#anyway post mission kissies anyone ^__^

[apprentice-s]

i press my mouth to yours and hope it tells you everything i can’t say

[sweetcathedral]

🖤Hero Academia — Aizawa🖤

Note: I thought I’d post an old work here. Also, b/c I’m seeing a lot of minors migrate to ao3, I’m thinking of switching all my works to here since it’s easier to monitor, which means I’m deleting my ao3.

⚠️: bulge, breeding, somnophilia, cnc

He’s late. Just as you thought, but that’s expected of Pro Heroes and you can’t blame him for being one. You knowingly accepted your common law conditions, so you can’t complain. You reached for your phone hoping to see his name tangled within the notifications.

NekoZawa: late

Was the only message that caught your attention with a little bit of disappointment. Deep down you already knew it’d come to this, but you still can’t help feeling let down a bit. As you were about to change out of your getup a series of sharp knocks startled you, catching you off guard.

“It’s mee!” shouted the familiar voice.

Midnight?!

You rushed to open the door.

“Kayama? You’re ba—,”

“Ahhhh! So cute, so delicate, just youth!” she huffed in excitement at the sight of your longline lace bra and single-ruffled panties.

“Ah! Wai—youth? You know we're not that far in age,” you said, as you try to hide behind the door.

“Please, I'd kill to be 5 years younger, and don’t even try hiding from me. Even though he doesn’t care much about looks this definitely falls within his tastes,”

You blushed at the compliment, wishing it had come out of Aizawa’s mouth instead.

“Anyways,” she continued, “how about some bubble tea? I got your favourite,” she whipped out a bag of drinks from behind her. You wonder if she knew of your plans and came to cheer you up.

Who am I kidding, she’s an R-rated hero. Her sixth sense is basically her sex sense.

“Yeah, I could use some company,” you smiled in relief, thankful for her sharp intuition.

Before you knew it, 9PM became 11PM in what felt like 30 minutes and that heavy feeling weighing on your chest left after a couple of laughs here and there. You couldn’t help but feel better in the presence of Kayama, you have no choice but to feel better in her presence.

“And after I showed his class a pic of you, that grape idiot said ‘ if that raggedy ass man of a sensei is able to snatch a woman like that then there’s still hope for me, right?! Right?!’ in that stupid lisp of his! I couldn’t help, but cackle in his face! Hahahahahahahaha!”

“Grape idiot?!,” you laughed, almost choking on your tapioca.

“It caused this huge uproar which took Aizawa an hour to settle down,”

“Sounds like an exaggeration to me,”

“Really? Then I’d have to ask Principal Nezu for permission to let you visit. Hmmm, maybe a surprise visit during his birthday, I’d get to see that purple shit bleed from his eyes again. Hah!” she said, her sadistic side twinkling in her eyes.

You could tell she wasn’t lying about the surprise visit as she hummed her thoughts between sips of beer. Although you know how much Aizawa likes to keep his private life separate from his professional life, your thoughts couldn’t help but ponder in curiosity at how he acts around his infamous class 1-A students. All he ever does is complain about them every time you ask, but just thinking about him acting like the strict teacher Kayama says he is . . . makes . . . you . . .

“Oi, oooii . . . I said OI!”

“Gah!”

“What the hell’s got you blushing like a dazed mess?”

“Blushing? . . . !”

You clasp your hands over your face, as if you’re trying to keep your thoughts and daydreams from escaping. You let your imagination run wild just from thinking about Aizawa as a teacher — his strict demeanour and cold eyes piercing through you . . . his deep growls muffled at the base of your neck as his grip tightens around your waist and hair . . .

“Oh! What time is it?” Kayama exclaimed, disrupting your thoughts.

You reach for your phone to check the time, seeing 11:17PM illuminating from the screen before flipping it to Kayama.

“Perfect!”

You cock your head to the side trying to think of what could make Kayama that excited, but before you could react, her quirk had already taken hold of your consciousness.

Aizawa let out a heavy sigh staring at the time on his phone. It wasn’t the first time he’d let you down like that, even though it’s out of his control he still can’t help feeling disappointed in himself. Pro Heroes always have unpredictable schedules, but still, he’d wish his schedule had gone his way today.

“Thanks as always, Eraserhead. I’ll send the details your way once we’ve confirmed the date,” Tsukauchi reassured, dismissing him for the day. Aizawa nodded in response, finally, he thought. As he walked out of the station, his phone vibrated.

Ugh, what now?

He reached for his phone and unlocked his screen.

Kayama? Probably just more cat pics.

But much to his surprise, the series of pics caused him to stop in his tracks.

Kayama: Bon appétit! *kissy face*

Was the only message that followed at the end of the series of pics. After Kayama used her quirk to put you to sleep, she happily cleaned the place up and settled you prettily onto the bed in an innocent, but also, somewhat tempting position. Who could blame her? She had a knack for setting up tempting situations for her best friends. Aizawa tapped on each pic, examining the details of your delicate lace bra and fluttery panties. He really wished his schedule had gone his way today. The longer he stared at each pic, the bigger his temptation and pent up emotions grew — frustration, doubt, confusion, jealousy, anger, greed, love, lust, it was causing him to lose all sense of logic. You were causing him to lose all sense of logic and he hated it. It’s his first time experiencing something like this, he’d never romantically loved anyone until you came into his life. At first you were just like any other Pro Hero he teamed up with in previous missions, but the mission you two took on escalated into an emotional high profile case, which caused him to spend more time with you. One thing led to another and now, you’re each other’s common-law spouse. Both of you could care less about the huge wedding traditions of planning a wedding day, banquet halls, invitations and all that, but unexpectedly, he did buy you a wedding ring — a customized designer ring at that. Not only does he not care about appearances, but he also doesn’t seem to care about prices, so long as it serves its purpose.

“Uh, Eraserhead? Everything okay?” Officer Sansa tapped on Aizawa’s shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, Detective Tsukauchi already settled on a date already?” Aizawa quickly locked his phone and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Um, no, he was actually worried about you . . . you’ve been standing still here for a while now, just staring at your phone . . .”

The logical Pro Hero himself didn’t even realize that he stopped walking and was surprised to see the station still behind him. Tch .

“. . . yeah, I think I should head home now. Someone’s waiting for me. Thanks, Officer Sansa.”

He waved at the cat officer before tucking his hand back into his pocket, unconsciously digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands in frustration. He hated this feeling . . . and he can’t wait to take it out on you .

Aizawa hesitates to open the door, unsure of how he’d react when he sees you for himself. He carefully turns the knob, making sure not to make a noise that’ll wake you from your peaceful slumber. You were just like the pics Kayama sent him — back exposed with the soft glow of the city night lights highlighting your dainty shoulder blades . . . arms clutching the pillow from underneath that pretty little head of yours . . . one leg hitched up to the side while the other was elongated and tucked half way into the sheets . . . As he reached to caress your face, he noticed his hand trembling from suppressing his temptation. Tch. He pulls his hand back in frustration.

“ . . . mmph . . . Shou . . . ta . . .” you murmured in your sleep in between heated breaths.

That was enough for Aizawa to let go of any sense of logic and common sense he had left, and before he knew it, he was hovering over you — the weight of his body sinking into the duvet. His eyes trailing over your features, watching your chest rise and fall with every breath you take — a reassuring feeling that you’re real and very much alive to him. He annoyingly hears his name from the teachers at UA all the time, but when it whispers out from between those pretty lips of yours, it made him experience a feeling he wasn’t used to controlling. He gave in, leaving trails of kisses that slowly turned into hickeys and then bite marks. He felt bad for leaving those marks on your supple skin, but he also wished they were permanent, as if the wedding ring doesn't speak for itself anymore. Aizawa’s grip tightened on your thigh at the thought of anyone else touching you, pinning your leg to your chest. His rough hand traces down your curves before slipping them in between your thighs — a wet sopping mess.

Ah, her panties are ruined . . . shame, he thought as he ripped a slit open, big enough for what you’re about to take in. Whoops . . . I’ll just get her a new one.

The temperature of your body was rising as he continued to press up against you, leaving marks on your collarbone and teasing your insides with his thick calloused fingers. A wave of pleasure ripples through your moonlight kissed skin, slowly pulling you back to your senses. You bat your eyes a few times to shake off the heaviness weighing on your eyelids.

“ . . . Shou—haa . . . !” your body twitched as another wave of pleasure came over you, shaking off your sleepy numbness, awakening your sense of touch as you grip his forearm trying to get him to slow down. It was no use given how enamoured he was with your reaction, your measly grip is as light as a feather against his strength.

“Haa . . . wait . . . slowdow—mmph!,”

Aizawa places his hand over your mouth, silencing your relentless begging. You finally noticed his flushed face and entranced eyes — a face you’re not used to seeing.

“Shut up, if you know what’s good for you,” his deep voice reverberated in your ear, sending a ripple of shivers down your neck. He was a completely different person in a completely different headspace. The only thing that can bring him back to his senses is your safe word, but you know that if you give in he’d completely stop and resist touching you for days as penance for losing control. But . . . you love it when he loses control along with his sense of logic, so you melt into your favourite position, signaling him to release all his pent up emotions in you — a mating press. You bite your trembling lower lip, begging with your wet eyes as a smirk played across his face. He gently kisses your forehead before pulling down his bottoms, revealing his thick throbbing cock. Your cunt twitched at the sight of it, squeezing out your fluids, dripping down like honey.

“How badly do you want it?”

“. . . badly . . . Shou~ta~ . . .” you cooed.

His cock twitched at the sound of your light and airy voice, precum drips onto the sheets.

“Not yet,” he said as he began stroking his cock on your clit, making sure not to let an inch slip inside you. The sensation drives you crazy as you whimper and whine for him to fill you up inside, desperately begging with your hips. But Aizawa’s firm grip on your thighs won’t let you, and keeps you from getting what you want. You miss the feeling of being bred full . His strokes were getting faster, his panting turning into growls. Your body tensed and toes curled as the feeling came closer, letting a desperate sigh escape from your mouth.

“Already? But I’m not done with you yet,” he playfully whispers in your ear before ramming himself inside you.

“Haa!” you yelped.

Your plump walls twitch at the sudden movement, tightening itself around his cock.

“That’s my good girl,” he chuckled, cockingly.

Tears well up in your eyes as you bite back your whimpering. He grabs your hand and firmly places it on your lower abdomen,

“Do you feel me? I’m right here.”

With your hand firmly placed on your stomach, you can feel his bulge every time he strokes his cock in you. He keeps it there, so that you have no choice but to feel it until the very end — up until his cum fills you up inside. His long strokes began to shorten, each stroke getting harder than the last and unable to hold in your pants and moans. Not only can you feel the warmth fill you up, but you can also feel his cock releasing globs of his milk from the bulge protruding from your lower abdomen. Your fingers dance around it making him twitch, his bruising grip tightening around your wrist.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at the mess you both made.

Your cunt was swelling at the amount of cum it’s trying to keep from spilling, gushing out every time your sticky walls twitch. Before Aizawa was about to pull out, you grab his arm,

“Wait . . . not yet,” you must’ve been pouting when those words fell off of your swollen lips cause you’ve never seen his features soften like that before. He lowers himself, feeling his weight sinking into the bed as he tenderly kisses your forehead, brushing your slick baby hairs from your face . . . the warmth of his forehead resting against yours . . . the reassuring feeling of his hand gently cupping your flushed cheeks . . . You reach for his face, thumbing the scar under his eye, diving in for a deeper kiss and wrapping your arms around him. His heart begins to beat harder as you begin to feel his cock swelling up again from inside you.

[redbeanboi]

same anon for mista and i love your hcs! 💖 is it ok if i ask again but this time with him pining after you for so long and just wants to be out with it and sweep you off your feet and call you his if thats alright?

AHHH!!! I love pining. And I think Mista would be such a sweet sweet doofus in love so I have fun imagining these kinds of things for him. I’m going to do a hybrid between a fanfic and an hc post, so expect like… a story, but in bullet form??? hopefully that makes sense (and hopefully this is ok!!). Here’s some Mista pining for the longest time ever… FT. the members of the Bucci gang (and Trish), who collectively decide to meddle a bit so you can just start going out already.

absolutel y LOVIng the enthusiasm for our italian marksman,,,, so if you like this ask for more Mista because writing him is actually really fun for me

also i purposely made my grammar and spelling and my voice and such very silly for this thing so please excuse that. i’m having some fun too

**mostly written from Mista’s POV**

wordcount: 3.0k

sO

it’s been a few years now that Giorno’s been the boss

and you joined the gang a couple years ago

haven’t really climbed up the ranks, but!! Bucciarati took notice of your good work and so did Giorno

so you were assigned to work with Bucci’s team

and you’ve been there for the past year and a half

and for the past year or so, mista has had the fattest crush on you

narancia and trish took an immediate liking to you when bruno introduced you

so they introduced you to mista

anyway it’s just

so easy to fall in love with you

you’ve got the heartiest and dorkiest laugh he’s ever heard and he loves it

face of an angel 

loves how you know when to crack a joke and when to get serious

beautiful lips!!! pretty and soft looking and he just wants to kiss you!!

ahem–

right

beautiful eyes!! he has no idea how many times he’s gotten lost in them, but he’s stared at them pretty often

very very intelligent, always seen with a book when the team has downtime

mista reads a lot too, but he’s been picking up more books now that he’s seen you read

that way he can do something together with you

sometimes you’ll recommend books to him

he THOUGHT he would hate the philosophy book you recommended to him

he hates philosophy and hates overthinking anything

but it turns out, the course of love was right up his alley like you suggested

and now mista is more convinced than ever that you’re his soulmate

he’s like

dead sure

100%

you’re perfect to him

sweet, funny, caring–the entire package

unfortunately guido’s convinced that you’re wayy out of his league

usually he’ll ask someone out regardless

the possibility of being shot down never scared him before

“ya win some ya lose some”

thaT used to be his mindset

but with you?!! no

he’s definitely not risking that

he’s already got something pretty good going on with you

doesn’t want to wreck the current relationship you have with each other

you’re friends and you have fun with each other

it’s basically perfect!!

except

mista obviously wants a little more than that

kisses and cuddles and maybe some other stuff too if you’re up to it

but what if you don’t want that??

and if he asks you out or tells you how he really feels

what happens???

if you say no, what’ll happen to your friendship after that??

god now he’s overthinking everything again!!

anyway it’s valentine’s day

and the entire team celebrates together because none of you have any plans

and you’re all just hanging around giorno’s big fancy house in the posillipo district of napoli

everyone’s just lounging around one of the sitting rooms when mista gets up and excuses himself to get a drink from the kitchen

Trish notices he’s been in the kitchen for way too long tho (and isolating yourself from the rest of the company is NOT party behavior)

so she goes there, sees Mista feeding the Sex Pistols a bunch of snacks and decides to take action

“Mista”

