this age that the expression doesn't really carry the impact he's probably going for, but Hadrian figures it would be unnecessarily mean to mention it, so he doesn't. Instead, he quickly reviews everything Draco has said, and there wasn't actually a question anywhere in there, as far as Hadrian can tell, but maybe Draco really does want an introduction. Seems like a waste of breath though.

"Is there a point to introducing myself?" He asks. "Everybody heard my name at the Sorting. You even just used it so it's not like you don't know."

Draco splutters as if that wasn't what he expected Hadrian to say. He recovers after a moment and opts to glower harder instead, as if that would hide the way the pink in his cheeks is slowly turning red. Poor bastard. That's what you get when you have a pale complexion and fluster easily.

"Are you actually a mudblood then?" He demands contemptuously.

Hadrian honestly doesn't know, but he can't say that, so he volleys back, "Does Slytherin accept muggleborns?"

He knows they take halfbloods, but he can't remember any muggleborns in Slytherin, although if there are any, he doubts they would be willing to broadcast it, even if it means inventing a magical parent in their family tree.

"Of course not!" Draco refutes, sounding scandalized.

Hadrian can't tell if that's actually true, or if that's just Draco's own belief, but it does make things easier. "Then…" He shrugs. "If you already know, why are you asking?"

A beat of silence passes, then two. The red deepens in Draco's face as he hisses dramatically, "Are you mocking me?"

Hadrian suppresses a sigh. He probably is being too flippant for someone as high-strung as Draco, but it's still a far sight from mockery. He can definitely do better if he wants to taunt someone. Had his world's Draco been this easily riled up? They hadn't even really gotten into any exchange of insults yet. "I wouldn't say I'm-"

He stops.

Across the room, Draco has pulled out his wand, and when he realizes that Hadrian's broken off mid-sentence, the flush recedes from his face, and a triumphant smirk instantly takes its place instead.

"Since you've been sorted into Slytherin," Draco announces, raising his wand with a ridiculously showy flourish that makes Hadrian twitch with the desire to correct his posture. "You should know your place. Mouthing off to your betters is a good way to get cursed around here, especially when you're in the presence of someone like me." He sneers down his nose even as his chin tips up, all peacock proud. "My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Even the likes of your kind should've heard of my family." He looks smug, as if a mere surname can protect him from anything when it comes down to it. "You'll be staying here for the next four years, Evans, and I guarantee you'll have a miserable time of it if you get on my bad side. But today's your first day at Hogwarts, so I can be generous. If you apologize, I'll let you go just this once."

An expectant hush falls as Draco finishes his little speech. Hadrian doesn't say anything right away, still turning over the packet of quills in his hands, still waiting. When nothing happens after a good five seconds tick by, and the silence gradually becomes strained, Hadrian finally nods at Draco's wand, "So are you going to use that or not?"

The stunned look of outrage on Draco's face is gold.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Evans!" Draco snarls, jabbing out with his wand. "Oscausi!"

Hadrian has time to arch an eyebrow at the choice of a pseudo-silencing charm before he's flipping a quill into the fingers of his left hand. A swipe of his thumb leaves a chain of runes glittering along its shaft, and then he brings it up, catches the oncoming spell with the tip, and swats it aside with a flick of his wrist, all in one fluid motion. His right hand doesn't stay still either as his wand slides neatly into his palm, and a single wordless modified Expelliarmus darts out and attaches itself to Draco's wand.

The white light of the Mouth-Sealing Charm is sent soaring across the room, shattering against the door in a shower of harmless sparks, and in the heavy silence that follows, Hadrian smiles.

He thinks it's a very bland smile, if he does say so himself. At the very least, he's careful to not look too intimidating or too unhinged, the way he can sometimes get, if some of his dead friends were to be believed, back during the war. Nevertheless, it still makes Draco blanch white, makes Crabbe and Goyle shrink back, makes Zabini lean further back into a convenient shadow and Nott go utterly still from where he's sitting on his bed.

Hadrian glances down at the remains of his writing utensil, most of the barbs now burnt black. It was a regular quill after all, not exactly made to withstand so much magic. He looks back up, at Draco who has a white-knuckled grip on his wand, and with his own wand, he gives the other's a tug, just enough to make Draco's eyes go wide with something like panic, but not enough to actually disarm him and - considering the sheer amount of honed intent in the charm that even Draco can undoubtedly sense - most likely bend the wand's allegiance.

Hadrian holds it for a moment longer, and then lets go. Draco staggers back a step, jerking his wand down and reflexively pressing it into his chest as if he's trying to protect it, or maybe assure himself that it still belongs to him.

Hadrian tucks his wand back up his sleeve before stooping down to pick up the rest of the quills he'd dropped. The burnt one goes in the bin by his desk.

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

"That took you almost five seconds," He begins almost conversationally as he opens a drawer to stash his remaining quills away. "From when you decided to fire that spell to actually firing it. And that's not even counting all the time you wasted saying the stuff before that, after you already took out your wand. It's stupid. When you draw with the intent to harm, you shouldn't give any warning at all. And the spell itself was slow. You should work on that."

He pauses, and there's still no response, which he supposes makes sense. He doubts anybody here wants to listen to him preach. He should just wrap things up since the plan is moving along so neatly.

"Anyway, this is pretty unfortunate," He switches gears and smiles again, as fit-for-public-polite as he knows how to be. It doesn't seem to make anyone feel better, but he also doesn't feel like he was that heavy-handed earlier, was he? Ah well, can't change anything now, and it's still in line with what he wants so it doesn't matter.

"I wasn't really expecting to make any friends since I know the average Slytherin's views on blood isn't exactly in my favour," He continues in light tones. "But I was hoping that we could at least remain on civil terms and get along as schoolmates, if only because we'll be living together for the rest of our time at Hogwarts. Since that doesn't seem to be possible anymore though, how about we just go with the simplest solution?"

Hadrian surveys the room and smiles some more. "You ignore me and I’ll ignore you. You attack me and I'll retaliate. An eye for an eye, so to speak. Everybody just needs to mind their own business, and there won't be any problems. That's fair enough, don't you think?"

His gaze settles once more on Draco. "Since you're the only one who's said anything so far, I'll assume you speak for everyone in this dorm. Draco Malfoy, right? So then, do we understand each other now?"

Across from him, Draco shivers imperceptibly like a rabbit caught at the wrong end of a predator's line of sight, but he also swallows and nods and gingerly puts his wand away. It looks like it costs him, but - at least for now - he seems both too shocked and too afraid to try anything else.

"Great!" Hadrian says cheerfully before cocking his head as a thought occurs to him. "Oh, right, one more thing."

He lets his smile fall away. Lets his expression smooth over into marble. And then he lets his magic flare, lets the pressure of it roll across the room like the black merciless depths of a storm-tossed ocean, lets it eclipse them all like death come to call, and then he brings it crashing down, not most of it, not even half, because he hasn't forgotten that these are children, that they're still young, and they can learn, they can be better, and Hadrian doesn't actually want to traumatize them permanently.

But he also remembers Draco - his world's Draco - telling him once, in a fit of aggravated exasperation during one of those times when they'd devolved into insulting each other's House traits yet again because they still hadn't understood what made the other tick, but they had also reached a point in their friendship where they'd started trying to, and kept trying.

"Slytherins respect power," Draco had said, not for the first time, but then he'd also added, for the first time, and haltingly as if he hadn't known why he'd had to explain it at all, "How else are you going to know they're worth your time? Or I guess worth befriending, in your Gryffindor terms."

"You don't decide whether or not to make friends based on how powerful someone is."

"Slytherins don't have friends. I only said friend because you're a Gryffindor and you don't understand anything else."

"Fine, you don't decide whether or not to associate with every single person you come across in your life based on how powerful they are either."

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

"How else would you know they're strong enough to stand with you? Or competent enough to protect themselves? Power is a good starting line. If they're powerful enough, then they won't be afraid to face your enemies with you, and you can trust them to be capable of keeping themselves safe without having to keep an eye on them every minute of the day. Only brainless Gryffindors prefer doing things like throwing themselves in the line of fire and dying dramatically for each other and calling that a win. Let me tell you something, Potter - it's not a victory when you're forced to suffer a loss. You haven't won anything if you're not around to enjoy the aftermath. So the best allies must be ones who are powerful enough to not only achieve their goals but also survive them."