“mhm” Mista feeds number 5 another chip, looks up at trish and then goes back to feeding his babies again

final straw for trish

“oh look it’s y/n” trish points over his shoulder and mista immediaTELY scrambles around the counter and starts to stutter “I was just joking, calm down”

at least he’s snapped out of it

“don’t make jokes like that!!” mista huffs and smooths his sweater down before like, triple checking to make sure you’re not actually within earshot

“what’s the matter with you? you always get so jumpy when someone mentions y/n” she starts wagging her finger at him. “is it because you think y/n’s cute?? or is it because you have a crush on--”

“i don’t–i don’T have a crush on y/n!!” he starts digging around giorno’s fridge for a drink and just settles on cracking open a peroni

yes, mista

drink some beer

that will totally solve your problems

anyway he does like you

the thing is

he’s not sure if you like him back

and usually he’s ok with people knowing if he has a crush on someone

but now that it’s you he wants to keep it to himself

he’s always considered bucciarati, abbacchio, narancia, fugo, giorno and trish like family, but he’s not about to admit he has a crush on you

because he knows 100% that they’ll all tease him, 

((ok maybe not giorno so much, but guido definitely wouldn’t put it past the other five))

he’s just not about that lifestyle

especially because narancia and trish would definitely end up letting it slip to you

and he can’t have that

no sir

when someone even slightly suggests that what mista feels for you is more than just plain old friendship he just goes pffFFfffTT me? no. no crush. i don’t do dating. or crushing. too busy for that crap

but like

cmon

everYONE knows

it’s pretty damn obvious he has a crush on you

always being the first to volunteer to get paired up with you on missions

always the first to shoo away any creep who tries to flirt with you

also he definitely throws longing glances at you whenever you’re not looking

has stared at your lips

and bruno’s caught him doing that MORE than once

((seven times now, if you must know. bruno’s been counting))

“are you going to talk to y/n tonight?” trish asks, nudging him. “neither of you have said a word to each other” 

mista’s cheeks flare up immediately

now everyone knows you’re single

even mista

it’s the only reason why he’s letting himself daydream about you

but just the thought of asking you out makes him want to piss himself

he’s part of a gang, yes

he’s also part of bucciarati’s team

he’s been through life or death scenarios

he’s been at death’s doorstep more times than you can probably count

he has a place among these hardened criminals

but you just make him SO so nervous

he can’t look at you straight in the eye for more than three seconds before he starts blushing and looking away

and either you’re too dumb to notice or he’s just so so out of your radar that you ignore all his obvious feelings

“was wondering where you guys went” narancia came to get a drink too, cracks open a beer too and sits on the counter. “what’re we talking about”

“we’re talking about how much mista loves y/n”

“oh i love talking about that–wait” narancia coughs on his beer.

mista knows EXACTLY where this is going. “don’t–”

“you and–” narancia claps a hand over his mouth and starts laughing “i KNEW IT”

and soon enough everybody else (minus you) has joined them in the kitchen

everyone’s teasing mista about you (minus giorno, who’s just shaking his head), narancia’s making kissy noises

abbacchio keeps making these “just ask her out already, you idiot”

Bruno is saying “you’ll never know what happens if you don’t say anything, and we all know you want to say something–”

fugo is telling him “if you don’t take your shot now, you might not get your chance”

mista wants to SCREECH

“shut up! what if y/n hears you idiots”

and fugo goes “has anyone else noticed that thing that mista does, where he feeds y/n a bite of his food ALL the time, but he never does it with us unless we ask”

“or the one time mista took a bullet for y/n”

“or that one time he broke y/n’s umbrella so they’d HAVE to share his umbrella”

“it was broken, idiots! that’s why I shared mine”

“mmmmhm sure it was”

and fugo nudges mista a little too hard and mista spills beer on himself

“fuck you guys” and mista grumbles and shoves past them to go to the bathroom upstairs

everyone exchanges glances

giorno just jams his thumb into his temple and sighs. “how have they not gotten together yet?”

literally everyone in that room has actively tried to push you two together

none of it has worked, obviously

 you aren’t making a move

neither has mista

you two are adults but you’re acting like teenagers

except most teenagers prob would’ve acted on their feelings now

and just two minutes after, you stroll into the kitchen super grumpy

“why did everyone ditch me in the sitting room?”

“oh we were just talking about you” bruno hums and pops a biscotto into his mouth

“yeah? what about?”

“talking about how wimpy you and mist–MmmP” Abbacchio claps a hand over Narancia’s mouth before he finishes

“want anything to drink?” fugo asks. his eyes are darting around like crazy and you think its  s u s p i c i o u s !!!

“it’s alright I’ll get something later”

giorno wants to conduct a little experiment

mista doesn’t want to talk about his feelings for you

and you haven’t said anything really, but he has a feeling you’re not going to deny any of this 

“oh, there you are mista”

and immediately you just duck under the counter behind giorno and start fixing yourself–hair, shirt, EVERYTHING

giorno just stares at you

so do the others

god its official–you and mista were made for each other

“god help me,” abbacchio gives you a hand. “what’s up with you? slip on a wet patch or something?”

you glare at all of them. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

giorno smiles. you’re all pretty familiar with each other so cussing and acting a little friendly isn’t an issue.

but now bruno wants to go upstairs and dunk mista’s head into some water and tell him to just ask you out already

it’s so infuriating for them

everyone knows how much you like each other

everyone

everyone except you and mista anyway

and you’ve liked mista for almost the same amount of time he’s liked you

it’s not your fault!!!

Mista is beautiful

the most beautiful face in the world!!! and the body of a greek god

sculpted like some fancy statue

he’s sweet, can be very polite

does his job so well

smart

best, dreamiest smile you’ve ever seen

great taste in food

the best person to talk to–never too serious, but you always know he’s listening

always super super protective and considerate towards civilians and is TOTALLY against getting normal people wrapped up into their fights and work

and he’s so perfect

also not to be a pig, but you can definitely appreciate what a great ass he has

“you like mista, don’t you?” trish asks

you shrugged. “so what if I do? lots of people like mista”

“but you LIKE like him”

you’re not going to flat out deny it

otherwise giorno might take it as “oh y/n doesn’t want to be paired up with mista anymore for missions, so blah blah blah”

and nope, can’t have that

you can at least tell your new friends about your feelings

not that you’ll act out on them of course

and you’re shy about it still so you’re not going to even tHINK about telling mista

it’s fine you can just read books next to him forever

and then just watch when he finally finds someone he likes and goes out with them instead

ouch

speaking of mista

where is he

“so,… where’s mista?”

“he’s in the bathroom, but he’ll be coming down soon” fugo just points to the staircase

giorno just adds “i was thinking of taking us all out for dinner too”

so half an hour later you’re at libeccio

which is great, service and food are sublime

except you’re seated across the table from mista

and he’s not looking at you

so you just decide to talk to abbacchio and bruno since mista’s ignoring you

and mista gets a little nervous and sees how you’re talking away with abbacchio

and fair enough, abbacchio’s a great guy to talk to once he’s warmed up to you

and he’s smart and good looking

and mista’s convinced that maybe you’re just into older guys!! and bad boys!!

abbacchio’s got that aesthetic nailed down

mista starts wondering if he can pull it off

and he looks at abbacchio’s get up and gets pretty depressed

yeah, that’s not happening

you’d definitely make fun of him if you caught him dressing up like abbacchio

and he kinda stares into the bottle of mineral water on the table and spaces out

fuck this he’ll just pretend he’s on a date with you and zone everyone else out

and all of a sudden giorno looks at his watch and gets up from his seat

“I’m sorry, it looks like I’m going to have to leave early–I forgot about an appointment I was supposed to have”

mista looks confused

so do you

everyone else though is like “yeah that makes total sense giorno”

and you’re looking at them all like ??? “It’s night time”

and Bruno, the underboss gets up too

“I should probably go with you actually,”

and then Abbacchio quirks a brow…. and then a couple of seconds later sighs and adds “actually I think I have to go home and water some plants”

and you’re getting annoyed at this point “I thought you guys wanted to celebrate valentine’s day together!! I could’ve stayed home and watched movies or something tonight, jerks”

and then fugo leaves because he’s suddenly got some errands to do

and narancia and trish leave when they realize they’ve “suddenly got mani-pedi appointments” even though…. all the salons are closed at this hour

and you’re PISSED

mista stays behind though, and you’re actually really really happy about that

“thank god, at least I have you, right?”

and mista just laughs nervously

“yeah,,, I’m here for you”

and he WANTS TO SCREECH

but thankfully you just smile and clap your hands excitedly and lean over and share a menu with him

“ok !! let’s order some really expensive food and have them send the bill to the almighty ‘Don Giorno,’ huh???” and mista’s heart melts because

that is such a a brilliant idea

god you’re perfect

“yeah let’s do that,” and he just kinda basks in the proximity and lets himself get comfortable

and you both order some really tasty stuff!!!

affetati misti and burrata affumicata for appetizer (the pistols love it), risotto al pescatore and spaghetti alla carbonara for the first course, gamberoni alla griglia and filetto alla brace for the second course

and then you guys leave libeccio and find some gelateria

and you’re not really up for getting your own gelato because you’re so stuffed

but mista’s still a little hungry

and after that he offers to walk you home

the weather’s pretty nice anyway so you’re like “!! yes that sounds perfect”

and then halfway thru you ask if you can try some of his gelato and he’s like

“yeah,,, totally fine haha”

and he’s NOT screaming when you start helping yourself to his hazelnut gelato

and he kinda gestures at your mouth when some of it gets plastered to the corner of your lip

and you’re about to wipe it off yourself when he swipes his thumb around your lip

and he just kinda looks away and mutters “yeah, all good now”

the rest of the walk is super silent

so silent

not that either of you mind really

and then suddenly you’re at your apartment

and you’re about to say bye to mista

and it’s just you two and no one’s around and it’s Valentine’s Day so

why not give him a hug

so you lean in to give him a hug and mista’s like thinking ok this is happening and i am actually very fine with this

and he just kinda meets you halfway and hugs you

except he trips and all his weight kinda pushes you up against the door to you apartment

and it takes you a good minute to realize that

you’re kissing him

mista’s lips

your lips

and you wanted it to happen, yes but 

oh no now everything’s RUINED

and mista just scrambles away when he realizes what he’s done and bows his head

and all of a sudden he’s babbling a bunch of nonsense and he’s so nervous

oh god it’s ruined

everything’s ruined

and he’s just moving his hands around and talking way too fast

and he’s so so full of remorse

and he tries to like lay a hand on your shoulder or like hold your hand or something but you’re staring at him like he’s grown five EXTRA heads

and maybe they’re all very attractive heads because he swears you’re blinking and babbling and looking away bashfully

and it’s so cute but he fucked up

he fucked up real bad

this is all his fault

“oh god, i’m so sorry” and he’s speaking so quickly. “please don’t leave. or you can i guess, i messed up–”

and you’re really confused because??? you thought he like flinched away because he DIDN’T like you

“i don’t understand what you’re saying mista–”

“it’s fine ! don’t worry about me, just–” he’s like shaking his head because he already messed up by kissing you, he doesn’t want to say something stupid “please just tell me what you want me to do? I know I fucked up”

and you’re just staring at him and he wants to be swallowed up by the ground right about now

“do you want me to leave you alone? i can ask giorno to transfer you to another team or something, please just–”

“I didn’t mind it”

mista just stops talking and looks at you … what

“I… actually liked it”

and he’s blinking

this can’t be real

you’re way way wayy out of his league

does this mean

“this is probably the worst time to say it, but I like you”

mista’s silent now

and then you have to swat him in the shoulder

“I said that i like you, you idiot”

and mista just gets this cheesey smile on his face and starts repeating it “you like me?? really???”

“i said it twice now, mista” and you’re just standing in front of him, hands on your hips. “at least say something back or-or SOMETHING”

and he does

he says everything

he just lets it all out

he’s liked you ever since he met you

he thought you were pretty cool already at first

and then he just got the biggest crush on you the more he got to know you

and basically

“do you…. want to keep doing this?? dinner and stuff”

and you nod so much your head might fall of your shoulders

and yes

it’s official

guido mista is now your boyfriend

unreal

and 

when you guys come to work the next day and are chatting up a storm and mista just leans on you and has this big goofy grin on his face

everyone’s watching and noticing

and bruno just smiles and shakes his head 

and you’re just glowing!! and smiling ear to ear

abbacchio just goes

“took you guys long enough”

ok but

im so sorry this was long--

but i love mista he’s my son and i want him to be in LOVE!!!!

best boy in the world, point blank.

fr though guys, if you want more fic/hc hybrids like this

let me know…. this was actually really fun and like

super stress free,,,, no pressure at all,,,, just all fun and laughs!!!

sidenote: that book i linked, “the course of love” is actually a very good book…. and if you’re a total romantic or just love the idea of love… then I highly recommend that you read it. i know mista would love it.

[antihero-writings]

His Butler, and the Problem with Magic, Chapter 1—Black Butler/Harry Potter Crossover for the Multi Fandom Valentine’s Exchange 2018

Fic Title: His Butler, and the Problem with Magic 

Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?

Character Focus:  Ciel

Notes:

Ah, remember when I created that event for Valentines day? Good times, huh? Well here I am, the creator of the event, finally posting…aaand it’s almost July.

Dear @elegantkittycat needless to say I’m SOOOO sorry I took SOOOO long to finish this. I am ultimately super glad I participated, as this was a great fic and experience for me, but I really should have realized, with all the stuff going on in my life during March I wouldn’t have much time, and that I should have just manned the event, not participated. Ah well, live and learn I guess.

I hope you, and anyone else who decides to read it, enjoys it!! It’s been a long time coming!!

Chapter 1 Preview:

The great hall, quite frankly, looked like Valentine’s day threw up on it. Those lurid pink flowers from lunch still lined the walls, but now bright streamers glided across the ceiling, big, shiny hearts fluttered in the air, reflecting mood lighting, and bubble hearts popped out of bouquets of roses, (each flower cut into hearts). The ceiling itself not only continued to drop confetti, but was blighted by puffy clouds that read the same banalities you could find in every Sweethearts box; Be Mine, and True Love, and XOXO. (The clouds may have actually read that outside too, but Ciel didn’t want to check.) The burly cupids from earlier in the week lumbered about the room, continuing to pelt people with off-key music, and cards that only the most hopeless and idiotic of romantics would provide, filled with the same empty statements the clouds read—(every once and a while a howler burst forth, and the actual band would come to a shrieking halt at “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE”).

Lockhart had insisted a Valentine’s day ball was in order—(a lurid end to a lurid day)—and remarked with a toss of his his perfect hair and a blinding smile that it would be ‘just the thing’ to brighten everyone’s moods.

The fact that Lizzie had been the first (of many, mind you) to offer her decorative expertise and assistance may or may not have contributed to the overall… valentines-day-puked- and-so-will-I vibe of the room.