"…"

"Well, I will grudgingly admit that I didn't put quite that much thought into it when I was younger, but who did? …It's what I believe now though. Did I finally get it through your thick skull this time, Potter?"

After that particular conversation, Hadrian had understood a little better, even if he hadn't entirely agreed with it all. But he hadn't forgotten a single word, and Draco was right— as they are, these kids definitely aren't thinking that deeply, but Hadrian thinks that the core of it at least is the same. Slytherins respect power. And he has power in spades, so at the very least, he can make them respect him.

Of course, if that also happens to make them afraid of him, then, well, he was never aiming to be their friend or even ally anyway. So long as they leave him alone, it's fine.

He brings his magic to bear, allows the weight of it to fall and fall and fall, and he watches dispassionately as Draco goes grey, as Crabbe and Goyle's knees buckle, as Zabini flinches back like he wants to melt into the walls, as Nott curls into himself and may or may not have stopped breathing.

Hadrian catches Draco's eye, and doesn't let him look away. "I have no betters. Do I make myself clear?"

He'd spent half his life being beaten down by the Dursleys, told over and over that he was worth nothing, that he didn’t deserve food or clothes or kindness, that he was a waste of space and better off dead. He'd spent a good chunk of his Hogwarts career obliviously dancing to Dumbledore's tune, and then some more of it knowingly dancing to it because what else could he do with a target on his back. He'd spent over twenty years shackled to Voldemort, to his parents' legacy, to a war that had loved him a whole lot more than he'd ever loved it. And he'd been Fate's everything since before he'd ever even been born.

Some days, he wonders if he even knows what freedom is anymore. Or if he's ever known at all.

But one thing he is sure of is that he will never passively tolerate anyone controlling what he can or cannot do ever again.

Draco whimpers something like agreement, like deference, like surrender, and- that's enough. Hadrian reels it all back, all his magic hidden away again, and in the dizzying wake of its abrupt disappearance, Draco collapses, barely catching himself and his dignity with the edge of his bed. Crabbe and Goyle do crash to the ground, while Zabini has to steady himself against his nightstand, and Nott sways like he might faint.

Too much, Hadrian thinks distantly, and tries to feel bad about it because he really hadn't meant to go that far, but his lines in the sand have also long since blurred away beneath a tide of blood and corpses.

Mostly, he just feels tired, and it has nothing to do with his displays of magic tonight.

He breathes. Turns. Grabs a towel and his underwear and pyjamas and pretends everything's fine. It is fine, now. He's gotten what he wanted. "It's getting late. I'll shower first. Won't be long."

And then he's exiting stage right, straight into the bathroom, and it's a relief to close the door behind him.

Of course, that sentiment is one that's shared by probably every single person in the room.

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3.

Theo is awake before anyone else the next morning. Or at least he thinks he is because he usually is. But everybody's curtains are drawn, and after last night, he doubts anyone was able to sleep right away, if at all, with the exception of their new roommate.

Hadrian Evans. Great Merlin, where had this person even come from? Even just the memory of his magic - vast and endless and utterly uncompromising - pressing down on them like the sky had fallen on their heads, makes his hands want to shake all over again. For a long, suspended, suffocating moment that could've lasted an eternity, Theo could've sworn he was going to die last night. And the most terrifying thing is that he is absolutely certain that Evans hadn't even been trying that hard.

Evans had radiated enough raw power to force all of them to their knees if he'd really wanted to. But he'd held back. He'd only given them a glimpse, just enough to warn them off. The rest of his magic had been out of reach, but present. It was there, reined in and waiting, but the shape of it and the depth of it had felt… unfathomable, as if it had no limits.

And that doesn't even account for the spellwork he had done. Theo had recognized the Disarming Charm, but last he checked, the average Expelliarmus only deprived a wizard of their wand. A more powerful one might send the target flying and even knock them out, but he's never heard of one that can… threaten to disarm your opponent at your leisure and - if Theo wasn't mistaken - force the wand to forsake its owner. Everybody knows that that's always a possibility in a real duel; if you win and take your opponent's wand, then that wand might not work for its owner anymore. But most of the time, you have to mean it, you have to set out with the intent to do it, the buildup of magic in the duel itself gives that intent a foundation, and there has to be an actual possibly life-threatening conflict of interest between the parties too, a real enmity that even last night - however excessive the exchange - shouldn't have qualified. Squabbles between students just don't count. If it did, with the Disarming Charm being taught in school, there would be a lot more students in need of new wands. The only way Theo can rationalize it happening anyway is that Evans must've been strong enough to compel the wand itself to leave its owner.

Pity he hadn't gone through with it in the end. Evans is powerful, but he's also… Theo is hesitant to call him soft, but if it had been Malfoy, if it had been Blaise or even himself or pretty much any other Slytherin, they would've done it. He's unsure of why Evans hadn't.

And then there had been the thing with the quill. Theo can't even explain that, and he'd mulled it over for half the night. He has the… incidental fortune of occupying the bed closest to Evans', so as soon as Evans had ducked into the bathroom last night, and the others had been distracted with pulling themselves together and possibly trying not to wet themselves, Theo had chanced a swift peek into Evans' wastebasket.

It really had looked just like any other regular quill, one that'd been burnt completely black and missing most of its barbs, but it had been a quill. He'd been tempted to open Evans' desk drawer to check the other quills, but - with Evans' ultimatum still ringing in his ears - he hadn't been that suicidal, so he'd refrained. But from what he could recall, the pack it had come from had looked just like the mass-produced writing utensils one could find in any stationery shop in Diagon Alley.

Whatever he'd done though, he had made it look like child's play. A quill and a Disarming Charm, so fast that Theo could've blinked and missed it. Could someone like that really have remained in obscurity all this time? Evans had apparently been homeschooled up until now, and they haven't even attended their first class yet, but by anyone's definition, after last night, he can't claim to be anything less than a prodigy.

It's… unbelievable. And not even because of any of the blood purity ideals that Malfoy likes to preach about. Theo doesn't think much of muggleborns or halfbloods, but he also doesn't think much of most purebloods, so he's fairly certain it's not high society prejudices that's driving his disbelief. It's just… He's never met anyone - not even his father, and Merlin knows Theo's been afraid of him for as long as he can remember - as effortlessly powerful as Evans had shown himself to be, and he doesn't understand how nobody has heard even a whisper of a rumour of this boy before he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

Someone like him shouldn't exist. Or perhaps there has been one, and that had been how the Dark Lord had made so many people bow at his feet or cower in their homes, but Theo had never met him in person, and so all he has is Evans' example to draw from. And not a single witch or wizard whom Theo's ever met could compare.

Has Evans just been hiding himself? Maybe his family hid him before they deemed him ready to face the rest of the world, and he's certainly proven that he can hide it when he wants to. But what kind of family can bring up this kind of wizard? Evans is only fourteen. None of them had thought him anything special before he'd revealed exactly how wrong they were. And he probably wouldn't have done even that much if Malfoy hadn't immediately taken a go at him, always so obsessed with making sure everyone knows he sits at the top of the food chain.

Well, he certainly doesn't anymore, and if Theo hadn't been caught up in the confrontation last night just like everyone else, he would've been tempted to applaud the spectacle of Malfoy being taken down a peg or ten. Before Evans' arrival, Theo was the one Malfoy liked to take jabs at every few days, and it was only partly because he'd had a halfblood mother. The Notts could've been said to be respectably rich once upon a time, but after the war had ended, with his father's political clout being almost nonexistent and most of their extended relatives either dead or in Azkaban, they'd been easy pickings for the Aurors. His father had escaped prison time with the Imperius excuse and some bribes, but that hadn't prevented multiple raids on their home and a hefty list of fines that had left their vaults near-depleted. And what little fortune they have left is reserved almost entirely for Theo's father's alchemy obsession that's more often focused on illegal research topics than not, as well as his black market dealings, although neither of those at least is widely known, or who knows if they would even have their ancestral manor left after the Aurors were done with them?

Malfoy loved reminding him of almost every one of those things as often as he could, and the most absurd thing is that - more than being born from a halfblood mother or poverty or loss of prestige - Theo's pretty sure Malfoy's biggest reason for disliking Theo is because Theo had refused to follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle back in first year.