Currently, said mission to lift the general spirit was failing; aside from the few school lovebirds, (who were already widely despised and avoided, without school-sanctioned and overly sugary displays of affection) most people took this as the perfect opportunity for your daily dose of sulking at the sidelines, and contemplating if magic was quite worth this amount of suffering. Not least of all Ciel, who was currently propped against the wall behind the food table. (Lizzie had pried him away from his brooding earlier to dance, but now he happily returned to the indent he’d made in the wall). He had made many attempts throughout the evening to sneak a piece of chocolate cake, but Sebastian always magically appeared to slap his hands away whenever he got too close.

Most people would have stayed in their dorms, given the chance. Lockhart, however, had sent everyone cards with his kissy face on them, telling them flirtatiously not to dawdle, and his commands got more sugary, and insistent, (not to mention awkward) the longer they stayed indoors, and floated over their heads until they dragged their butts to the ball. This was particularly affective at making sure everyone was there, because the girls melted for his voice, and the boys wanted to shut him up as soon as possible.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Ciel!” A certain Indian prince put his arm around the earl’s neck and noogied him.

“Wha—No!” Ciel struggled like a fish out of water. Upon release he wiped his hands on his dress robes (the robes Sebastian had thrown together for the event—his ‘thrown together,’ of course, looked like others ‘spent-months-laboring-over-this’)—as if he didn’t want to catch Soma’s contagious happiness. “And I’d thank you to not touch me so casually!”

“I’m sorry Ciel, it’s just seeing all this love in the air makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside!” he spun around, “Doesn’t it do the same for you?”

“That’s called acid reflux.”

Soma pouted.

“Ciieel!” Lizzie’s hug was a torpedo. She snared his hands and spun him around, “Come dance with me!”

“Ack…I just danced with you ten minutes ago! How many times do I have to dance with you before you’re satisfied?!”

“Don’t you want your fiancé to be happy?” Her green eyes, (which were already big), became the puppy dog eyes of a little girl who wants an expensive toy.

“Don’t you?” he grumbled.

“I’ll dance with you, Elizabeth!” Soma came to the rescue. “It would be an honor to dance with such a lovely young lady!”

She blushed—“Oh please! It would be more than an honor to dance with a Prince!”—and curtsied, shooting Ciel an icy look, before joining the dance.

The young earl folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.

As if that wasn’t enough sappiness for a lifetime, cloying words floated to his ears:

“Oh Professor Michaelis~!”

Ciel’s brow twitched.

“Come now Lavender, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Ahh, he’s so noble!” came a not-so-whispered consensus.

Ciel jerked his head to see the group of girls crowding around his butler, like birds to sunflower seeds in the park.

Rather than sharing his annoyance, and refusing their advances, Sebastian shimmered with flattery and flirtation. A few of them offered him boxes of chocolates and other sweets, which he took with flowery compliments, but surely had no intention of eating—it didn’t take a love expert to know they were all laced with love potions. (Or maybe he could eat them anyways; the jury was still out if love potions had any affect on the demon…some magical methods worked on him and others didn’t).

Ciel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “Don’t you have better things to do?!” he shouted over the throng.

Sebastian chuckled. “Mr. Phantomhive, don’t you know it’s rude to question a teacher?”

Ciel growled.

“These lovely ladies took time out of their day to offer me gifts,” the butler’s calm voice carried across the room. “It would be rude to refuse them.”

There was a syrupy sigh from the group.

“Ugh,” Ciel gave the opposite kind of sigh, and turned away before he gave into the urge to murder.

A familiar laugh at his side made him turn.

“What’s so funny?” he asked the Undertaker.

****

You can read the full fic here on Ao3, here on ff.net, or here on this blog!!

[unofferable-fic]

THE ADVENTURES OF STEVE AND TRYING TOO HARD — ONESHOT

Summary: In an ideal universe where Loki and Ellie find themselves living happily in the Avengers Compound, Bucky Barnes presents us with the reasons why a certain super soldier can’t help but be enamoured by the young woman, but also elaborates as to why it is an absolutely terrible idea.

Gif originally found here

————

Set Post Thor Ragnarok (Infinity War never happened because I said so!)

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Warnings: Language, Steve getting mercilessly teased, hopefully excessive humour.

Word Count: 3,253

Playlist: “Still Into You” — Paramore, “Hard Times” — Paramore

————

A/N: Also available on AO3. The idea for this oneshot came about through a conversation I had with a close friend with regards how the other Avengers would get on with Ellie if they were to ever meet within the Unofferable universe. As it was, my friend was convinced that Steve Rogers would have the hots for Ellie, but I suppose we couldn’t really blame him right? This is pure humour, crack, banter between pals, with a little bit of Loki and Ellie thrown in, but hopefully y’all enjoy it either way. For the purpose of this oneshot, let’s just imagine that Ellie has been living on Earth since TDW with no idea that Loki was still alive, alrighty? And THANK YOU FOR 300 FOLLOWERS! You’s are a delight to write for and thanks for sticking with me <3

If there was one thing Bucky couldn’t fault Steve for, it was for trying.

Incessantly.

And if there was one person Steve could not stop trying to get the attention of, it was Ellie.

He saw the way the Super Soldier eyed the young woman when he thought no one was looking. Heck, you would have to be blind not to see it — even then, Bucky questioned whether someone who was visually impaired wouldn’t notice the constant pining. To him, and most of the team, it was as plain as day. This was, however, an awful idea for two reasons:

One, Ellie was still completely infatuated with her former lover, Loki, also known as the God of fucking Mischief, no matter how she might deny it given recent events.

And two, it didn’t seem like Steve was her type. At All.

Bucky couldn’t fault her for that. After all, being attracted to someone of the desirable sex was all down to uncontrollable personal preference. He loved Steve more than anyone, but if she saw his friend as nothing more than just that, he wasn’t going to argue. As long as she wasn’t a bitch about it, he would leave her to whatever men she wanted to actually date. She seemed to enjoy flirting with Bucky more than even attempting to reciprocate Steve’s advances. At least Bucky knew that she was merely joking with him, given the nature of how their friendship had blossomed after he was taken out of cryo. He enjoyed her company immensely, and it was refreshing to be around someone who was aware of his struggles while also avoiding treating him like he was made of glass.

Since Thor and Loki had returned to Earth, after what was apparently the destruction of their home world — planet, realm? I ain’t got no fuckin’ clue —  things in the compound had been tense. Bucky was not surprised when Ellie placed a cracking slap on the very-much-alive-Loki’s cheek. He whistled at the sight, while the god tried his best to smile at her while she verbally destroyed him for faking his death again. Having heard all about their relationship, Bucky understood her anger and frustration. You couldn’t help but sympathise with her when she stormed out of the room to cool off. It was sometime before she was willing to stay in the same room as him, but the insistence of pressing missions and requests for the Avengers’ assistance meant she would have to adjust to the new team member faster than she had hoped. Eventually, they were on — albeit, tense — speaking terms. Now that he saw them together, it was clear that they shared a deep bond spanning years. They were alike in mannerisms and habits, and Bucky usually watched them intently when they were in close quarters; they spent a great deal of time staring at the other when their back was turned. Bucky was getting impatient as to when they would stop being so stubborn and just admit they still loved each other.

Of course, Steve, the punk, saw this as his window of opportunity to declare his feelings for her. The day he approached Bucky for advice in the kitchen nearly left the latter crying in amusement.

“Ya wanna what?” he asked the Captain, wiping the tears from his cheeks as he sat at the counter eating a massive bowl of cereal.

Steve glared at him and pursed his lips together. “Jesus, Buck. There’s no need to be an ass about it.”

“No, no, no, ’m sorry. Just…explain that again.”

With a roll of his eyes, Steve repeated himself. “I want to ask Ellie out to dinner. Or maybe coffee, if she’d prefer that. Like a date.”

“You want to ask Ellie out on a date?”

“Yes.”

Bucky paused, holding back his grin. “Ah, I think ya might be punchin’ above your weight there, Stevie.”

Steve’s face fell immediately. “What do you mean?”

Frowning in his seat, the Winter Soldier let out a sigh and set down his spoon in the bowl. “Judgin’ by her relationship history, she seems to have a kinda…particular taste. And high end taste, at that.”

“You saying I’m not high end?”

“Nah, punk. I’m sayin’ that she was so deeply involved with Loki. Plus, it’s obvious he still loves her and that she loves him, if ya ask me. I mean…he’s basically a god. Maybe you shoulda sat this one out, pal.”

“If they loved each other, would they not just talk it out and get back together?” he asked, apparently not entirely convinced by his reasoning.

“I don’t think their situation is as easily put as that, even though I think they should just bite the bullet and talk about it.”

Steve shrugged, doing nothing to mask his dejected expression at the thought of Ellie not reciprocating his feelings. “Alright, that’s fair to say. But I really like her, Buck. What’s to say that maybe she likes me too? We get on pretty well.”

“I know ya do, but Loki would probably try to kill ya if you went anywhere near her and you know it. He has superpowers and shit. Don’t mess with magic, Steve.”

“Awh, c’mon—”

“D’ya see how he shoots energy from his hands? That’s fuckin’ cool. Ya can’t do that.”

“I know but—”

“He’d end ya in two seconds flat. Give up before you begin, that’s my advice. ’Ve got fifty bucks on Loki anyway; twenty that she’s gonna slap ya ’round like a rag doll.”

“Why would Ellie do—?”

“Ya got no hope, Steve. Punchin’ way above your weight here.”

“Okay, Bucky! I see your point!”

The former assassin did his best to hold back a grin. He loved to tease his best friend when the opportunity arose, so this occasion was no different. “’M not sure ya do. Lemme explain, okay, pal?”

“Oh, this should be good,” Steve said dryly and sat down on a stool next to him. “Well? Out with it.”

“Well, you’re punchin’ above your weight here, number one, ’cause that guy is a literal god or some shit, and, number two, she’s too hot for you anyway. ‘Ve a better chance with a dame like that.”

The Captain’s face was anything but amused, his eyes now narrowed and lips pursed tightly. “Of course, Bucky.”

Bucky shrugged casually and went back to eating his previously abandoned cornflakes. “I ain’t wrong!”

“Something tells me that you’re talking shit, punk,” Steve grunted and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Your advice has been anything but helpful.”

“You came to me for advice,” he replied. “’S not my problem if you think it’s harsh. I’m just tryin’ to look out for ya. I don’t think it would end well.”

“What wouldn’t end well?” an unmistakable voice called from the other side of the room. The super soldiers turned to see Tony strolling towards them.

“Awh, Jesus,” Steve groaned under his breath. “Anyone but him…”

Without hesitation, Bucky explained the situation. “Steve wants to ask Ellie out on a date because he thinks she pretty.”

Steve’s gaze immediately shot to his (now former) best friend. “Bucky?! What the hell—!?”

“Oh,” Tony whistled with a cringe on his face and made his way over to the presses. “Damn, Cap. That’s a terrible idea.”

“Why?” he demanded, distraught. “And why are you making that face?”

“It’s a terrible idea because there is a certain demigod in your way,” he stated simply as he grabbed a mug for some coffee. “Loki would sooner tear you in half then let your big muscly-self get anywhere near his beloved. And I’ll have you know that this is the face I make when I hear a very stupid idea.”

“Have ya forgotten he threw Stark outta window before?”

“You weren’t even there when that happened!”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Not really!”

“Alright,” Tony cut in, waving his free hand while he poured coffee into his mug with the other. “We’re getting sidetracked.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “The main point we’re tryin’ to make is that ya definitely shouldn’t be chasin’ after Loki’s girl, even if you guys are close. While what I said about her likin’ me instead of you was meant to kinda annoy ya, I also meant it in terms of her taste in guys.”

As Bucky was expressing his thoughts, Tony stood there umm-hmming along and blowing on his hot beverage. “I’m with Sergeant Plum on this one, Cap. Punching way above your weight. Plus, last time you fought Loki, he slapped you silly until I showed up to save the day.”

Captain America stood there and scoffed aloud with the biggest pout on his face. “I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t; you love us.”

Steve looked positively horrified as Tony made a kissy face at him, and Bucky nearly choked on his cereal as he laughed. “How old are you, Tony?”

The billionaire was quick to gasp in mock hurt. “That is a very impolite question so I will not dignify it with an answer. Also, Barnes is right; he would have a better chance with her. You’re too…blonde, or something. Too morally righteous! You need to break the rules a little! Be spontaneous!”

“Unpredictable!” Bucky added excitedly.

Tony clicked his fingers and continued on. “If you plan to compete with the God of Mischief, obviously! Reindeer Games is always doing spontaneous stuff.”

“He’s probably the most spontaneous guy here.”

“Oh, and dye your hair. Get a beard!” Tony paused thoughtfully, took a quick sip of his coffee, and then explained further. “Basically, become Barnes in terms of looks, and Loki in terms of attitude. Got it? That way you’ll be set!” Steve was about to reply, but was overshadowed by more of his friend’s quick thinking. “Although she still might choose Loki ’cause, you know, history and stuff.” He shrugged. “Can’t compete with that.”

“Tony’s got a point,” Bucky confirmed. “You’re competin’ with someone she basically grew up with…on another planet… While you were frozen in some ice.” He hesitated for a few seconds then nodded his head firmly and met his old friend’s eyes. “Maybe ya should just sit down, Stevie.”

“It’s over, Rogers,” Tony agreed and gave the man a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “You tried but it was never going to work out.”

“What?” Steve exclaimed, looking between the pair completely stunned. “But I didn’t even get to try yet!”

“You tried your best,” Bucky went on, ignoring his outburst. “But she just wasn’t into ya.”

“Just hold on a minute,” he grumbled, using his Captain’s voice to shut them up. “I’m not afraid of Loki, okay? He has no say over who she decides she wants to go on dates with. He doesn’t own her.”

Tony raised a brow and casually leaned against the counter behind him. “Uh, it’s not just Loki you have to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“You forgot about the shippers.”

“Awh Jesus, Tony…”

“The who?” Bucky asked, realising that he was missing something important. “I don’t follow.”

“The shippers,” Tony repeated, his face quite relaxed. “It’s a name given to fans who really love two characters together as a couple. They say that they ‘ship them’. And when they have a favourite ship — let’s say Ellie and Loki — they mix their names together to make the ship name. In this case, it’s Lollie, which is sickeningly adorable. Loki plus Ellie makes Lollie. You get it?”

“Kinda,” Bucky replied, scratching his bearded jaw. “And they do this for all different characters?”

“You bet they do! My personal favourite is the ship name for Pepper and I; Pepperony. It’s genius.”

“Oh, that is pretty clever! So, hypothetically, Steve and Ellie would make…Stellie?”

“Eww,” Tony gasped as a shudder ran through him. “It sounds unnatural.”

“Okay,” Steve grabbed their attention, finding it hard to keep himself calm. “You two are getting distracted again. Why should I be worried about the shippers?”

Tony looked at him in mild disbelief. “Are you joking? They would not approve at all! Do you have any idea how loyal the Lollie shippers are?”

“I’m assuming very?”

“Very.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Alright but I don’t exactly care about the opinion of these people. Let them be disappointed. Is the main concern here not Ellie and I being happy?”

“Look, nobody likes disappointing shippers. You could always just veer towards another pairing—”

“I’ve already told you, I’m not gay, Tony.”

“Well I hope you’re happy disappointing all the Stucky and Stony shippers.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. Did he just fuckin’ say…

“Did you just smash our names together?” he asked Tony, pointing between himself and Steve. “In one’a those ship name things?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, some of them are into the idea of you two bumping uglies.”

“Pfft, no way. He’s not my type; way too needy.”

“Did you just call me needy, jerk?”

“I’m just sayin’ what we’re all thinkin’, punk.”

“See?” Tony insisted, waving his free hand between them. “It’s playful banter like that that makes people ship you two beefcakes.”

“Look, Tony,” Steve began slowly, doing his best to regain some amount of control over the conversation. “I see the points you’ve both made, but I think I’m just going to ask Ellie myself and see what she says.”

“Ask Ellie what, Captain?”

All three of the men froze mid-conversation at the sound of another person’s voice joining in. Bucky slowly turned his head to see the God of Mischief himself standing in the  doorway of the kitchen. His face was completely blank, not giving away any ounce of emotion, and all this did was make the Winter Soldier unsure as to whether he had heard much of the conversation.

“Uh,” Steve drawled, looking very much like a cornered animal. Bucky had to hold back a grin at his previous statement of not being afraid of Loki. “I j-just was going to ask Ellie if she wanted to, eh, go for a…run later.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Bucky mumbled under his breath and withheld the urge to facepalm. Steve was always a terrible liar.

Loki, looking completely stone faced, walked slowly into the kitchen and replied. “I see.”

“How are you two doing, actually?” Tony asked, watching as the demigod opened the fridge and pulled out an apple. “You and Ellie? Still having trouble in paradise?”

“There is no trouble, Stark.”

“Uh, not to be the bearer of bad news, but have you forgotten that wicked handprint she left on your chiselled cheek?”

“I think that is of little relevance,” he shrugged and sat at the counter across from Bucky and Steve with his apple and a knife in hand. “Women do that to me frequently.”

“Didn’t ya also get a slap off the Hulk?” Bucky asked as he finished his own food

“Banner hits a little harder than Ellie,” Loki answered, cringing slightly at the memory. “I find that when she hits me it is a lot more…pleasurable.”

Steve’s eyes nearly fell out of his head at that. “What the fu—”

“So you two are…” Tony set down is mug and made a circle with his index finger and thumb before repeatedly putting his other index finger through. “Gettin’ some again?”

Loki stared back, expression unreadable. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. What I mean is, let’s say someone were to — oh, I don’t know — ask her out, let’s say on an intimate get-together. We call that kinda thing a date here on Earth. What would you do if someone asked Ellie out on a date?”

All three men looked at Loki intently, gauging his reaction in a way that Bucky was aware probably made it very obvious that someone did in fact want to ask Ellie out. Alas, they sat expectantly and the Trickster picked up his apple and began slowly carving slices as he spoke. “If someone were to seek out the little one and ask to court her, I can assure you that he would not get within ten feet of her before I were to slit his throat with this knife, Captain.”

As if to drive his point home further, Loki stabbed the knife down through the apple’s core and suddenly levelled his gaze on a very stunned Steve. The silence in the room was deafening for some time.

“It as nice knowing you, Cap,” Tony said in a rush, patted his shoulder, then hurried out of the room as quickly as possible with coffee in hand.

The two super soldiers were staring at the god in disbelief, a sweat very clearly beginning to break out on Steve’s forehead.

“Do you think me an idiot?” Loki hissed, green eyes boring into him.

“Eh…no.”

“I did warn ya,” Bucky mumbled, awkwardly sitting there with his bowl in his grasp.

“Hey, guys.”

The sight of the subject of their conversation walking into the kitchen caused Bucky to let out a relieved sigh. Ellie walked up to the counter and assessed them all. “Jesus, what’s goin’ on in here? You’s look a bit tense.”

“We’re just talkin’ about…women,” Bucky explained while the other two glared at each other. “Ya know how guys get about women! Anyway, what brings ya to this side of the compound?”

Ellie nodded slowly, clearly not convinced in the slightest, but avoided the subject anyway. “I was lookin’ for Loki, actually. Tony said you were in here.”

“Yes, love?” he answered, grinning in delight.

“I was comin’ to get you so we could watch some more Black Mirror. Are you good to go?”

“Of course.” He got to his feet and handed her a slice of apple which she took happily. “Lead the way.”

Before they could get anywhere near the door, Steve bit the bullet and called out. “Hey, uh, Ellie?”

Bucky was quick to intervene with a hushed, “Steve—”

“What’s up?” Ellie asked, standing in front of Loki and unaware of the look of complete distain her former lover (possibly current? Who fuckin’ knows…) was sending the Captain.

“Any chance you might want to, uh, get a cup of coffee together later? I’d love to talk more about that book we were discussing before.”

The young woman showed no obvious signs of surprise, but Bucky knew that she became a master of hiding her emotions because she learned from the best. Even still, it took her a few seconds to answer. “Sorry, Steve. I promised I’d watch telly with Loki tonight. Maybe another time soon though? ”

He smiled slightly and nodded. “Sure, have a good night.”

With that, the pair left the room and left Steve and Bucky sitting at the counter alone once more.

“Sorry, pal,” Bucky said sympathetically after a moment.

His friend met his gaze and answered. “What?”

“I know ya liked her a lot. It’s never nice gettin’ rejected.”

Steve was the picture of confusion. “What are you talking about, Buck? I didn’t get rejected.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide at his statement. “Yes, ya did. Did ya just fail to notice that she said no?”

“Actually, she said ‘another time’. That’s not an outright no. There’s still a chance!”

“Oh my god,” Bucky sighed and held his head in his hands. “You’re really not helpin’ the blonde beefcake stereotype, ya know that?”

Steve let out a chuckle at that and shook his head. “Shut up, jerk.”

“Not a chance, punk.”

Taglist: @jonsaiscomiing @wrappedinlokisarms @unseelie1963 @talinalani @fightmelight @spookass @myinnerkemono @tumbler-bumblr @jclements919 @ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash @proactiveturtles @iamthered @tlbrooks-68

[thesearchforspirk]

1 x 9: ‘What Are Little Girls Made Of?’ {Subtext Study}

Please read my manifesto here if you haven’t already- it better explains my beliefs as per the Kirk/Spock dynamic and what I aim to accomplish with this blog.

An episode that barely features any direct K/S reactions yet seems to say a whole lot about them in 50 minutes time, through strategic use of androids. And Lurch. 

So, Chapel’s on the bridge this time around which is a bit of a switch-up. Turns out she’s anxiously awaiting news of her fiance’s whereabouts and whether or not he’s still alive. Kirk is cautiously hopeful; reminding her that said fiance, Dr. Roger Korby, has been missing for 5 years despite several search expeditions to find him. I guess that doesn’t make her love confession to Spock in The Naked Time too terribly awkward then... yikes. Dr. Korby asks that Kirk personally come down to the surface which has ignited Spock’s suspicions, but Kirk is hesitant to refuse given Dr. Korby’s reputation for being a brilliant scientist or something. 

When Spock asks for confirmation that Chapel knows Dr. Korby’s voice beyond any shadow of a doubt (likely because of his increased concern now that Kirk’s wellbeing is on the line) she teasingly asks if he’s ever been engaged. Kirk gets a personal amusement out of his reaction. Yeah what a hilarious thought, there’s NO WAY Spock has ever been engaged hahaha.

(just wait for Amok Time you little shits) 

Kirk and Chapel beam down to the tundra-like planet (apparently impervious to the cold as neither of them seem the slightest bit affected) and, having not seen Dr. Korby anywhere nearby, decide to head down into the cavern to see if he’s somewhere in there. Kirk contacts the Enterprise and asks Spock to beam down two expendable red shirts just in case (Spock of course not neglecting to ask if there’s been any trouble). All for the better, as one ends up falling off a ledge somehow just as Dr. Korby’s assistant, Brown, shows up and Lurch (LURCH NO!!) slinks away. 

Brown’s acting a little weird around Chapel, as it takes him a moment to recognize her. Kirk’s suspicions are being increasingly aroused but Chapel continues to seem hopeful (he’s also super beat up about his red shirt guy dying which isn’t significant to the point of this post but I just like James T Kirk so much and how much he cares about each member of his crew ok). Unfortunately the other red shirt guy gets suffocated or something by Lurch before he can give Kirk’s orders to the Enterprise. 

Brown explains that Dr. Korby’s discovered how the inhabitants of the planet moved underground as the sun dimmed and created a mechanistic type culture, which he hopes to harness and implement everywhere for some reason. When they get into the main living area a sexy lady barely wearing anything shows up and I freaking love the look Kirk gives Chapel- he’s not checking sexy lady out, he’s looking over at Chapel to see how she feels about this super hot, scantily clad woman and the fact that she’s apparently living here. “Girl, can you believe this?” Sure enough, Chapel’s like what the fuck. 

Sexy lady introduces herself, very mechanically, as Andrea. Then Dr. Korby shows up and he and Chapel have some kissy-kissy reunion times and Kirk looks so happy for them because he is perfect. Korby apologizes for Kirk’s lost crewman, Kirk assures him it wasn’t his fault, and then attempts to call his redshirt posted outside. When he doesn’t answer he makes to try the ship, but things escalate quickly when Brown points a phaser at him and says “NO COMMUNICATIONS” 

Geez, y’all aren’t really going for warm and hospitable, are you?

Dr. Korby insists, instructing Andrea to take it from him. Kirk flips her around as a sort of hostage and then does his infamous barrel roll to hide behind the desk. He then presumably attempts to stun Brown, but instead blows open and sizzles his circuits because GASP he’s a robot! Kirk also gets fucking picked up like a toddler by Lurch and thrown against a wall. So far as I can tell these are the same actors, not stunt doubles, so that means Ted Cassidy literally hoisted Shatner up and held him. HELD HIM THERE. LIKE A BABY. 

I just find that hilarious and precious. Anyway. 

Kirk does indeed contact the Enterprise- or rather, his voice does. It turns out Lurch can do excellent, spot on voice impressions so he calls the bridge and gives a pretty level-headed, standard message about the progress of the mission. 99.99999% of people would not have heard anything worth suspicion. I would guess that would even include McCoy. Of course, 99.99999% of people don’t know Kirk as well as Spock (nor are they secretly in love with him) so of course Spock notices something is off and asks as much and says he sounds tired. Very logical and unemotional of you, Spock, A++++ Vulcaning. 

Korby apologizes for being so shady but, y’know, it’s necessary. Because of reasons. Lurch does some more impressions, proving he can do ANYONE’S voice (as a voice actor I’d kill to be as good as him) and Kirk is clever enough to convince Korby to order Lurch not to disobey Chapel’s orders. Because Kirk is such a smarty pants and I love him forever and always. Anyway, Korby attempts to convince Kirk to have an open mind about things so he can help him facilitate this new android technology he’s been working on. Kirk’s not having it. He attempts to escape and is ONCE AGAIN picked up like a baby by Lurch. Whoever had the idea for this to happen not once, but twice, is a hero, honestly. 

(I’d like to thank god and also jesus) 

Meanwhile Andrea is asking Chapel some weird questions like, “How can you love Roger if you don’t trust him” and “Why does it bother you when I call him Roger?”. She seems genuinely confused, but of course Chapel is having a hard time believing that...all things considered. Korby shows up and tells Andrea to call him Dr. Korby since the alternative bothers Chapel and that’s sufficient enough. He then also explains that Andrea is an android, a computer, a machine, and Chapel shouldn’t be jealous because she’s incapable of love. Supposedly. He even has Andrea kiss and then slap Kirk, reiterating that she’s a totally logical computer incapable of feeling, that only responds to orders. 

Huh. Who else has been described in such a way time and time again? What’s more, Kirk doesn’t seem in the least bit convinced. In fact, he seems somewhat angered by this assertion. Certainly that could be because it seems wrong to talk about living things as objects, but given all the familiar descriptors that have just been used I’m going to guess that it’s more than that for him. Much more.   

As if to confirm this, Kirk challenges the assertion, that if these things only act as Korby programs them and have no feeling, then why did Brown turn a phaser on him with an order? Korby doesn’t give a direct answer, he basically just says ‘lmao let’s go give you an android twin, will that help?’ This they do (and Kirk’s laid out like a fucking snack, but I won’t waste time on a visual tour of that this time, I promise) and when it comes time to copy over his mental patterns so that android Kirk is just like real Kirk, Kirk makes a quick decision to instill his thoughts with an openly hostile opinion of Spock to be transferred over to the android. “Mind your own business, Mr. Spock,” Kirk chants. “I’m sick of your halfbreed interference, you hear?” 

While there is something to be said for that fact that no Kirk is a real Kirk if he isn’t enamored with (or at least respectful of) Spock, I think it’s also telling that Kirk knew Spock would inevitably ask concerned questions and so supplied a telling uncharacteristic answer. Perhaps there’s something else in the fact that Kirk had to be so openly hostile to convincingly mask and block any of the strong familiar feelings of affection for his First Officer. Something to think about anyway. 

Chapel sits down to lunch with Kirk, insisting that despite the moral dubiousness of Dr. Korby’s current work she knows him well enough to ensure that he hasn’t lost his mind and that they should trust him. But whoops, this Kirk is the android, so perhaps when he asked her if she’d obey his command to betray Korby he was testing the waters. He has Kirk’s intellect after all. Man, someone writing this show really liked the idea of dual Kirks didn’t they? Can’t say I blame them. 

(a decidedly tastier sandwich than The Enemy Within version, sign me the fuck up) 

The two Kirks verbally spar for a bit and Korby flatters himself that he’s made a perfect duplicate. Kirk says somewhat knowingly, with a slight grin, that there are still certain differences between them. Korby insists that if they exist they are entirely unimportant. Something tells me Korby has never come between a Vulcan and and the object of his (logical) affections before. 

Korby finally pushes his game plan on Kirk, saying he needs his starship to transport them to an Earth colony where he can begin integrating androids into society, to make the perfect immortal society without jealousy or hate or any unpleasant emotions (but also without love, Kirk argues). Not willing to be Korby’s pawn, Kirk takes him as another captive and keeps Lurch at bay as he manages to escape through the cavern. Korby orders Lurch to ‘protect’ though (how he’s protecting by chasing a guy long gone through a cavern I don’t know). 