So here they are now, and after three years, Theo had more or less become inured, not to mention it wasn't as if Malfoy only bullied him, or even bullied him the most - nobody could top that list while Potter and Weasley were around to fight for first place on it - but it had still been annoying and stressful because Theo was the only one who had to share a dorm with him. Considering the Malfoys' standing in society however, all he could ever do was stay silent and bear with it.

Admittedly, he'd been a little happy when Evans had been sorted into Slytherin, because between Theo and an unknown halfblood-at-best with no allies and no significant family background to speak of, the perfect prey in every way, Malfoy would definitely enjoy targeting the latter more, and even if the blond ponce still came after Theo, it would at least take some of the pressure off of him.

Now… well. That will still probably pick back up sooner or later, but Theo resents it less when he thinks about how it will take at least a few weeks before Malfoy will be able to strut around again after last night's humiliation. And also…

He thinks again of last night, of how Evans had basically smacked Malfoy down like he was nothing more than an unruly upstart getting above himself, and of that quiet oath too - I have no betters - and it hadn't even been pride or arrogance or superiority, only stone-cold certain fact.

He thinks of the fear he'd felt, but behind that, beneath that, more than that, there had also been nothing less than a breathless, heady, wondrous sense of reverence that had settled itself behind his ribcage, in his lungs, in the sudden hungry swell of curiosity that he'd just barely managed to lock behind his teeth, and it had only grown stronger after a night of fitful sleep.

He wants to see that magic again. He wants to know what else Evans can do.

And most importantly, he wants to know if he can do it too.

-0-

Ten minutes later, Theo hears Evans pull his bed curtains back. Very cautiously, he twitches his own curtains open half an inch to watch Evans get up, stretching languidly and scrubbing a hand through his messy black hair before gathering up his toiletries and a change of clothes. Like this, he looks completely normal, nothing at all like someone who could flatten all five of his roommates with a thoughtless flex of his magic. Even his eyes are just green now, no longer glowing like the light of a Killing Curse.

Of course, then Evans waves a hand at his window curtains, which obediently sweep open in response, and… yes, why not? Wandless magic seems par for the course for Evans, even if Theo has only ever heard of a handful of seventh-years capable of some very basic wandless spells if they concentrate hard enough.

Evans leaves for the bathroom as if casual uses of wandless magic is an everyday occurrence for him, and only after the door has closed does Theo let himself relax.

Evans had never even glanced over, but somehow, Theo thinks the other boy had known he was being watched anyway. But he'd said nothing, hadn't even given any indication that he'd noticed, let alone minded. Theo still isn't sure why he'd let Malfoy off so easily yesterday - because on hindsight, when it came down to it, all Evans had really done was scare them and scare Malfoy most of all; despite the verbal abuse and even the Dark charm Malfoy had shot at him, Evans hadn't actually hurt any of them in return - and Theo doesn't get it but maybe part of it is just because Evans doesn't take offence easily.

It seems unwise to Theo to not at least dole out some injuries as a reminder when that offence had been as insolent as Malfoy's, but perhaps Evans has his own measure of such things. Besides, Malfoy's known to say worse. Theo's looking forward to what happens if Malfoy forgets himself and says something even more loathsome. It's not impossible. Malfoy has been unchallenged since he came to Hogwarts. He's used to saying and doing whatever he wants, even to the upper years and those outside his own House. Most people ignore him when they can and indulge him when they can't, or otherwise manage or placate him with their own methods, but the one thing no one has ever done is tell him no, tell him to stop and make it stick. Potter and Weasley tend to give as good as they get, what with how short their tempers are, but they're louder and more obvious about it, so they get caught more often, which just makes them even angrier, so it never actually feels like they win, even when Malfoy doesn't either. Certainly, no amount of lectures or point loss has managed to deflate his ego.

But now there's Hadrian Evans. Theo doesn't need a second demonstration to know that Malfoy is outclassed in every way, but funnily enough, Malfoy himself might need it.

Theo eyes the bathroom door for a moment longer before finally getting up himself. He's barely set his feet on the rug before Blaise - in the bed on Theo's other side - also whips open his curtains, looking far more alert than he ever has this early in the morning.

For several seconds, they stare at each other in silence. And then - because he isn't sure if the other three boys in the room are awake yet - Theo pitches his voice even lower than usual and says, "He said Malfoy spoke for us."

Blaise blinks twice, and then something like distaste curves up at one corner of his mouth. "I heard."

Theo nods. They're on the same page then. Neither of them is particularly keen on this opinion that Evans has regrettably formed, Theo because of obvious reasons, and Blaise because he's Blaise.

Blaise has always been strange. He's the type who gets along with everyone and gets along with no one. You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone - biased Gryffindors aside - who would say a bad word about him, but they'd probably have to think a while if you asked them to describe something of personal significance about him too. It's not that he's average - he's never failed a class, and he's especially good at Potions - but for all that he can carry a conversation in a way that makes everyone feel comfortable and included, and he could probably talk rings around a politician without making them feel stupid, he also never lets anyone close enough to actually get to know him. He's approachable, but only when he wants you to approach him. He's generous with his smiles, but sometimes, it feels a little like he's laughing at you. He might say something condescending or spiteful to you one day, but he has the kind of charisma that makes you forget that the very next. People might call him friend and invite him over for a chat or a game of chess, but most don't make any attempts to go beyond that. And if you know what to look for, as Theo has learned to do, you would realize - Blaise views the world like it's one big boring joke, and his estimation of most of the people in it is probably somewhere around the level of dancing clowns.

Theo doesn't mind. The two of them aren't friends either. They're also not enemies though, and occasionally, they can be allies, but only when Blaise feels like it. Sometimes, the other boy will distract Malfoy from messing up Theo's potion in class or launching yet another diatribe on all of Theo's deficiencies, but Theo will never ask him to because he has nothing to repay Blaise with.

It works for them. Blaise does what Blaise wants, and even Malfoy can't control him. Theo is secretly envious of that— with the Zabinis' seat of power in Italy, it means they don't have that much clout in Britain, and yet nobody messes with Blaise, not even the few who don't buy into Blaise's charm or simply hate him because he's a Slytherin. Not even Malfoy messes with him, and even Theo can't tell if it's Malfoy's self-preservation instincts kicking in to ensure that he isn't about to go insulting someone with a black widow mother like Blaise's, or if Malfoy genuinely hasn't noticed that Blaise doesn't respect him at all no matter how pleasant his words can be. Honestly, when it comes to Malfoy, there's a decent chance of either option being true.

With all that in mind though, it's not a surprise that Blaise isn't pleased with being slotted in as one of Malfoy's lackeys, especially by someone as impressive - or, as Blaise might put it, entertaining - as Hadrian Evans has swiftly proved himself to be.

"It's fine," Blaise says next, rolling out of bed to get ready for the day. He's already regained his typical lazy slouch, as if he hadn't been just as terrified as the rest of them last night. His eyes slide to the bathroom, then away, unreadable but more focused than Theo's ever seen them. "We live in the same dorm, and we'll attend at least most of the same classes. He'll see soon enough that we don't share the same opinions as Malfoy."

Theo watches him dig into his wardrobe. "And then?"

"Then?" Blaise tips a more familiar look of knowing amusement at him. "Then you do what you want, and I'll do what I want, and at the very least, we'll have the good sense to not throw ourselves straight onto a hippogriff's talons like dear Draco."

Theo smothers a snort and rises to his feet. Neither he nor Blaise take Care of Magical Creatures, but everybody had heard of Malfoy's idiocy last year. The phrase "my father will hear about this!" had reached a record high by winter's end. Not much had come of it, not when Hagrid had had the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore championing him. Even Lucius Malfoy would - and had, more than once over the years - find it difficult to contend with the British wizarding world's vaunted war heroes when they join forces. In the end, Hagrid could continue teaching so long as he did it alongside a second professor hired by the school, and even the hippogriff got to live. Malfoy had not been happy, and he'd made sure everybody knew it too, but at least he'd also whined less about it once Slytherin House had learned to snigger about it where he wouldn't hear.

But 'throwing oneself onto a hippogriff's talons' had become rather popular vernacular ever since, subtle enough that even Malfoy couldn't call anyone out on using it without embarrassing himself, but funny to everyone who understood, and nobody could even say who'd started the phrase. Theo's money would be on Blaise though.

The bathroom is spelled so that nobody outside can hear anything when the door is shut, but they can hear the lock click open just fine, and almost in tandem, he and Blaise both immerse themselves in picking out their outfits for the day as if it's a task that requires every last bit of their attention.

Evans walks out. True to his word, he ignores them completely, neither greeting them nor sparing them a glance as he moves back to his section of the dorm. Theo watches him out of the corner of his eye as the boy folds his pyjamas away before proceeding to pack his bag. He catches a glimpse of an Ancient Runes textbook, and his mind abruptly flashes back to the quill. But… that can't be right.

Evans shuts his bag, pulls on his robes, and toes on his shoes. Like this, there's something vaguely familiar about him that Theo can't place right away, and the thought is gone again as Evans slings his bag over his shoulder and strides for the door.

He still doesn't look at any of them, and he's gone from the room a moment later. They might as well have been empty air.

Theo's fingers tighten around the shirt he's holding. Somehow, he-

-doesn't like it.

-0-

Malfoy gets up two minutes after Evans is gone, moving around with an exaggeratedly unaffected sort of poise that makes Theo want to roll his eyes. At least the blond doesn't try to make conversation until Crabbe and Goyle wake up as well.

Evans aside, Theo is the first out of the room, as per usual, although this time, Blaise accompanies him up to the common room and out of the Dungeon. It takes no time at all to arrive at the Great Hall, and this early, most of the four House tables are still empty of students, although more and more are gradually drifting in in groups of threes and fours.

Unlike the other Houses who like cramming into whatever space they see, Slytherins are more political about it. The end seats are left to the outcasts or first-years who don't know better yet, while the midway point of the table is typically reserved for the most influential students, such as those with the best grades or the largest range of social connections or the strongest family background, or some combination of the three. And everybody else arranges themselves between the two extremes accordingly. The only time that changes - from what Theo has heard - is when someone is so magically powerful that they can overwhelm everyone else. Then it doesn't matter what grades or connections or background they have because magic is respected most of all, although they would usually have some qualifications in those other areas. But either way, they would be given reigning place of pride in the middle with their chosen followers around them, and everybody else would sit where they're told to sit, regardless of their accomplishments.

Someone like that hasn't come along in fifty years though, not since the Dark Lord was still at Hogwarts.

So it's jarring to see Evans seated at the very end, furthest away from the High Table, with a book open in front of him and a steaming mug in one hand, but Theo supposes it shouldn't be. He's newly transferred in, and a halfblood besides, so he probably doesn't know about the traditional seating arrangement, and since it's still just the second day of school, it's not as if anybody else outside their dorm knows that Evans is anything but the unfortunate fourth-year with a muggle surname sorted into Slytherin, so he really can be considered an outcast.

Theo exchanges a look with Blaise before tentatively taking a seat at their usual spot a few feet away from the halfway point of the table. It doesn't feel right to… go over Evans' head like this, but it's not like they can really do anything about it at the moment. Theo in particular is technically sitting above his station, but his family is still one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter how far it's fallen, and he gets decent grades in almost every class. He's also on friendly terms with Blaise, and the fact that he shares a dorm with Malfoy is a double-edged sword. Malfoy has the status to sit near the middle ever since he was a first-year, and it wouldn't look very good for him if he's seen completely spurning a Nott in his generation. So Theo is largely left alone so long as he looks like he's nominally part of Malfoy's group during mealtimes.

Theo spends the next five minutes sneaking sidelong glances down the table. Blaise does the same, and neither of them is obvious about it so nobody comes up to ask them any questions. Other Slytherins begin filing in, and more than one wrinkles their nose or sneers when they pass Evans, as if they've smelled something repulsive.

Theo has to make an effort not to wince every time it happens. Blaise watches with a shallow smirk hitched across his face and something cold and callous and thoroughly amused in his eyes.

By the time Malfoy - with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him - sits down across from them, about half the table is full, plates of breakfast have started appearing, and Evans still hasn't looked up from his reading.

Malfoy - much less subtle - shoots something sulky and resentful with just a dash of fear down the table and mutters, "Doesn't even know how to sit properly."

Theo really does roll his eyes this time, although he makes sure to do it down at his scone. Before anyone can say anything else though, Evans unexpectedly straightens, his attention finally lifting from his book. Malfoy immediately stiffens as well like he thinks Evans had heard him from all the way down the table, which Theo wouldn't put past Evans's ability but also doesn't think that Evans thinks that Malfoy is worth that effort to eavesdrop on.

Evans looks around, but not at any of the Slytherins. He cranes his head over one shoulder, seems to catch sight of whatever he's looking for, and gets up, shutting his book and tossing it back in his bag. Then he's making his way across the Hall, past the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws, straight over to the Gryffindor table that's only partially filled at the moment but is also hosting the Golden Trio, who had just come down for breakfast.

 Evans stops a few feet away, and Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger turn to face him. What Theo can see of their expressions indicate that they're surprised and a little wary, but they also seem like they know each other. They converse about something, Weasley makes some exaggerated hand gestures, Granger smacks him, and then Evans says something else that makes the Gryffindors burst into laughter, startled but bright.

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

Longbottom and Granger are smiling, and even Weasley - with his hatred for everything Slytherin - seems fine with it, going back to plating more food for himself while passing some sausages over to Evans.

In Theo's peripheral, Malfoy's face has lost so much colour that he could pass for a ghost. Theo can't tell if he's just that offended or if he's actually managed to comprehend the fact that he's already alienated possibly the most magically powerful student at Hogwarts from Slytherin House, to the point where that student doesn't even want to eat at the same table as them, and classes haven't even started yet.

Theo can't tell, nor does he care, but if he'd ever needed any more reasons to despise Draco Malfoy, this would be it.

He averts his gaze from Evans, even if the mere thought of him preferring a bunch of Gryffindors - and those Gryffindors at that; the only ones worse would be Potter's lot - over his own House is… grating. But staring isn't going to win Theo any favours and might just tick Evans off. Besides, there are plenty of others who have noticed a Slytherin sitting with Gryffindors, and they're staring enough for ten of him.

He starts on his breakfast. School has just begun. There's plenty more time in the future to observe Hadrian Evans.

-0-0-0-

4.

Within the space of a week, Theo is cautiously pleased to find that he shares all nine classes with Evans. The core subjects are mandatory of course, but in addition to Ancient Runes, Evans also takes Arithmancy, both of which Theo is also studying, and after three weeks, he gets a slightly more detailed picture of what Evans is capable of.

In class, Evans doesn't stand out, or at least not in a way most people would notice. He doesn't take the initiative to answer questions posed by the teachers, and his spells and potions aren't particularly dazzling when they're assigned practical classwork.

But every time a professor calls on him, Evans always answers correctly. Every time they have to practice a new spell, Evans doesn't clamour to be the first to show off, and he isn't the one who produces it with the most eye-catching burst of magic, but when he's asked to show his progress, he always does it exactly the way the teacher demonstrated it at the beginning of class. Even in Potions, all he does is work discreetly in the back corner on the Slytherin side of the room. He never finishes early, but he also never finishes late, never failing to turn in a textbook-perfect potion ten minutes before class ends, and a couple times, Theo catches Snape watching Evans with an inscrutable expression after the boy quietly hands in yet another flawless potion.

After three weeks, Theo can conclude that while Evans doesn't deliberately dumb himself down, and in fact is performing spectacularly across the board, he does it in such a reserved, inconspicuous manner that even most of the professors probably aren't going to notice until they've graded a good few months' worth of homework and tests.

He does it for every subject. Every single one, except Ancient Runes, and Theo is convinced that that's less because Evans didn't try, and more that… well, some brilliance just can't be hidden.

In the third week, when Babbling hands back their first assignment - Acceptables and Poors all around of course; some days, Theo isn't sure if he wants to strangle Babbling or himself, just to put himself out of the misery that is attempting to understand anything their Runes professor says - she holds Evans back at the end of class, and half the students snicker like they think he's in trouble or did so badly that even Babbling can't stand it, and it's the best joke they've ever seen. But two days later, some papers that Evans has left out on his desk while he's off doing something else, probably with his Gryffindor buddies, catch Theo's eye while he's on his way to his own desk. More specifically, the symbol of the Department of Magical Education stamped on them catches Theo's eye, and after some very hasty and very undignified neck-straining and squinting from a prudent five feet away, he more or less understands.