Thankfully, Chapel orders that Lurch not hurt Kirk so when he has the chance to send him falling off a ledge, he instead has to help him up. And, yes, Kirk gets hold of a dick-shaped rock and poses for the picture that makes it into every tongue-and-cheek write up about Kirk/Spock or anything gay/Trek related so let’s just get that out of the way right now:

(har har penis joke)

Meanwhile android Kirk goes back aboard the Enterprise to get some info for Korby. Spock looks just about beside himself to see him again and bounds after him as Spock is wont to do when Jim makes a surprise appearance. Spock is understandably confused, however, as Kirk wasn’t due back for awhile, so when he pushes for clarification android Kirk busts out the whole halfbreed interference thing. Almost immediately after this he asks Spock why he looks upset, which is...rather hilarious. Spock doesn’t seem upset after that though, rather he appears justifiably suspicious, if not convinced that this is not his Kirk. 

Android Kirk then passes on possible planet settling info to Korby while real Kirk gets Andrea to kiss him again- but not the cold, mechanical kiss, this time he kisses her passionately and invokes in her feelings that confuse her (specifically with that intent). In keeping with this attempt, when Lurch comes in to attack him Kirk starts asking him difficult questions, like what happened to the ‘old ones’ and is it possible to go against his creators if they’re illogical. Kirk essentially pits Lurch’s violent need for logic against the programming given to him and discovers that Lurch can indeed kill his programmers if their orders override his need to survive. As such, he turns on Korby but Korby just kills him with the evaporation phaser or whatever it is.

Neither Kirk nor Chapel can seem to figure out why it is that Korby has such a flagrant disregard for life now, but when Kirk attempts to fight him again they learn why; HE’S AN ANDROID TOO!! He disturbingly assures Chapel he’s the same Roger inside, that he had to make this change to survive, and Chapel wonders how true that it is. 

Meanwhile android Kirk shows up again and Andrea is tasked with intercepting him. She wants to kiss him like she kissed real Kirk before but he says it is “illogical” and so she angrily zaps him away. When she comes back into the main room, however, she realizes it was android Kirk she zapped and not the real one. Kirk challenges Korby, asking him if this is the ‘perfect world’ he envisioned, of androids killing each other off without a second thought. Korby blabbers some more about being the perfect computer or whatever, showing Chapel that this absolutely isn’t him anymore, 

Andrea, however, doesn’t kill without a second thought. She kills to protect, because as she’s discovered through Kirk’s accessing, she has the capacity to love Korby and does. She insists she does but he tells her it’s impossible. She’s not human after all. When she kisses him he presses the phaser she holds between them and kills them both. Obviously, his work has been for naught. 

Spock shows up then (a little too late) with the landing party he’d planned for earlier. He, of course, asks Kirk if he’s alright first even as Chapel is sobbing right beside him. When Spock asks about the Doctor Kirk tells him, solemnly, that he was never there. 

Back on the bridge Chapel says she’ll be staying with the ship, even if her original intent for boarding one died long ago. After she leaves Kirk notices something is off about Spock and asks about it, to which Spock replies that he didn’t really appreciate the use of the term ‘halfbreed’, even if it was implemented in an android’s head for a good reason. He says Kirk has to admit it’s an unsophisticated expression. Kirk assures him he’ll keep that in mind for the next time he’s in a similar situation. Spock all but rolls his eyes but can’t seem to fight a little bit of a smile. Neither can Kirk. 

It is not insignificant that this episode deals with beings of ‘pure logic’ and the feelings each of them has repressed or justified as a means of maintaining said logic. It’s also interesting that the only being among them that could not display morality, feelings of mercy, etc, was the one who had engineered the whole thing and fancied himself more of a human than the rest of them. Lurch could feel anger, Andrea could feel love despite Korby’s insistence otherwise, Brown protected without a direct order. There’s argument to be made that android Kirk could not have felt them either, as when Andrea tried to kiss him he insisted it was ‘illogical’, but perhaps it was only real!Kirk’s effort to drive out his affections for Spock that made this so. Without those affections any Kirk copy has no heart, it would seem. Interesting.  

It’s also not incidental that Kirk is the one who correctly guesses that these supposedly emotionless, logic-driven machines were indeed capable of feeling and knew how to drive that feeling out of each of them. Who better to guess that a robotic entity who insists logic is the only thing that fuels him might be mistaken in that respect? What’s more, Kirk knew the weakness of each android and exactly how to press the right buttons to bring it out. He does this on a daily basis, after all. 

This episode also explored the depths to which Kirk and Spock know each other; Spock can correctly tell there’s something off with Kirk’s voice even when he’s down on a planet, giving a routine order, not sounding off to anyone who wouldn’t have that intrinsic knowledge and concern. Kirk used his knowledge of Spock’s emotional weaknesses to exploit the pitfalls in the android’s engineering. Even if they barely get any screentime in this episode, it’s not hard to see why all of it functions as a thinly veiled metaphor for their dynamic. 

EDIT: I often go back to my predecessor, TOS Commentary, after I’ve finished evaluating an episode just to make sure I’m not missing anything and have put everything in my own words. Something was pointed out there for this episode that I thought might be of interest to anyone reading this evaluation, and it’s something that can easily fly under the radar. In her words, “ Chapel intimates that engaged couples can always tell their lovers' voice. Later, when Android Kirk appears on the Enterprise, Spock is immediately suspicious, and Android Kirk's insult confirms his suspicion.” What’s more, Spock recognized that Lurch’s imitation was NOT Kirk’s actual voice. I found this a VERY interesting coincidence, one of those that makes you really wonder just how intentional all of this was. Bits like this make me think someone has always had it in the back of their mind. 

Hopefully I did this episode justice as that’s about all I have! Join me next time for ‘Dagger of the Mind’!

[firjii]

In which I tried to write my first kissy moment. xD

Regular text version is under the cut. I really thought I could wrap this up in 3 chapters, but this chapter is already 4,000+ words if I remember correctly. Not many surprises here because I already posted excerpts from it, but onward and upward, right? :)

Chapter: 3/?

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Ameridan/Telana (early relationship stage) [and I do mean early...it’s basically my headcanon story about how they met]

Characters: Solas, Female Lavellan, Ameridan, Telana

Additional Tags [please note: I condensed the tags because this chapter is different from others and isn’t nearly as dark as chapter 2, so some of my earlier tag warnings don’t apply to this portion]: angst, drama, grit, minor battle fatigue, gray ace solavellan, exasperated lavellan, concerned solas, minor language, vague references to violence, depression, suggested suicide, blood magic (suggested), blood mage, reluctant blood mage, canonically ambiguous elements, borderline non-canonical ideas, canonically disputable ideas about the Dalish (probably)

Summary: After a long and necessary sleep imposed on her by Solas' magic, Ellana wakes only to find herself wading in still more strife, a resolution no more obvious after rest than before it. Once again, Solas offers to help her find peace - or at least a measure of understanding - in the Fade. She finally accepts, only to find that Solas has a much different plan in mind than anything Ellana has seen thus far in dreams.

A tiny clink woke her, though her eyes didn’t immediately snap open. Instead, she frowned as waking slowly spread through her limbs. Dishes? No. It was something more muffled and solid: a mortar and pestle. Her frown deepened as a few vague questions found weak spots in her haze, but the expression disintegrated by the time she opened her eyes.

She was stretched on the couch, though it took her a long moment for the fact to register despite staring at her limbs. She tried to swing her legs over the side and lift herself up into a sitting position, but her arms were too slack and dull for such an ambitious act. She pushed herself up on her elbows and tried to rotate her neck, but a crick stopped her. She hissed through gritted teeth.

Solas scurried into her line of sight but said nothing. “Better,” he murmured approvingly with a nod after he spent a moment considering her.

She snorted and reached for her neck. “This is better?”

“You slept.”

She swore as she rubbed the stiffness out of her muscles but hesitated when she noticed the afternoon daylight. “I slept all day?”

His mouth shifted carefully. “A day.”

She blinked as she rushed to sit upright. “But how could –” A hunger spasm in her stomach confirmed his answer before she could finish her thought. “No one sleeps that long.”   

He smiled faintly.

She stood. “But I didn’t –” Her knees buckled, further evidence that she had been immobile for a prolonged period. Solas moved for her, but she waved him away with a jab of her slender arm and a tiny, frustrated grunt. She sat down huffily and braced her head until the vertigo ebbed. “It felt different.” She rubbed her forehead and temples.

“Your mind ceded to your body.”

She paused. As if her head weighed an unfathomably great amount, she craned it up to him. She stared. “You did something.”

“I did what anyone would do in the same situation.”

“Which was?”

“Only enough to let you forget your worries for a time.”

“By making me sleep for a day and a night?”

Solas resumed his methodical rummaging with several bowls on a table.

She frowned. “What are you doing?” Her neck was still too weak to twist around to look at him. She heard him stir several things into glass. He returned with a tumbler filled with a thick, whitish liquid and offered it to her. She sighed and reached for her forehead again. “I don’t need a potion.”

“This is a different sort of restorative.”

She took it from him and sniffed. Her face abruptly pinched into unnatural angles.

“Those who pass so many hours without food need a special kind of sustenance.”

She tasted it and shuddered, but she forced herself to swallow the entire portion. By the time she returned the tumbler to him, her face consisted purely of wrinkles opposing each other in a series of alien angles. “Goat’s milk,” she muttered. “And something else.”

“Herbs from the garden and a raw egg.”

Her face eased, but she threw a glare at him for an instant.

“Does your ankle still hurt?”

“Not much.” Still flushed from the strong flavors of her drink, she chuckled weakly. “That’s why you did it.”

“Have you always neglected yourself so much?”

Her faced paled. She stood. “I don’t need a lecture. I know what I need to do to finish what we started.” She paced her quarters, tender-footed but determined. “It’s taking too long.”

“An easy thing to say when dread shadows your every move.”

She snorted and paced faster. “And that’s easy to say when you aren’t clever enough to be frightened about something.” Her ankles toyed with folding over in the course of several steps. She swayed but continued walking.

In a silent, gliding move, Solas was at her side. “Sit down.” He braced one of her arms and made her stand still.

“It’s alright.”

“Your body clearly disagrees.”

She shot him an icy glare, but the look she found in his face dispelled it.

She shakily shuffled across the room with him. He settled her back onto the couch, though she locked her knees in place and refused to actually lay down again. She folded her arms in a hurry, initially with jutting, angular elbows –  like a petulant child – but the gesture soon changed into that of a weary night guard desperate for a moment of respite. She folded into herself for a moment, her feet planted on the floor like a mighty act of defiance. She sighed twice, a ragged edge behind both breaths. She leaned back on the couch.

Absentmindedly, so did he. She stared at the far side of the room. She leaned into him in the same instant that he reached to brace her. She wept. With the delicacy of a quillmaker, he leaned his head against the crown of hers as he held her barely-containable spasms, his arms completely encircling her now. The tension in her muscles released as her hands dropped limply to her lap. Dark, inarticulate noises rose from her and resonated against his chest like air through a flute. He closed his eyes. A single tear escaped down his cheek and nestled unnoticed in her hair.

* * *

An hour or more passed. Speechless but far from mute, she railed and wracked, as eager to flee herself as she was to seek aid. More than once, she flattened her palms against her temples, perhaps to counter the effects of such fierce outlet.

Solas held her as if a tangible storm threatened to break all around the two of them. As her grief intensified, her throat increasingly failed, yet the force of what lurked inside her drove her ever onward. When she finally paused from keening, it was only to clutch at her own throat. Solas finally released her to hurry for water. She coughed in the brief interval that followed. He pushed the tumbler into her hand. She downed the contents greedily. He filled it thrice more before her panic subsided and she could swallow or breathe with a semblance of normality.

Her mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish several times. “I–”

“No,” he cut over her. “Not yet. Rest your voice.”

She did, though her eyes hummed with activity in place of her throat. After a few moments, Solas put two fingers on either side of her neck. She tried to remain still as he placed healing magic to quiet her furious lymph glands. She watched him closely this time as he worked.

“You need help, da’len.”

“I know,” she murmured, the shapes of the words barely recognizable.

“The Inquisition needs a focused leader. You cannot be one if the past is chasing you.”

“Like a wolf?”

He winced, though his inspection of her throat partially disguised it. He peered intently at her skin and frowned upon noticing a swollen vein that hadn’t yet receded into its proper place.

“I’ve seen you on missions.”

He swallowed calmly as he continued his work. “Have you?”

“Your magic. Vivienne thinks it’s because you learned outside the Circles. Dorian thinks it’s because you’re more ruthless than you look.”

“Neither is entirely incorrect.”

She waited a moment, her swallowing still strained. “I think you are a wolf.”

“Like the fearsome one of Dalish legends?”

She focused hard on him, unblinking.

He looked away for an instant. “That was unnecessary. I spoke without thinking.”

“It’s not true anyway.”

“The legend or the idea?”

“A legend is a legend. An idea’s an idea.”

“Did you ever say that among your clan? I doubt that they would have tolerated such an opinion.”

Her keenness withdrew as he stepped away to refill her tumbler. She sighed. “Silence is an opinion, too,” she half-croaked.

Still facing away from her, he lowered his head. “Yes.” He returned to her with the water. “I know it is.” He sat down in the same place again and watched her.

She drank somberly, reasonably, methodically. She stared down when she had drained it, fingering the etched glass mercilessly, memorizing the pattern as if her breath depended on it. “It’s not that simple.”

“The foolish might say that you either enjoy darkness or are frightened of change. The truth is actually kinder. Few have the tools necessary to improve this kind of situation themselves, so they struggle instead. Outsiders notice the struggle. How can they not? But they seldom act to improve it.”

She fussed with her forehead again, more aggressively than before. “Because they don’t care.”

“Because they have no concept of where to begin.”

Deep inside her mouth, she gnawed her cheek, her jaw clicking slightly in determination. “But you do.” Her tone was subdued enough that her question settled low on the air as a statement.

“You already know the Fade. We both survived a physical manifestation there. Nearly every night, we both–”

“I know. But –” She frowned and squinted, her free hand wavering near her head but eventually losing its trail of thought. “It’s different.”

“Hardly. To those in control, there is little to truly fear. To the strong, threats are simple enough to recognize and avoid. And I –” His voice failed unexpectedly, normal and clear one moment and crippled in the next.

She finally looked up at him.

He swallowed – with effort. “I –”

In spite of her grief-reddened face and bloodshot eyes, a smile crept over her face as slowly as a sunset. She slowly clunked the tumbler on an end table.

“I –” he tried again.

She had barely reached for his necklace when he wrapped his palms around either jawline and pulled her toward him. Her lips were still unusually red and chapped from weeping. Her mouth muscles were slack from overuse, too committed to the freshly-quelled sneers and spasms of fear and rage to move normally for the gesture. Her cheeks were still damp from inexplicable renegade tears.

But the moment was equal between them. A flicker of refuge ricocheted between them three and then four times, too intent on steadiness to trifle with any bold displays. Two more tears snuck down her face as they parted. Then two more journeyed down his. His mouth mutely opened and closed twice while his eyes fought to find his original thought. “I would never lead you into danger if there was a safer road.”