Babbling hadn't held Evans back because he was doing badly. Babbling had held him back because he was doing so good he would be sitting his Ancient Runes O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams on the twenty-third of October.

Three minutes after that revelation, Theo's still sitting somewhat dazed in his chair when Malfoy returns, Crabbe and Goyle in tow. The blond also spots the papers on Evans' desk and - after suffering day after day of, in Malfoy's increasingly belligerent opinion, being disgraced by Evans due to all the time he was spending with Gryffindors, and even three of the ones Malfoy hates most - practically lights up with a malicious sort of glee at the opportunity to get a little revenge.

He seems to have already forgotten that first night's lesson, and it hasn't even been a month yet. Sometimes, Theo is honestly baffled by Malfoy's Sorting into Slytherin. What ambition is there in a boy whose solution to everything in life is to fall back on his father and surname and family money? What cunning is there to speak of when he so often acts without even considering the option of leaving himself a way out, just in case his taunts and schemes backfire on him one day?

Or perhaps the real mystery is how he's managed to go this long without anyone telling him that the world won't always bend to his demands.

"O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?" Malfoy says loudly as he wanders over to read the papers. He scoffs. "No matter how much magic he has, there's no way that's possible. He's just a fourth-year. And a halfblood! I bet he paid Babbling to sign him up for them. Everybody knows she's not all there so Evans wouldn't even have to pay her a lot to persuade her."

Theo flicks a glance at Blaise, who'd brought up the rear, a few seconds behind Malfoy, and had entered on near-inaudible footsteps in time to witness this latest snowballing disaster. The taller boy's lip curls, and his next words come out in such a nonchalant drawl that it takes a moment for Malfoy to register the bite of them, "Why would he do that though? He's not you."

Malfoy flushes an unflattering shade of red. "Zabini! That's not funny!"

Blaise's insults are always taken as jokes. Theo thinks that's the only way Malfoy can weather them, because he doesn't truly dare to cross Blaise, so even if he does know better, he still has to feign ignorance.

"It can't be possible," Malfoy repeats, turning back to the papers. "Otherwise, why hasn't he said anything about it? If it were me, I'd let everyone know! Obviously, he knows he'll fail, so he doesn't dare to spread it around."

Theo tries to wrap his mind around that logic, fails, and gives it up as a bad job.

"Then, why is he taking them?" Crabbe suddenly pipes up, blinking with a befuddled air in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. "Obviously, Crabbe, it's to impress the Boy Who Lived. You've seen how Evans is constantly fawning over Longbottom." And there's the jealousy leaking into his voice even as it strengthens as if he's gaining confidence in his conjecture the longer he speaks. "He's still just a vulgar halfblood with subpar upbringing after all. He needs political connections if he wants to make anything of himself in our world. And Longbottom's a soft touch, and an idiot besides at everything that isn't digging in the dirt. Just trying to take the exams is probably enough to make him think Evans is a genius."

He takes another step forward, almost hovering over the desk now, childish spite tarnishing his features. "Let's see what the rest of Slytherin thinks of this. We are in the same House so Evans should look for support from real purebloods. I'll help him out."

Malfoy reaches out, and Theo goes still, staring, avid and unblinking.

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

Malfoy's hand lands on the papers, and it's as if a miniature explosion takes place. There's no warning as the desk ignites with enough interlocked, interwoven, bloody intricate runes to send anyone reeling. It blankets the entire desk in layers of circles and lines and eye-watering spirals, before even those disappear in a blaze of brilliant silver light that pulses once before bursting outward and knocking Malfoy clean off his feet.

Malfoy screams as he's sent flying across the room in a tangle of flailing limbs and flapping robes. Coincidentally - or not? - he lands on his bed in a graceless upside-down heap, the bag he's still wearing smacks him in the face, and the momentum tumbles him straight over the far side of his bed and onto the floor with a final muffled thump that cuts Malfoy's shriek to a yelp.

The light disappears, along with the runes. The room goes eerily quiet, and for a long moment, nobody moves.

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

It's enough to snap Malfoy out of his stupor. The blond scrambles to right himself, pushing to his feet, fury and humiliation writ large across his face as he opens his mouth to shout, "Shut up, Zabini! Wait until my father hears about this! Evans will regret-"

There's a clatter. The door opens.

Malfoy shuts up so fast Theo wouldn't be surprised if he bit his tongue.

Evans steps inside, and then stops. He looks around, looks at his desk, looks at a still dishevelled and increasingly pallid Malfoy, and then he shuts the door behind him and heaves a very deep sigh.

"Seriously?" He asks in rhetorical tones. "I just went to borrow a library book. I couldn't have been gone for more than thirty minutes."

Nobody says anything. Evans sighs again before striding over to his desk. He raises a hand and combs his fingers through the air— or perhaps something only he could see, and that's proven correct as a runic array shimmers into existence, swirling together before reshaping itself into-

-a memory.

Specifically, it's a replay of everything Malfoy had said and done as soon as he'd gotten within three feet of Evans' belongings, complete with sound and colour. It's basically a pensieve without the pensieve or the removal of memories to supply it.

Theo wants so badly that his teeth ache with the leashed desire to ask a million questions immediately.

Patience, he reminds himself.

"Hm," Evans says once the memory's run its course, and the runes wisp away once more. Theo is both surprised and not when the other boy proceeds to pull out his chair, sit down, and dig out his library book, clearly intent to continue his work.

Behind him, Malfoy seethes, and before he can think better of it, or he simply doesn't think, he barks out, "Do you think you can treat me this way, Evans? Do you know who my father is? When I tell him about this-"

"Tell him then," Evans interjects, leaning back to slant a cool look at Malfoy. "Tell him you tried to steal my things, and my wards tossed you onto your bed, and the only thing it really bruised was your ego. Or you can lie and make up something that would make you more of a victim, and big bad mudblood Hadrian Evans bullied you terribly. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?" He huffs a laugh, and as far as Theo can tell, the thread of mirth that laces the sound is astonishingly sincere. "Malfoy, I don't actually care. I don't need Hogwarts."

He really doesn't. Worse comes to worst, which other school would be daft enough to not scoop him up if they see what he can do with runes? And that's not even getting into everything else he can do. Any school would accept him in a heartbeat and then laugh themselves to tears if Lucius Malfoy actually managed to get him ejected from Britain's sphere of influence on some trumped up charges just because his son went crying to him. Besides, since Evans had been previously homeschooled, he could always just return to that as well.

Malfoy opens his mouth, then closes it, and he does that a couple times, eyes wide in his face like he's never met anyone who has stonewalled him this way, who has challenged his authority so directly, more than once, and yet remains utterly unintimidated and untouchable.

Evidently, he never has.

Evans regards him for a few seconds more before sighing once more. "I thought I was clear enough that first night, but apparently not. When I say 'attack', I don't just mean with a wand. All my things are off-limits unless I say otherwise, so if I were you, I would keep my hands to myself. You don't want to know what my wards will do to you if they sense intentions worse than just petty theft. I hope you won't forget again."

He holds Malfoy's faltering gaze for a moment longer before turning back to his books and papers. Malfoy stumbles back a step as if he's been physically released, and he looks like he wants to pitch a temper tantrum but also doesn't dare. In the end, he storms out of the room without even straightening his robes or smoothing back his hair, and nobody tries to stop him or go after him, not even Crabbe or Goyle, who've both retreated to their beds, shoulders hunched, almost bowed, angled almost in Evans' direction.

Evans is already poring over his library book though, quill in one hand, inkwell set out, fresh parchment beside it. It's clear he's done interacting with the lot of them.

Theo almost lets it go, as he has every other time he wants to speak to Evans, to ask him questions, to know. He's already biting his tongue and swallowing down the words and opening his bag to fish out his homework.

Except-

It's been three weeks. Theo can be patient when he has to be, but more and more, it's… starting to feel like he doesn't have to be. He's had an entire childhood's worth of practice at dissecting emotions, at looking at a person's face and words and actions and taking all of them into account to figure out how they really feel, if they're angry at him or upset with him, if they're about to lash out even when they're smiling, or if there's still time to appease them even if they look like they're about to go for their wand.

Evans is harder to read than most, but at the very least, Theo can tell that he doesn't get angry often. In fact, there's only ever been that one time, that first night, and even for most of that incident, Evans had only acted to secure his own safety in their dorm once it became clear that Malfoy wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise. None of it had been driven by rage, not even when he'd nearly drowned them in the undertow of his magic over that particular handful of words Malfoy had jeered at him. And ever since then, Evans hasn't done anything except go about his business while ignoring theirs. That went for the rest of Slytherin too, and even some students in other Houses who don't like the fact that he's a Slytherin. Sometimes, they make snide remarks, usually behind his back, sometimes within his hearing range, and to a man, every student in their House has openly shunned him since he went to sit with the Golden Trio that first breakfast, but Evans has never given them a second glance, or really even a first glance, not out of anger or embarrassment or distress, and certainly not out of any desire for them to accept him, which just seems to offend them even more. But Evans is simply… indifferent to it all.

 Most importantly, as much as Theo has been able to conclude, Evans isn't prone to violence. He always seems calm and easygoing when he's with the Golden Trio, and quiet the rest of the time. And from the very beginning, he's never done anything to harm any fellow Slytherins, not even Malfoy. Even his wards seem to have some kind of function worked into them that would rate the level of threat first and only respond with the same degree of damage.

Actually, not the same— if Malfoy had been caught taking another Slytherin's documents without permission, important or not, it wouldn't be too much even if they cursed his hands in return. They probably wouldn't, because it's Malfoy, and people are used to being more lenient with him, but normally, even Malfoy wouldn't do something that gauche anyway. No matter how much they've spoiled him, his parents have at least taught him pureblood etiquette. He's never even tried to rifle through Theo's belongings.

 Admittedly, Theo had committed a slight faux pas as well when his curiosity had prompted him to read those Ministry forms, even if they were laid out on Evans' desk - unintentionally seeing them in passing was fine but the polite thing to do would've been to keep walking - but at least he hadn't been stupid enough to get too close, let alone put a single finger on them. Malfoy really only has his own poor impulse control to blame for going too far yet again, and Theo has every right to judge him for it.

 Although since it was Evans, Malfoy had probably categorized him as someone who doesn't deserve a pureblood's courtesy.

Even then though, Evans hadn't retaliated with anything more than the ward equivalent of a watered down Knockback Jinx, which is basically a common prank amongst rowdier students. Malfoy's pride had - once again - been hurt, but nothing else, even when it would've been Evans' right. And he hadn't gotten angry this time either.

Of course, Theo isn't foolish enough to think Evans isn't capable of violence when he wants to be. If he's pushed far enough, Theo is certain that the other boy could and would inflict some significant damage that would at least end with a visit to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was his magic, the relentless weight of it that said it wouldn't hesitate to crush them if they proved themselves a real threat. Or perhaps it was Evans himself, who looks at Malfoy after each stunt like he's putting up with a recalcitrant child that he has to go easy on because said child is too young to know better, except the detachment in his gaze also says that he's weighing Malfoy's age on a scale and waiting for the day his youth will no longer be able to compensate for his actions.

Frankly, Theo hopes that day will come soon. But that's his pettiness talking, and Malfoy in general is none of his concern. What Theo really wants is to learn all those things for himself. Well, not all, he's more than self-aware enough to know he's nowhere near as powerful as Evans, but some of those things - the spellwork, the runes - surely those things can be taught to others even if they don't have incredible amounts of magic? Even if it's slow-going and difficult, Theo isn't afraid to work for it.

So long as he learns even just a little of what Evans knows - and he clearly knows so much, knows the things that can actually be useful in real life - then perhaps, one day, maybe even before he graduates Hogwarts… escaping his father won't be a fool's hope anymore. And if there's a chance that he can do that, then no matter how exorbitant the price Evans names, Theo would be willing to pay it, even if it takes him the rest of his life to honour the debt.

But nothing's going to happen if they're not even on speaking terms. It's been three weeks. Already three weeks. Only three weeks. Maybe it really is still too soon, but at the very least, Theo doesn't think Evans will do anything worse than say no.

 At his back, he can feel Blaise's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around.

 "Is that-" His voice doesn't crack, thankfully, but it comes out croakier than normal, giving away his nervousness. He bites back the urge to hex himself and tries again. "Is that taught by the time we graduate?"

 Evans… doesn't react, doesn't even look up. For several tense and increasingly awkward seconds, Theo thinks maybe the other boy will just continue ignoring him, or maybe he even thinks Theo is speaking to one of the others, not him.

 But then he writes something down and flips a page of his book, and then he raises his head and shifts away from his desk to face Theo.

 It's a little daunting, to suddenly have that piercing bright green regard aimed straight at him, but there's also no hostility that Theo can see, and that settles some of his nerves.

 Evans looks at him, then frowns, then asks in return, blunt, but amazingly, willingly enough, "You mean the wards?"

 Theo nods carefully, making sure he doesn't look too eager or too demanding. Masters of their trades are always rightfully reticent about their knowledge and skills to anyone who isn't their own mentor or apprentice, unless they're a teacher. Evans may not be a master signed and sealed and authorized to practice, but nobody who can write the exams at fourteen can be considered an amateur.

 Evans shrugs. "I haven't exactly flipped through the Ancient Runes syllabus of every year so I can't really say. If it continues at the same pace as third-year and fourth-year though, then probably not. You'd maybe get to the point of basic wards, but not much more than that. Compound wards like these-" He raps his knuckles against his own desk. "-put crudely, requires the use of runic coils to weave together multiple basic arrays, on multiple levels, in varying sequential order depending on how multifaceted you want the wards to be. It's not that difficult once you start getting some practice in, but from what I hear, you guys don't even begin practical work until after your O.W.L., which… I don't really get, but maybe Hogwarts is big on theoretical learning. But yeah, at that rate, I don't see how you could be constructing something like this by graduation."

 Theo's head is spinning. He didn't understand… anything in that summary except perhaps a general idea of "basic arrays". It's rare for him to feel so stupid.

 Evans is still watching him, and he doesn't seem impatient for their exchange to be over, or irritated that it's taking place at all. He looks like he's waiting for Theo to reply, so Theo hurries on to keep the conversation afloat.

 "So you didn't learn Runes following the Hogwarts curriculum when you were homeschooled," He surmises. "Does that mean the standards here fall short of the international schools?"

 It wouldn't be the first time. Britain's educational requirements have been growing more and more lenient for years. Correspondingly, their elective options have also been reduced to four due to budget cuts and lack of interest in anything harder than petting animals and making up death predictions. Every year, more second-years choose to sign up for Care and Divination than they do Arithmancy or Runes. It's one reason why the number of incoming students has been gradually declining and consists of more muggleborns than purebloods. Foreign schools are strict about accepting any children outside of their designated countries, but those in Great Britain and Ireland who want better for their kids and can afford the higher prices tend to prefer sending them to one international school or another instead of Hogwarts.

 But Evans shakes his head. "I wouldn't know that either. I didn't really follow any official curriculum when I was learning." He pauses a beat, like he's thinking about how much to reveal, or even why he's revealing anything, but then he seems to decide it doesn't much matter. "The person who taught me was a bit… unconventional about it. He was a very good teacher, but he wasn't actually a teacher with the degree and whatever else you need to be a Ministry-approved professor, so he didn't really care about following some checklist of what a student attending a magical school was supposed to learn. Plus he was kind of a genius at runes. Ward-cracking and disassembly in particular since that's what he majored in - he was a Curse-Breaker - but he was pretty good at almost everything else too, which meant he found the basic stuff pretty boring. So when he taught me, and he realized I didn't have any trouble getting the foundations down, and I could mostly keep up even when he skipped ahead to more advanced stuff, he basically ended up just jumping between the subjects he liked most, filled in any gaps along the way, and gave me free rein to research whatever I found interesting. And whatever topic I picked was the one he lectured on, or helped me look up if it was one of the few areas he didn't know much about."

 His expression turns wry, if only for a moment. "Apparently though, according to Babbling, that means there's nothing left for Hogwarts to teach me. But I don't know how I would compare to students in other schools."