She lowered her head, just as she had done before. But this time, there was no hint of groveling. She closed her eyes. “I know.”

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

He brought a thumb up under the tip of her chin and nudged her head upward. He fixed a smile on his face, though it took her a moment to open her eyes and see it.

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a mutter, but it was unfettered, unwavering, unbroken. Yet her brow also strained to fend off a frown.

He saw it and deliberated. “You suffer in other ways.”

She swallowed spasmodically. “It’s nothing.” She dug her knuckles into her temples in earnest and sighed. “We all bear something. We bear it or we die.” Her eyes crinkled shut. Several small sobs broke over her anew. Her forehead glistened with fresh, clammy sweat as it gyrated between bodily pain and more grief.

He pulled at her wrists.

She opened her eyes. “It’s always been. It always will be. The world’s troubles will always be greater than mine.”

He stared – not at her eyes, but her vallaslin. “They burden you.”

“No one speaks of it.”

“I am.”

“It’s nothing. I let them. There’s a difference. I’m weak. I –” Her face contorted as another wave of pain interrupted her. “I choose to be weak.”

He watched her. “How long have they pained you?”

“Why do you think they’re hurting me?”

“Anguish is always sharpest when the mind and the body disagree at the same time.”

“It’s just a headache.”

“You are still young, but your face bears the lines of one who has hurt every day.”

“And if I have?”

He lowered his gaze to the floor and pondered. “Something was wrong the day you were given them.”

“Or I was.” 

His head flew up. His eyes were unblinking. She wavered but returned the gaze, unable to turn away. He still held her hands.

“Can’t you tell? They’re new. Or newer than some, anyway.”

“But–”

“I couldn’t do it at the proper age,” she sneered. She sighed and mildly curled away from him, though she still lent him her hands. “That’s what I tried to tell you. The more I use my magic – any magic – the more I notice the rest of the world. I always felt pain more than others. Everyone said I cried more as an infant than the others. But it got worse after the magic came. A few raindrops might hurt if I’m tired enough. No one was surprised when the Keeper didn’t offer me a marking day. I didn’t ask for one. No one questioned it. They knew better.”

“An unusual situation,” he lilted meditatively.

“The only one in the last fifty years or better, so I heard. Even the blind get them. Even the lame get them. Even the dull-witted get them if they’re strong enough and know what they mean.” She snorted. “I can’t believe you didn’t see it. I always wear shoes. I could never have enough pairs of gloves. I’d whimper for days from a damned splinter, but I’d killed by the time some girls had had their first bleedings.”

“There are certain potions and tonics–”

“There’s not enough elfroot in the world to help this. Liquor helps even less.”

He swallowed. “Then perhaps a spell–”

“Nothing ever lasts for long. I’ve tried. Others have tried.” Her head sank. “It’s just how things are.”

“Those are cheap words–”

“Not when it’s the truth,” she bit through the air.

He still held her hands. She still allowed it. Not once had her fingers clenched, twitched, or dug into his palms. He waited and watched while she tried to calm her breathing. “Does it always linger?”

“The worse the pain, the slower it is to leave. That never changes.” She leaned back against the couch, as if her spine was too weak to support her stature. “I’m grateful that my parents let me choose. Plenty don’t. By the time they’re of age, most children already show an aptitude. It’s a natural fit to mark them as such. And why not? What’s the harm in reminding them of their strengths? What’s the harm in giving them a tether?”

His upper arms shuddered, but his forearms successfully remained still.

“I chose Dirthamen to honor the freedom my clan showed me. They didn’t know what was best for me any better than I did.” She shrugged and scoffed. “I don’t worship our gods any more than I worship Andraste. They’re only stories. All of it’s just a story. Most of it’s never offered a good answer for someone like me. Why should I believe in any of them? Why should I ignore one more than another? Why should I expect them to protect me when I can’t even be a good example of any of them?”

He finally released her hands, though she drew them away stiltedly. She rubbed her eyes. Each time she scowled when a nerve angrily protested in her forehead, he scowled in tandem. “How long has it been?”

“I took the marks just before I left for the Conclave.”

He frowned. His head dipped, but the movement was slow and controlled. “You suffered as long as that?”

“That’s not so long. Everyone suffers – elves most of all. Was it ever really otherwise?” She snorted and rubbed her neck as ripples of aches caused contortions in various parts of her face. “Arlathan. Why should I believe that, either? There’s more comfort in one Dalish lullaby than an entire tome about something we’ll never have again. And even if we could, how could we know if it would be anything like the stories?”

The lone finger that had formerly twitched on his hand hours earlier now clenched instead. “Then let me show you something else.”

“I can’t sleep now. I already lost a day. More.”

“What makes you think that you need to sleep to go into the Fade?”

She hesitated.

“What makes you think that you were still awake?”

Her head whirred back and forth.   

The vaguest impish shimmer passed through his eyes. “Are there normally trees outside your windows?”

She checked the windows again to see the lazy waving of branches’ silhouettes and mottled shadows. “What–”

“Come,” he smiled.

She stood, her face suddenly devoid of spasms and instead replaced by amazement.

They descended the stairs, but when Solas opened the door, it was nighttime. Skyhold was gone. A small glen surrounded them, midnight dew glittering in the moonlight. She scanned the area several times. She stepped gingerly in the deep grass and sparse, weedy flowers.

Solas stared on as she acclimated.

“What’s this?”

“Did you expect something else?”

It took her a long moment to face him or speak. “I thought–”

“There is no reason whatsoever to resurrect your own memories. You clearly remember them well enough.”

“So what’s this?”

“Come and see.”

They wandered a distance both short and far – the Fade had such an effect on time and measurement. She glanced about, often no differently than a vigilant scout. Though the area was deserted apart from an owl and a number of insects, the dark textures of night made her twitch. Sparse breezes made strangely deafening echoes as they disturbed the dense, shivering leaves of ash trees, the black knots of their trunks scarcely less formidable than a demon’s eyes in the steady but dim moonlight. More than once, she reached behind her back, the finely-honed reflexive move for her stave too ingrained to override, even here.

Solas observed her but was unfazed. His stride remained quiet, even confident. There was no reason for it to be otherwise. But he swallowed. “There are times when that which we see is not the truth. There are times when a shadow means safety, not a threat.”

She sighed and flicked her eyes about as they walked. “I don’t know where we are. What do you expect?”

His smile – that smile – resurfaced. “There are also times when a shadow is only a shadow.”

They reached a clearing much wider than the first. There were only two figures there. A heavily-cloaked man crouched low over a crude pot resting on a small campfire while a Dalish girl writhed on a small pile of skins a yard away. Her vallaslin were fresh. Her upper arms were bonier than a young halla’s fetlocks. She sweated. Her bronze skin – perhaps ordinarily a gleaming sight – had a hardened, tired look. She bore the many freckles of one who had wandered long and often in the wilds. Her hands and forearms showed glancing bruises and scrapes, as if she was clumsy – or a disrupted sleeper.

“Do you see them, vhenan?”

“Is that –” She swallowed hard as her throat failed. She stared. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes. You do.”

She stared awhile longer. “I didn’t know she had Dirthamen’s marks.”

“Few did. Few ever will.”

“Then that’s –”

Ameridan scooped the hot liquid from the pot into a small wooden cup. He inched along the ground by his kneecaps as he focused intently on not spilling the steaming contents. Telana suddenly howled. Her arms stiffened at her sides and her hands each squeezed a fistful of the makeshift blankets as her torso arced upward. Ameridan hastily rested the cup on a stone and rushed to hold her hands. The instant he did, her spine returned to the lambskins. She moaned as her head lolled. The motion gradually became gentler, even careful. Ameridan’s hands glowed as he uttered words in too quiet of a tone to easily note their meaning.

Telana stilled. Her breathing was strained, her pulse still visibly taxed. She suddenly coughed forcefully. She rolled onto a side, as if expelling water from her lungs. She gasped several times and reached for her throat, as if choking on an errant piece of food. He clapped her back.

The moment she stopped coughing, she writhed around. In a smooth whirl, she grabbed his wrist and held it fast, her fingers scarcely long enough to accomplish the task.

He laughed from deep in his abdomen.

She growled – not a grunt but a low, fierce hum.  

He went on laughing, but the noise was sufficiently musical that Telana’s snarled mouth soon smoothed. Two shadows grew between her eyebrows.

“Welcome back,” he finally chirped.

“Who are you?”

He smirked. “Someone who knows what desperation looks like well enough to ignore remarks like that.”

Telana hesitated and eventually wavered, yet her hand remained clamped around his wrist. “Do you look at everyone like this?”

He considered the question. His face furrowed unrelentingly. “Not when I’m allowed the use of all my limbs.”

She glowered.

He gestured to her hand with the barest bob of his chin. “Do you always draw blood as a greeting?”

She finally glanced down. Her fingernails had made five small but unmistakable punctures into his wrist. “Only when someone doesn’t understand what they’re looking at.”

“‘Who.’”

She cocked her head a fraction.

He shrugged with his face. “You’re not an animal or a chair, are you?”

The wind rustled her thick, sweat-caked locks – haphazardly astray in all directions – and his horsehair-like cluster of dark strands tied simply but methodically high on the back of his head. They stared each other down with the intensity of hunters stalking prey.

Telana let him go. She swallowed thickly and sighed. “Why did you help me?”

“Shouldn’t I have?”

“No.”

He reached for the little wooden cup and offered it to her. “You were prone by the side of the road. I might’ve been the only one to pass that way in a week or better.”

“Good.”

He leveled a keen, plain, unblinking gaze on her. She returned it. Once again, only the wind broke their concentration.

Telana looked down at the cup and sniffed it. Satisfied, she sipped it intermittently. Ameridan returned to the pot and stirred it several more moments. He took two bowls from a rucksack and scooped out the contents in earnest: soup. When Telana had finished with the broth – which took some time considering how often she paused to watch her rescuer – he pushed a bowl in her direction.

“What do you want?” she grunted, her throat still unused to both nourishment and speech.

“I want you to eat.”

She frowned at the bowl but relented. They both slurped and supped, content enough with the task of a meal and their apparent truce to stay mute for the duration. Telana finished hers too quickly for Ameridan’s liking, so he replenished it – twice.

“How long have you been traveling?” he finally nudged.

“A few weeks.”

“Alone?”

She closed her eyes and winced mildly. She placed the half-full bowl in her lap and wiped her mouth with a swipe of her forearm, but she hissed lightly when her mouth grazed a cut on the top of her wrist.

Without waiting for permission, Ameridan hurried to take her hand. He murmured more spell words. Telana’s annoyance was at odds with surprise at his competency and efficiency. She watched him work and did him the basic courtesy of sitting still until he had finished the healing. “You’re a mage,” she muttered.

“Why not?”

She shook her head, slightly dazed again. “I’m sorry. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen someone use magic without fear of being watched.”

“So you said.” He took a small wineskin from the rucksack, wrestled the cork open, and took a long but careful pull from it. “Why did you leave your clan?”

Telana snorted. “You know why. You saw.”

“I’ve never met a Dreamer.”

“Well, now you have.”

He held out the wineskin.

She gingerly sipped from it several times.

His eyes narrowed as his mouth fended off a grimace. “Is it always that bad?”

Her mouth busy with swallowing, she frowned and wagged her head. “Worse.”

“How long does it last?”

She took one more pull of wine – longer, and much less delicately now. She exhaled greedily as she handed the skin back to him. “As long as it lasts.” She ran her hands – still stiff and unsteady – through her dulled hair. She drew her knees up and hugged them tightly as she stared into the dying cooking fire. “You didn’t say what you wanted yet.”

“Why should I want anything? I have fine company on a fine night, with fine wards to guard against danger. What else is there to hope for?”

“Fallen for my charms, did you?”

“Not a bit of it. You’re talented.”

“How would you know?”

“You can see things before anyone else does. You can learn things before they exist in this world. You talk in –” He cut himself off. “Did you know that?”

She vaguely rubbed her throat. “I must do. I’m usually too raw to speak when it’s over.”

“You need help.”

She drew her hand away barely in time to avoid scratching herself with her suddenly-rigid fingers. “I don’t need a damned thing from you,” she sneered hurriedly.

“Can you feed yourself when it happens? Can you move? Can you keep from falling off a hillside if a fit comes on you suddenly?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know it well enough. After all,” he smirked, “I’m a mage.” He mimicked her earlier tone flawlessly. “And I could use someone like you on my side.”

“For what?”

“Nothing you haven’t already seen or done.”

“That’s not an answer.” Her voice verged on biting.

He nodded conciliatorily. “Alright.” He finished the wine and smacked his lips clean as he replaced the cork on the wineskin. “I’ll give you a different one.”

The pause that followed sat ill with Telana, her wary readiness outweighing her bodily exhaustion. But she kept her silence. She watched him, the frustrated light in her face a different shade now. She watched him simply to watch him.

Ameridan folded his hands quietly in his lap. He smiled, not in jest this time. “How would you like to save the world?”

[antihero-writings]

His Butler, and the Problem with Magic, Chapter 1—Black Butler/Harry Potter Crossover for the Multi Fandom Valentine’s Exchange 2018 (Full fic–LONG post incoming)

Fic Title: His Butler, and the Problem with Magic 

Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian has found himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?

Character Focus:  Ciel 

Notes:

Ah, remember when I created that event for Valentines day? Good times, huh? Well here I am, the creator of the event, finally posting…aaand it’s almost July. 

Dear @elegantkittycat needless to say I’m SOOOO sorry I took SOOOO long to finish this. I am ultimately super glad I participated, as this was a great fic and experience for me, but I really should have realized, with all the stuff going on in my life during March I wouldn’t have much time, and that I should have just manned the event, not participated. Ah well, live and learn I guess. 

To that end, (I messaged you about this many months ago), there came a point where it was already super long, I had no idea how to continue/finish, a lot to edit, and finishing the entire fic was not worth tearing my life apart for, so I decided to find a place to stop (hehe…I apologize that the place I found is cliffhanger-y), and get to editing (…I really don’t know why it took me THAT long to edit…My apologies, once again). This means that the fic is, unfortunately, not complete. I would, of course, love to finish at some point, but I’ve come to recognize I’m not very good at finishing WIPs, so I’m not going to promise anything. Even so, I hope you still enjoy what I was able to write, and it isn’t too big of a letdown that it is currently incomplete! Like any writer, the more I hear that people liked it, and want to hear how it ends, the more chance there is I will get motivated to finish it!!

As far as the subject matter itself, I know most of your prompts were romantic, so I apologize that this fic almost ended being anti-romantic XD But the reason that I decided what I decided to write for you is because you were also the only person who said they thoroughly enjoyed crossovers and gave the most crossover prompts. I absolutely love writing crossovers and, seeing how we also had a ton of fandoms in common in general, I thought we might be a good match. And, as you can see, that Black Butler/Harry Potter idea definitely sparked my creativity! (Plus I was just re-reading Chamber of Secrets!) 