 He finishes and falls silent. It's the most he's said since that first night, and it's clear as day that whoever this Curse-Breaker tutor was, Evans respects him a great deal, great enough to ramble on about him to a roomful of near-strangers, and considering what he'd had a hand in molding Evans into, he deserves every bit of that respect too.

 Theo envies it. He is oft a creature of envy, and it hollows him out a little more every time it rears its head, but he's resigned to it. He wonders why Hogwarts can't have a teacher like Evans' instead of the whimsical mess that is Babbling, who can never get through a single class without her train of thought wandering away like an untrained dog off its leash.

 "Then," Theo continues, carefully neutral, carefully watching for any signs of displeasure on Evans' face. "Once you pass your exams, will you simply have an extra study period slot? Or will you be required to attend another elective?"

 Evans blinks at him. "The first, I think. I might see if it's possible to take an owl-distance university course or something, but spare time in my day isn't bad either."

 "Then," Theo forges on, watching as Evans's mouth twists a little, like he knows that this is what Theo has been aiming for from the beginning. Theo can't tell if he disapproves though - he doesn't think so - and it's too late to divert his course anyway. "What do you think about tutoring?"

 Evans cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't say anything for several anxiety-inducing seconds, just scrutinizing Theo with a face blank enough to rival Snape's when he bothers to stop sneering. The quill in Evans' hand taps-taps-taps against his desk before the boy swings around in his chair completely to face Theo.

 "Tutoring," He repeats. "You want me to tutor you in Ancient Runes?"

 And at least he doesn't sound derisive, nor does he put any particular emphasis on any part of that question. It does make it harder for Theo to gauge how he should respond though.

 "Yes," He confirms, because straightforward seems to be what Evans prefers. He thinks, briefly, of including Blaise, but he doesn't actually know if Blaise would like tutoring as well, and even if he does, Blaise can ask for himself. Theo isn't that charitable, and Blaise might even take offense if he tries to be.

 "I can compensate you for your time," He adds, because he's poor by pureblood standards, but not so poor that he can't afford decent education, especially with the nest egg he's been secretly building on the side since he turned eight and realized his inheritance was only going to get smaller at the rate his father was drawing from it for his… extracurriculars. His seven years at Hogwarts at least have already been paid for, robes and supplies and even some pocket money included, because even Silas Nott isn't going to let his son go into public at even more of a disadvantage than he already is. So as long as Evans doesn't ask for a huge sum of money, or even if he does, and he's willing to take part of that payment in favours, then Theo should have enough from his own funds to cover the cost.

 Evans leans back in his seat and doesn't say anything about payment. Instead, he looks almost puzzled as he asks, "Why do you need tutoring though? Even if you want to learn stuff like this," He motions at his desk. "I wouldn't be able to even start teaching you how until you got at least the basics down, and that's what Hogwarts teaches, so is there any point in getting more of the same lessons from me?"

 For a moment, even Theo can't come up with a way to say 'yes, because Babbling can't teach worth a damn, and I don't actually know how I passed last year but I definitely won't this year with the way her lectures keep getting lost somewhere between class and Atlantis every bloody week' but in more polite terms, if only because Evans might not appreciate anyone badmouthing her since she's obviously the one vouching for Evans' qualifications in order to let him take his exams so early.

 Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

 "Have you seen the way Babbling teaches?" The other boy enquires in his usual lackadaisical tone, just aggrieved enough to sound invested, but mild enough to leech the provocation out of it. It also gives Blaise a foot in through the door, drawing Evans' attention to him without making it seem as if he's interrupting.

 Theo glances behind him at where Blaise is now lounging in his own desk chair, emptying his bag of textbooks and papers even as he glances over to meet Evans' gaze, and his expression has eased into an invitation to commiserate over Babbling's questionable teaching methods. All of it is designed to look casual and cordial, to keep this fragile first exchange lighthearted, if also full of a resigned sort of exasperation, funnelled together in order to lower Evans' guard.

 And it seems to work too, like it does with everyone Blaise turns his charms on. At the very least, the way Evans' mouth quirks in response looks reflexive enough to be genuine.

 "That's fair," Evans concedes, a wry sort of humour suffusing his voice. "She's not the best at… staying on topic."

 Theo has to suppress a snort, but something of it must show on his face anyway because Evans' eyes snap back to him, and a moment later, a quicksilver grin flits across the other's face, bright in a way that lights up his whole face, and perhaps Blaise will have to try harder after all because Theo realizes that this is what genuine looks like on Evans.

 "Okay, I get why you might want a tutor," Evans acknowledges. "But isn't there anyone better for that?"

 Theo blinks at him. "Better than someone who's ready to take his exams in a month?"

 Evans' eyebrows go up briefly, and something in his eyes sharpens. "No. Better than someone who's a halfblood orphan in Slytherin, stuck in a one-sided grudge-match with a pureblood brat who has all the maturity of a toddler and isn't going to be very happy if his friend starts hanging around the guy he wants to curse into the Hospital Wing."

 Orphan? is Theo's first thought, followed by, I wish Malfoy was around to hear that. But all of it is superseded by a defiance that bursts out of him before he can curb it, "We're not friends."

 Evans waves a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, Slytherins don't have friends. What I mean is-"

 "No," Theo says, wincing internally at how he'd cut Evans off mid-sentence. "I mean, we aren't friends. Normally, we aren't even civil acquaintances most days."

 Evans eyes him for a long moment like he can hear all the things Theo isn't saying. Theo's pretty sure Evans doesn't know about his family's circumstances - How would he? Why would he even care to look it up? - but he seems to be able to glean at least the gist of it in a single glance because he seems to accept it easily enough, and the next thing he says is, "Alright, but that doesn't change the fact that he's still not going to be happy about it."

 "Good," Theo says, once again before he can stop himself, and with more relish than he should convey. Even if he's often thought that anything that made Malfoy unhappy was a good thing, he's certainly never expressed it out loud. He doesn't know what's come over him, only that there's something about the way Evans is watching him, patient and without judgement, that makes him… bolder than he normally would be.

 And since he's already opened his mouth, he might as well keep going.

 "So long as you're willing, I don't mind what other people might say," Theo says as firmly as he knows how to be. "I need to raise my grades for Ancient Runes before I take my OWLs next year or I'm never going to pass. I would appreciate any tutoring you can spare the time for." He hesitates, but only for a beat. "If you want, in addition to monetary compensation, I can also snub Malfoy at dinner somehow. And you would know it wouldn't just be some show we put on either. Malfoy doesn't have it in him to be humiliated in public, even as a stunt."

 It's far more outspoken and far more audacious than Theo is accustomed to being, and he can feel Blaise's eyes on him again. But he gets the impression that if he doesn't put his cards on the table - that he really does want to learn from Evans, that it's his main motivation, even if it isn't the only one - then Evans might think Theo is playing some kind of trick on him, possibly on Malfoy's orders, and that's the last thing Theo wants him to believe.

 Besides, this is also an opportunity. Theo had been resigned to living under Malfoy's temperamental rule for the duration of his Hogwarts career. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be doing more of the same as an adult, after all. Considering the difference in their social status, Theo would still have to bow his head, and jump when told to jump, and remain courteously - or at least forbearingly - deferential in front of Malfoy whenever they see each other. At least this more childish version at school is giving him plenty of practice for the future.

 But now, there is Hadrian Evans, whose existence no one had expected and no one thus far can control, who isn't afraid of Malfoy, whom Malfoy is afraid of instead, and Theo honestly can't see that changing. Of course, the real world is very different from some squabbles between teenagers, and Theo has only known Evans for less than a month. But… call it instinct. Even if one day the Malfoy family can really make it so that Evans can no longer live well in Britain, Theo gets the sense that the other boy would rather up and move to a different country than ever submit to anyone.

 People with inborn power like Evans won't bow. They don't know how to.

 And if Theo can get even a fraction of that protection that openly siding with Evans might earn him, then the choice is obvious. He's long known that he isn't powerful enough or ambitious enough or even brave enough to stand on his own. That in order to thrive, or even to simply live a satisfactory life, it would be best to choose someone's shadow to settle in. Preferably, that someone would be willing enough to leave Theo alone most of the time and wouldn't ask too much of him, but he already knows he wouldn't be able to get that from his father or Malfoy.