I actually usually write fusion-style crossovers (where you put the characters of one fandom into the universe of another) so it ended up being super fun to write a normal crossover! I’m starting to wonder why I don’t do it more often, the different characters interacting provided some great comedic opportunities! And these two fandoms worked surprisingly well together—(I mean, I think I’ve even heard the Weston arc of Black Butler was inspired by Harry Potter, so it makes sense) I’ve also been trying to learn how to write comedy, so, even though it made things more challenging for me, I was glad to have a comedic prompt to work with! (That is also why this took extra long). I’ve also never written a crack fic before—(I don’t know that this is a full-on crack fic, but I think there are some elements there)—so please go easy on me!! There may be some cringe/chessy-ness. But you said the crazier the better, so I hope this is wacky enough! XD Thanks for the wonderful prompts and ideas!!!A couple of notes about the fic itself:

1. I’ve seen people using lots of different pronouns for Grell, I decided to go with “he” because the fic is in Ciel’s perspective and that’s what Ciel calls Grell. 

2. I know in the dub Grell calls Sebastian “Bassy.” However, in the Japanese, the play of “Sebastian” to “Sebas-chan” is one of my favorite things in the series, and is just about the most genius use of the -chan honorific I’ve ever heard, and there was no way I wasn’t using it, even if everything else is English-ified XD. (For anyone who doesn’t know the -chan honorific is kind of a cutsey, affectionate, familiar way of referring to someone in japanese, usually a girl). 

3. I couldn’t decide what Hogwarts house to put Ciel in, so I left it ambiguous—I know the obvious choice is Slytherin, but he also has some Ravenclaw tendencies (and if the Weston houses are indeed inspired by the Hogwarts houses, the one Ciel’s in sounds like Ravenclaw). I hope you enjoy it!!! It’s been a long time coming!!!

Chapter 1:

The great hall, quite frankly, looked like Valentine’s day threw up on it. Those lurid pink flowers from lunch still lined the walls, but now bright streamers glided across the ceiling, big, shiny hearts fluttered in the air, reflecting mood lighting, and bubble hearts popped out of bouquets of roses, (each flower cut into hearts). The ceiling itself not only continued to drop confetti, but was blighted by puffy clouds that read the same banalities you could find in every Sweethearts box; Be Mine, and True Love, and XOXO. (The clouds may have actually read that outside too, but Ciel didn’t want to check.) The burly cupids from earlier in the week lumbered about the room, continuing to pelt people with off-key music, and cards that only the most hopeless and idiotic of romantics would provide, filled with the same empty statements the clouds read—(every once and a while a howler burst forth, and the actual band would come to a shrieking halt at “YOU’RE REALLY CUTE”).

Lockhart had insisted a Valentine’s day ball was in order—(a lurid end to a lurid day)—and remarked with a toss of his his perfect hair and a blinding smile that it would be ‘just the thing’ to brighten everyone’s moods.

The fact that Lizzie had been the first (of many, mind you) to offer her decorative expertise and assistance may or may not have contributed to the overall… valentines-day-puked- and-so-will-I vibe of the room.

Currently, said mission to lift the general spirit was failing; aside from the few school lovebirds, (who were already widely despised and avoided, without school-sanctioned and overly sugary displays of affection) most people took this as the perfect opportunity for your daily dose of sulking at the sidelines, and contemplating if magic was quite worth this amount of suffering. Not least of all Ciel, who was currently propped against the wall behind the food table. (Lizzie had pried him away from his brooding earlier to dance, but now he happily returned to the indent he’d made in the wall). He had made many attempts throughout the evening to sneak a piece of chocolate cake, but Sebastian always magically appeared to slap his hands away whenever he got too close.

Most people would have stayed in their dorms, given the chance. Lockhart, however, had sent everyone cards with his kissy face on them, telling them flirtatiously not to dawdle, and his commands got more sugary, and insistent, (not to mention awkward) the longer they stayed indoors, and floated over their heads until they dragged their butts to the ball. This was particularly affective at making sure everyone was there, because the girls melted for his voice, and the boys wanted to shut him up as soon as possible.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Ciel!” A certain Indian prince put his arm around the earl’s neck and noogied him.

“Wha—No!” Ciel struggled like a fish out of water. Upon release he wiped his hands on his dress robes (the robes Sebastian had thrown together for the event—his ‘thrown together,’ of course, looked like others ‘spent-months-laboring-over-this’)—as if he didn’t want to catch Soma’s contagious happiness. “And I’d thank you to not touch me so casually!”

“I’m sorry Ciel, it’s just seeing all this love in the air makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside!” he spun around, “Doesn’t it do the same for you?”

“That’s called acid reflux.”

Soma pouted.

“Ciieel!” Lizzie’s hug was a torpedo. She snared his hands and spun him around, “Come dance with me!”

“Ack…I just danced with you ten minutes ago! How many times do I have to dance with you before you’re satisfied?!”

“Don’t you want your fiancé to be happy?” Her green eyes, (which were already big), became the puppy dog eyes of a little girl who wants an expensive toy.

“Don’t you?” he grumbled.

“I’ll dance with you, Elizabeth!” Soma came to the rescue. “It would be an honor to dance with such a lovely young lady!”

She blushed—“Oh please! It would be more than an honor to dance with a Prince!”—and curtsied, shooting Ciel an icy look, before joining the dance.

The young earl folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.

As if that wasn’t enough sappiness for a lifetime, cloying words floated to his ears:

“Oh Professor Michaelis~!”

Ciel’s brow twitched.

“Come now Lavender, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Ahh, he’s so noble!” came a not-so-whispered consensus.

Ciel jerked his head to see the group of girls crowding around his butler, like birds to sunflower seeds in the park.

Rather than sharing his annoyance, and refusing their advances, Sebastian shimmered with flattery and flirtation. A few of them offered him boxes of chocolates and other sweets, which he took with flowery compliments, but surely had no intention of eating—it didn’t take a love expert to know they were all laced with love potions. (Or maybe he could eat them anyways; the jury was still out if love potions had any affect on the demon…some magical methods worked on him and others didn’t).

Ciel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “Don’t you have better things to do?!” he shouted over the throng.

Sebastian chuckled. “Mr. Phantomhive, don’t you know it’s rude to question a teacher?”

Ciel growled.

“These lovely ladies took time out of their day to offer me gifts,” the butler’s calm voice carried across the room. “It would be rude to refuse them.”

There was a syrupy sigh from the group.

“Ugh,” Ciel gave the opposite kind of sigh, and turned away before he gave into the urge to murder.

A familiar laugh at his side made him turn.

“What’s so funny?” he asked the Undertaker.

“Oh nothing much,” Undertaker forwent his usual dog biscuits for a piece of cake, “I just find your sour mood rather humorous.”

“You know me, I’m always in a sour mood.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he said, his mouth full of cake, “but,” he swallowed, “it seems the atmosphere of love and joy has put you in a particularly foul state of mind,” he pointed a black nail at him.

“I just don’t find romance being thrown in my face to make for a very fun evening, that’s all. One of Lizzie’s cutsey rampages is enough for me…but this?” he shuddered.

“Well, some would say it’s sweet. That it makes them feel happy and romantic.”

“When I rise to power, those people will be sterilized.”*

He laughed. “Always the life of the party, you are.”

“What? Are you one of those people?”

“I wouldn’t say so. But seeing you in such a state is worth all the romance any day.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he grunted.

Undertaker set down his plate and twirled in front of him, then leaned forward and spoke behind his hand, “What do you say we make this party…a party?” he reached into one of his drapey sleeves and pulled out a vial, teasing it in front of his face.

A quizzical look from Ciel made Undertaker whistle in the direction of the nearby punchbowl.

Ciel sighed and rubbed his temple. “Spiking the punch…really? Isn’t that a little too cliché, even for you?”

“I prefer the term ‘failsafes.’ Even you have to admit, the atmosphere could use a little...” he glanced around the room, “spiking. Besides,” he leaned in close and whispered, “this isn’t alcohol, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“…What is it then?” Ciel moaned, eyeing the ex-reaper.

He stood back up to his full height. “I’m not one to spoil the punchline before I tell the joke.”

The young earl sighed, “You really think we should deprive people of their misery? I’m not one to interrupt some good, old-fashioned sulking.”

“The general idea is that those who are miserable would like to…not be.”

“They also say that misery loves company. Misery and I, for instance, have quite the close relationship.”

As if called by them saying ‘misery’ too many times, Lockhart’s pretty face showed up.

Ciel coughed to cover his distaste.

“Ah Undertaker! Good to see you here! Everyone’s loving the party aren’t they?”—He gestured to the glowering room—“It’s so wonderful to see all these young people in love!” he gave a throaty chuckle.

“Well, I wouldn’t say everyone.” Undertaker had a way with honesty.

“What makes you say that? Did someone tell you they weren’t enjoying it? We can’t have that!”

“It’s not so much anyone specific, but—”

“…What’s that you have?” his eyes fell on the vial that Undertaker had barely tried to conceal. Despite Ciel’s theory that Lockhart was dumber than a bag of rocks (even if the rocks were magic), it didn’t take long for the truth to dawn on him, “Spiking the punch are we?” He held up an accusatory finger, “Naughty naughty. I would have expected this from one of the students, but shouldn’t a man of your stature know better?”

“What stature?” Ciel snorted.

“What’s that, Dear Boy?” Lockhart leaned forward.

Undertaker put his hand on Ciel’s head, covering his vision with his sleeve. “The young Er—student was just about to say that a man of my stature is not one to shy away from a little fun.” he put his other hand on Ciel’s shoulder, his grip a little too tight.

“I hardly think it’s ‘a little fun.’ We don’t want any students getting hurt, nor do we the party ruined, now do we? All it takes is one slip of the foot and someone ends up in the hospital.” He held out his hand, expecting him to hand over the vial.

“On second thought, do it,” Ciel whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be the kid who winds up in the hospital. Anything to get me out of this hellish party.”

“What are we up to?” Dumbledore joined the conversation. It appeared as though Lizzie had got to even the headmaster, as he had bows in his beard and hair, though he didn’t seem to mind much.

“I regret to inform you that our dear Undertaker has intents to spike the punch.” Lockhart said like he was a student tattling.

“Ah,” the headmaster said casually, popping a heart candy in his mouth and burping out a heart, “(Pardon me). Well you can’t blame him for trying to bring a little…sprucing up, to the room, can you?” he lifted his hands and smiled genially.

“Are you saying that my party is not of the highest caliber?”

“Oh we aren’t denying that you have an air for the grandiose, Gilderoy,” he began cutting the cake with his wand; “Mr. Phantomhive, would you like some cake?”

Ciel glanced at Sebastian, who was currently preoccupied, and tried not to smirk. “I’d love some, thanks.”

Dumbledore cut him a huge slice, handing it to him gracefully, as if he were dropping a tiny lemon sherbet into his palm instead of a mountain of chocolate. Ciel inclined his head in gratitude, (and made sure to eat a big bite when Sebastian was looking, and the incense on his face was worth it—he, of course, couldn’t do anything butler-like with the headmaster and another teacher standing there).

“Don’t beat around the bush Albus!” Lockhart cut back in, “What is it you’re trying to say?”

“No one denies your party-throwing skills, dear Professor Lockhart.” He stood, placing his hands behind his back, “But your em…” he cleared his throat, “other skills can sometimes be rather lacking…”

“I’m shocked, and hurt, Dumbledore.” He put his hand over his heart. “Shocked and hurt. I’ll have you know that I won ‘best party-thrower’ in three”—he held up three shaky fingers—“countries! I think that should more than make up for any spoiled brats who can’t see fun even if it’s standing in front of their face!”

“Was he talking about me?” Ciel murmured to Undertaker, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “I feel like he was talking about me.”

“And what countries were those?”

As they argued, Dumbledore inclined his head towards the punch bowl.

It was Ciel’s turn to be shocked. Everyone knew their headmaster was rather eccentric, but he didn’t take him to be so reckless. He’d expect this from Undertaker… but Dumbledore? He thought he had at least a little ‘responsible-grown-up’ in him (even though Undertaker was definitely a lost cause).

Ciel turned to stop the ex-reaper, but now a dotted outline remained where Undertaker previously had been, and a second later he saw a long-nailed hand appear above the punch bowl.

Ciel facepalmed.

Any desire he had to drink said punch, as well as be at this party at all, had gone into the negatives.

But, eh, at least he had cake now. So maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Young Master!” Sebastian snatched the plate from his hand, “How many times have I told you—!”

“Oh, so now you can walk away from the girls?” Ciel spun to his butler, whose arms were full of assorted treats. (Ciel, of course, knew he’d probably have walked away sooner if it weren’t for Lockhart and Dumbledore).

He tapped his foot on the ground (which somehow didn’t imbalance the tower of sweets), “I won’t allow it. You’ll get a tummyache.”

“I’m not a child!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at his whining. “That may be…but regardless, you have a delicate composition.” He leaned over and set Ciel’s unfinished plate in the ‘dirty’ pile. “Sweets of this size will certainly impair your gastrointestinal health.”

Ciel looked from side to side, hoping no one was listening, feeling his face grow hot. “Delicate!”

“Would you prefer a different term? Fragile? Frail?”

“I’m not a vase!”

“Tender?”

“I’m not a steak!”

Sebastian looked over his professor-glasses at him as if to say Do you think you’re talking to someone else?

Ciel groaned, giving his butler the victory.

Sebastian set his armful of gifts in a pile along the wall. Clapping his hands clean and wiping his brow.

“What, are you tired?” he mocked, knowing full well the demon couldn’t get tired. “Is having a bunch of high-school-girls fawn over you exhausting?”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Sebastian joked back, feigning thought.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of—”

A mischievous idea curled itself around his brain.

“You must be thirsty,” he said in a mockingly-concerned voice, trying to lean sideways on the table by the punch (but he almost fell over, and had to catch himself).

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t really require hydration like you humans do.”

Ciel gave him a look as if to say No, go ahead, I won’t mind. You really do look exhausted.

“But I suppose it couldn’t hurt….If you insist.”

“Oh I do.” He smirked as he watched Sebastian pour himself a cup.

More likely than not it wouldn’t have any affect on the demon, but, presented with the potential, he wasn’t going to deny himself a few hours to imagine what it might be like if it did.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Young Master?” he asked before raising the cup to his lips.

“Oh…I’m just enjoying the party.”

That didn’t clear things up. Sebastian’s brow furrowed, but, after taking a sip, he didn’t have time to ask because—

“The party has arri-ved~!” a certain familiar voice sang.

Ciel was starting to wonder if this was God finally deciding to punish him. Both master and butler felt like they were going to be violently ill, and simultaneously had a thought something akin to that’s my cue to leave! Before they could even make the first step, however—

“Ahh Sebas-chan!”