 Then, there's no point clinging to either of them. Before, there had been no other choices, and between his father and Malfoy, Malfoy was the better bet, though it wasn't as if the blond ponce could've gotten him out from under Silas Nott's thumb either. But at least being - loosely - affiliated with Malfoy would, in the future, offer Theo some protection from his father's obsessive tendencies. It wouldn't do for one of Malfoy's circle of acquaintances to disappear under mysterious circumstances after all.

 Now there's a new player on the field. Of course, Evans probably doesn't see himself as one, and wouldn't care even if he knew. But that doesn't change the fact that his shadow casts a long and looming line, and somehow, it feels more like a refuge than anyone else's Theo has ever come across. Evans might not be willing to protect him, if only because he would have to make himself known to do so, and if there's one thing Evans has shown over the past few weeks, it's that he much prefers staying in the background. But even if he isn't willing to protect Theo, at the very least, he can teach Theo how to protect himself. So, Theo might as well take his chances with Evans, and the first step in doing that is to make it very clear to all and sundry that he's throwing his lot in with the halfblood Slytherin transfer.

 He hadn't quite been prepared to go this far when he'd first decided to speak to Evans today, but doing things by half measures doesn't bode well for him either. Prevaricating or at least being vaguer about his intentions might leave him an extra hand to play, a way to retreat in case associating with Evans becomes too dangerous one day, but no one likes a fence-sitter.

 In Slytherin, every decision is a power play, whether it seems like it or not. An insignificant word or action might result in large consequences that aren't always obvious until the waves and ripples have settled. And Theo's never been much of a gambler, preferring safety over potential riches. But the things he can learn from Evans are too tempting to pass over. Put in plain terms, he's technically using Evans as a means to an end, which no one in Slytherin wouldn't approve of, but for a good chunk of this House, Evans' blood would definitely outweigh any usefulness he might have, especially since he hasn't publicly proven himself in any way at all. And the way he spends all his free time with Gryffindors hardly helps.

 Still, it's a risk Theo's willing to take. And now the Quaffle is in Evans' hands, and all that's left is to wait for his answer.

 Of course, if Evans says no, then Theo can only hope Blaise is feeling magnanimous today and won't go spreading this little story around. Then again, there's Crabbe and Goyle too, and they'll definitely tell Malfoy, so it will get out either way.

 Such is Slytherin, where the only shared secret you can trust to remain a secret is when all other parties are dead.

 In front of him, Evans only raises his eyebrows for a moment before amusement quirks one corner of his mouth. "Well you don't have to go that far."

 Theo can't tell if the other boy understands the implications of publicly cutting ties with Malfoy, but he's relieved to hear it anyway. He'd do it if it's a condition Evans sets, if only to alleviate any concerns Evans might have of being played, but it's not as if he wants to do it. He would happily see Malfoy humiliated any day of the week, but Theo is at heart an introverted person. Open confrontation of any kind will always make him uncomfortable.

 Evans studies him for a while longer as if weighing his sincerity. Eventually, he says, "I'm not opposed to tutoring. Actually, I'm already doing that for Hermione every Wednesday and Saturday. Adding one more doesn't make much of a difference. It's just that I don't love tutoring so much that I want to do it more than twice a week. So," He smiles, and this time, his expression is one of a sharp sort of curiosity. "If you want me to tutor you, then you'll have to be okay with Hermione. And I don't just mean tolerating her presence enough to sit at the same table as her. I mean if you say one bad word about her blood, I'll take that as an attack on me and react accordingly. Understand?"

 Theo blinks once, twice, digesting that ultimatum with something like disbelief because- "Is that all?" And then, because it couldn't possibly be that easy, he hastily tacks on, "How much would you like to be paid?"

 Evans blinks back at him, looking like he's re-evaluating Theo on the spot. Then he makes a dismissive gesture and says, "I'm not short on money. Also I don't make Hermione pay so it wouldn't be fair if I made you pay." He sits back with a finality that starts bringing an end to their conversation. "Wednesdays and Saturdays, 4-6pm in the library. I know we share all the same classes so that shouldn't be a problem for you. Showing up isn't mandatory, you can just come whenever you want, and I'll tutor you in whatever you need help with. My only condition is that you treat Hermione with basic respect. Of course," His mouth twists into a strange smile. "That goes for her too. And her friends if they happen to stop by."

 Theo has to suppress a grimace at that, but it's mostly out of reflexive distaste. Even if Weasley starts flinging insults, he's sure he's heard worse than anything a Gryffindor could come up with, and his tolerance is high, so it doesn't much matter whether Evans can prevent it or not. Actually, it's already pretty novel that he would try at all. This is by far the easiest and weirdest deal Theo has ever been offered, which only makes him that much more suspicious, but Evans also adds no other terms, so Theo is forced to conclude that this really is all Evans wants from him.

 The sheer unfairness of what each party is bringing to the table is jarring. Does Evans not understand what's happening here or is he seriously willing to offer up his time and knowledge on a silver platter at basically no cost?

 Part of Theo wants to ask again, to make sure Evans really doesn't want anything else, but since they've come to this point, even if Evans were to ask for something in the future, Theo would have no obligation to give it. It's admittedly somewhat uncomfortable, to receive so much in exchange for giving back so little when he wasn't even the one manipulating Evans towards this outcome, but at the same time, wouldn't he just be stupid if he keeps pushing the issue? Complaining about not having to spend any money or owe any favours seems rather counterproductive, and even though Theo is willing to pay for a chance like this, that doesn't mean he wants to if he doesn't have to. Of course, he supposes it isn't very honourable of him to not at least insist on some form of compensation, but that's why Theo isn't a Gryffindor.

 So then.

 "Very well, I agree to your terms," Theo says, letting himself relax a bit more when Evans' expression doesn't change. And because even a Slytherin should acknowledge genuine goodwill, he shoves past his own discomfort and manages, if a bit stiffly, "Thank you, Evans."

 Evans makes a face that's something left of embarrassed. "It's just tutoring, you don't have to be so formal. Besides, you're still the one who's going to have to put up with Malfoy pitching a fit once he finds out."

 Theo almost shrugs. That's not anything new. He might have to field some curses hurled his way once other Slytherins realize he's no longer under Malfoy's "protection" and is seen spending time with a halfblood, but it's not as if he has no way of protecting himself from most spells that a student can get away with using in public at Hogwarts. He already has a few family wards set up around his bed too, so Malfoy can't get to him while he's asleep, and the only time he spends in the Common Room is when he's crossing it to leave the Dungeon or return to his dorm, so his Housemates aren't likely to be able to corner him there either. So long as he's careful, he'll be fine.

 Blaise's voice cuts into his thoughts, speaking this time with the lightest touch of concern seeping out from behind a thin veil of indifference that would've fooled even Theo if Theo didn't know the way Blaise can change his approach like he's changing clothes depending on his assessment of the person he's talking to. "You sure you don't need to ask Granger first before letting a Slytherin join your tutoring sessions? She might not be too happy to have Theo there. And her friends definitely won't."

 Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

 The room is quiet for a beat.

 Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

 Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

 "Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

 Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

 (And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

 "Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

 Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

 If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

 It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

 "You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

 Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

 Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

 Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

 At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

 "Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

 At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

 Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

 He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

 Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

 Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

 It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

 Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

 And no one likes a fence-sitter.

 -0-0-0-

 5.

 Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

 Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

 But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

 Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

 It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

 It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

 Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

 And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

 In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

 They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

 To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

 Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

 They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

 So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

 Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

 Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

 He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

 In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

 If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

 A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

 "Cool, thanks, let's go."

 Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

 Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

 (Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

 Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

 The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

 Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

 Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

 Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

 Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

 Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

 Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

 Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

 Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

 "…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

 Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

 Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

 So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

 "Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

 A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

 Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

 Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

 Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

 They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

 He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

 -0-

 Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

 They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

 Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

 It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

 When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

 Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

 A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

 Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

 In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

 He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

 By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

 (In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

 But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

 Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

 It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

 Except-

 Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

 It's a strange new world.

 In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

 Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

 The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

 And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

 Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

 The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

 The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

 Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

 The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

 They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

 Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

 He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

 Not that these two are friends of course.

 He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

 "Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

 He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

 "I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

 Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

 Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

 "Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

 "Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

 Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

 Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

 They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

 His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.