They winced, turning slowly to see Grell waving a princess wave at the butler over the crowd, while Ronald followed suit, nodding and blowing kisses towards the girls.

“All this love in the air,” Grell materialized beside them (they jumped a little), and crossed his hands over his heart, staring blinkily into the ceiling, “Kinda gets you thinking, doesn’t it.” He sidled up beside the demon.

“If you mean thinking about ending your life, indeed, it does.” Sebastian showed him no mercy.

“Playing hard to get, are we? Ah! How saucy!” he slapped his shoulder playfully,

Sebastian sighed, folding his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the nagging presence.

“Ciel! Ciel! Are you going to introduce me to your friends?!” Lizzie and Soma arrived at his side, as if hopeless romantics were coming out of the woodwork.

“They’re most certainly not my friends.” He cleared his throat.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Old Chap?” Ronald asked, “We may not be close, but I thought all those times we tried to kill each other meant something.”

Lizzie stared at Ronald, inching slowly away.

“Oh that’s just…a joke we have,” Ciel defended weakly.

“Oh…” Lizzie looked away, then recovered quickly, “Well, anyhow, you didn’t tell me Prince Soma was such a lovely dancer!”

“How was I supposed to know?” he grunted, “I’ve never danced with him!”

“Don’t be so rude, Ciel!” Soma defended her, “Please, you were like a—what are those dancers called? That’s right, a ballerina! —You were like ballerina, Miss Lizzie.”

“Don’t be so modest! Ciel, should take a page out of your book!”

“What page?” Ciel demanded, “The one on being a spoiled brat?”

“Sounds like someone’s already read that one,” She punched his shoulder. Her attitude changed in a second again, “I’m so thirsty!” She reached for the punch ladle.

“Wait—NO!” Ciel grabbed her wrist.

She blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I—uh” his face was a thermometer slowly going into the red, “I just umm…You don’t want to drink that.”

“I don’t?”

“No…yeah…it uh, tastes like uhh… cat pee,” he started to pull her away.

“How would you know what cat pee tastes like?” Ronald’s butted in.

“Maybe a cat peed in my mouth one time, you don’t know my life!”

“I’m having a hard time believing a nobleman such as yourself—”

“I just don’t think she should drink it, that’s all! Is that so inconceivable?!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Sheesh,” he shook his head, “you Nobles are pieces of work!”

Ciel rolled his eyes, turning back to Lizzie. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm?”

“But… I don’t want to go back to my dorm.” Lizzie pouted, “I’m having fun! …Or at least I was,” she murmured.

“…Look I’m sorry. I’ll-I’ll dance another number with you, okay?”

As they walked out onto the floor, he watched the other students drink the unassuming punch over his shoulder.

At the risk of sounding even more cliché; the day started like any other. Ciel got up before the other boys in his dorm to a chilly February morning, and started his routine—an aspect of which was speaking to Sebastian about today’s mission and objectives before classes began. Chamber of Secrets, and the heir, figuring out who they were, and how to dispose of, or join them, accordingly, with little to no leads. With his day robes on, and homework and books in hand, he slipped out into the hall.

He’d soon wish he stayed in bed.

Once the common room door closed, his day-from-hell would begin.

For a magic school, not much happened day-to-day. Well, that wasn’t true, Harry Potter added some…pizzazz. But it was still a school, and once you get used to the magic…normal-school-things happen.

Today was one of those days which reminded him that this was not a normal school.

Sure it was the day after Valentines Day, but did those Huffpuffs have to kiss in the hallways?

And guess what? You there, standing in the hall, blocking everyone’s way? Yeah, you. There is a perfectly nice wall behind you, just waiting to be leaned against (ignore the judgmental painting in the background).

And why did anyone who wasn’t in the throws of *shudders* youthful passion have this glazed look in their eyes, like they’d eaten pot brownies for breakfast?

Most of the time, the few students who were awake at this hour chatted and giggled, inflicting the general populace with the daily gossip, at which, sure, he would still roll his eyes and groan, but it was at least better than kissing and clogging up the hallway (as well as each other’s mouths).

He was relieved to finally reach Sebastian in the The Defense Against the Dark arts classroom.

This was one thing that was no surprise, as he shared the teaching position of the class with Lockhart—(no easy task, as they were both divas who didn’t enjoy sharing spotlight, and one was totally incompetent, and the other was as overqualified a professional chef at a kids easy-bake bake off. But their even-keeled headmaster had to give them each equal time teaching. At the beginning of the year, after it was decided which classes would get which teacher, some students begged the heads of houses to reconsider putting them in Sebastian’s class. Sebastian, amicable and excessive as ever, decided to host extra classes after school to satisfy the disappointed students).

“Alright, shall we pick up where we left off?” Ciel marched towards Sebastian, throwing his books on the nearest desk.

However, unlike his usual, attentive I-solved-all-our-problems-overnight-here’s-the-solution self, the butler stared out the window…he didn’t even pay his master immediate attention.

Said master tapped his foot impatiently on the ground and snapped, “Oy, Sebastian!”

“Mm?” the demon faced him, slowly.

Again, there was that glazed look. Like he had been in a donut factory.

“Young Master, I… didn’t hear you come in.” His eyes darted around the room.

“You bloody well didn’t,” he continued to tap his foot, muttering, “Demon hearing my ass.”

When Sebastian didn’t use said demon hearing to reprimand him for swearing, he knew something was wrong. He stopped being aggravated for a second and looked a little closer.

There was a smudge on his glasses. His hair was sticking up in front of his forehead, and there was some cat hair on his robes (probably from a clowder he kept in his room).

He was…imperfect. His appearance, while still practically impeccable by human standards was sloppy by Sebastian’s. His attention, divided.

And that was reason to worry.

Ciel leaned over the desk and snapped in his face. “You can ogle photos on your own time!”

Sebastian looked at him, but every time he focused on him, as if magnetized, his eyes reeled back to a photograph on the desk.

“Do you think…do you think he could like me?” Sebastian said in a strangely uncertain voice that didn’t sound at all like him.

“Huh?”

He had never known Sebastian to be uncertain of, or fascinated by, anything, nor to pry his concentrations from the missions, especially not for something so trivial and/or emotional as photos.

Ciel walked around the desk to get a good look at it. He thought it might be Lockhart, as the room was crawling with his glimmering face. Instead, in a shattered case—(Ciel thought he might hurl)—the demon fixated on a picture of Grell.

The young earl vaguely remembered Grell giving it to him—mentioning passionately something about it being a way for him to be with him at all times, with hearts in his eyes. At the time, Sebastian had rolled his eyes, said, ‘is there a version of this when I can see you at no times?’ and tossed it into the drawer with enough disregard that the glass had shattered, and (now this is just speculation) hoped to never look at it again.

For what unholy (or holy, by demon standards…no, it definitely wasn’t holy) reason would Sebastian return to it now? And what’s worse, how could a picture of Grell possibly distract him from the task his master had placed before him?

Was it possible that all those pictures, cards, the cheesy lines, and sappy gestures, all the maudlin advances, had finally made it through to Sebastian?

Hell no. He’d watch the world burn before that happened.

Hang on a minute, let’s check.

Nope, still snow on the ground.

Okay, more plausibly, did he lose his mind?

Let’s tone it down a little; Maybe this was a—albeit not funny—joke?

“What are you on about?”

The demon picked up the picture. “Grell.” He rushed towards Ciel, putting the picture in front of his eyes—“Get that out of my face!”—“Do you think he’d ever want to be with someone like me?”

The earl began to laugh, a fake, loud laugh, then abruptly stopped.

“Very funny, Sebastian, you like Grell. Can we get back to work now?”

Sebastian grabbed a book off his table and Ciel had to duck to keep it from hitting his head.

“What are you on?!”

“I may be cleverly witty when the situation calls for it, but I am not joking, Young Master! And I’d thank you to treat my beloved one with respect!”

Ciel blanched, his eyes glued open, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. “You mean this,” he pointed to the situation at hand, the words soft and enunciated, a nervous laugh behind them, “This isn’t a joke?”

“No!” he cradled the picture, “I think Grell’s the most lovely person I ever met.”

He waited for the butler to burst into laughter.

…and he kept waiting.

He knew more than anyone, neither master nor butler pulled stunts of this caliber.

Ciel grabbed one of the scrolls on the wall and wacked his butler over the head with it.

“Quit playing around! We don’t have time for children’s games!”

“I don’t understand, Young Master,” he rubbed his head (as if that could possibly hurt the demon). “You aren’t insulting Master Grell, are you?”

“No, I’m insulting you, you twat!”

He swiped the picture from him (hurt flared in the butler’s eyes). “You see how the glass is shattered here?”

He placed his hand over his heart. “Who would do a thing like that to such a perfect face?”

“You, you bloody idiot! Don’t you remember?” he smacked his head with the paper again, making it crease, “When Grell gave you that you tossed it into the drawer and said you ‘wanted to see him at no times.’”

“Me?” he snatched the picture back, holding it tight to his chest. “No, I would never!” he said like Grell was the purest little ray of sunshine, and Ciel said he’d kicked a puppy yesterday.

“No, what you would never, is return said…” he cleared his throat and didn’t finish the sentence.

“I don’t understand, Young Master. Here I am, bearing my heart. Why must you squash it?”

His eye twitched. “To remind you you don’t have a heart!”

“I—”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” he slammed his hands on the desk, “There’s no way this can be real!” he slumped onto the desk and ran his hand through his hair, looking more deranged than the one who was actually delirious, “Why, in all that is—How—Why would you ever—?!”

“Be careful, Young Master, don’t let that anger fester; it’s bad for your health.”

And it dawned on him.

He slammed his palm into his forehead.

The punch at the party—it was so obvious. Undertaker had even told him it didn’t contain alcohol.

“Young Master, are you saying our love is not real? Are you insulting master Grell?” his voice became a sickening tone.

Ciel now fully understood the situation: Sebastian, having been given a love-potion—(turns out they did work on him…or, even if they didn’t, maybe Undertaker made some extra-potent, mutant variety)—and Grell being the first person he saw (or heard) after taking it, fully believed Grell to be his one-true-love.

And as he watched a shadow (much bigger and…than the demon’s human shape) spread across the floor, he realized he believed it enough to attack anyone who stood against said love. Even his master.

The young earl knocked into desks as he scrambled way, his outward attitude towards the situation performing a 180:

“Uh, no no! No, no, no! I believe you!” he grabbed his bag, “There’s nothing weird or horrifying about you being in love with Grell at all. I just was a little…mmmm surprised!” his voice went up an octave. He shoved a desk into the space between them, “That’s all?! I’ll…I’ll just be going, now! You uh…you go back to…what you were doing!” he gave him a thumbs up (something he’d never done in his life) as dashed out the door.

After getting some ways down the hall, he doubled over, breath sharp and fast, piercing his side, his thoughts whirring around.

He’d wanted to mess with Sebastian, but he, first of all, hadn’t thought it would work, and second of all, hadn’t meant to mess with him this much—especially not in a way that affected him. This wasn’t fun or funny, this was just…gross. And now he had to fix it, when, had he left the situation alone and not given Sebastian the punch in the first place, he’d have his demon butler to help him, and the predicament would probably be solved in less than a day.

Now when he saw the students making out, or walking around dazed, he understood the full ramifications of Undertaker’s little stunt.

Speaking of which…

He heightened his pace until he was rushing through the halls, speeding past dreamy eyes, and cuddly couples.

Everyone, everyone had been at that party. Not only had the whole school been at that party, the punch was one of the few things available for the sweaty and thirsty dancers to drink. Now instead of one night of suffering in a lovebird’s playground, the whole school could be set to pop music. And, like the villain in a fairy tale, it was his job to break apart the happy couples.

And his first order of business was to find the mastermind who put them together.

Undertaker performed many of the odd jobs around, and often made it a job to make things odd (but Ciel of course knew that his primary function was probably to make dead bodies disappear discreetly). He and Peeves were overly chummy, and their pranks could sometimes be unbearable…but neither had ever attempted something of this magnitude before.

He was close to Filch’s corridor—

When the bell rang.

In the pandemonium he had forgotten today was still a normal school day.

“Sebast—” he began, hoping for an easy way not to be late, but remembered that his butler was …otherwise occupied. He grit his teeth, clenched his fists, and hurtled towards the transfiguration classroom.

“Mister Phantomhive!” snapped a clipped voice as he swung open the door, gasping for breath. “I thank you not to be late! And while you’re at it, not to disrupt my class while in session!”

“Sorry—” he clutched at his side, “Professor— McGonagall.”

“Usually,” she ran her fingers along her wand, stretching out the word, “I would give you detention. However, as it seems you are not the only one…out of sorts this morning” she drummed her fingers on the podium, giving Ciel a moment to look around the room—There were always a few latecomers, especially during first period, but the number of empty chairs rivaled the number of students present—“I will let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you,” he coughed—“Professor.”—And slumped at his desk like an old sock.

Thankfully not everyone had been affected by the spiked punch. Certain kids in class had that far-off look in their eyes, and a few even kissed in class (they were definitely sent to detention, though, of course, nothing much mattered to them but their newfound love). There were also teachers who had starry looks, and instead of giving them genuine lessons, muttered trite words about love, like a broken radio that only plays emo songs. There were, however, others who acted just as confused, annoyed and shell-shocked as Ciel at the current predicament. Clearly they had either found something else to drink at the party, simply not drank anything, or escaped the festivities somehow.

McGonagall was clearly among the unaffected, and while he was grateful for a little normalcy, he might have traded her for someone a little more lenient, and liked to see how her disposition changed while under the affects of love.

Throughout the day, he told the few students who were still awake and alive to the world that someone had spiked the punch with a love potion the previous night. This seemed to give them relief that they weren’t going crazy, still, none of them had any idea what to do about it. Love potions weren’t exactly considered an important course in potions class, especially not with a teacher like Snape—(in fact, a certain Ravenclaw had asked how to make a love potion in class on Valentine’s Day, and later Ciel saw that Ravenclaw mysteriously lost ten points). Some worried for their friends, while others eyes lit with an impish glint at the realization that—as long as they didn’t insult their ‘true love’— they could do anything to mess with their friends.

He had to give Undertaker at least a little credit: that day was one of the most memorable in his entire time at Hogwarts:

During transfiguration, on multiple separate occasions, students, instead of transfiguring their hamsters into dominoes, transfigured them into rings, and flowers used to profess their love, or even propose to Professor McGonagall herself. She only looked down her nose, and demanded where this talent had been the entire semester, and wracked up a body count of detention-bound students.

In Herbology, while it was not nearly as exciting as others, Professor Sprout went on and on about how amazing Neville was—(whenever he passed him in the hallway that day) Neville looked like the red plants they were currently tending to. (He probably hadn’t had anyone else to talk to at the party).

If Divination wasn’t enough already, Trelawney made them look into their futures and see their potential for romance (…it was hard to tell if she was under the spell or not), and it was both worth noting, and a source of personal pride that she looked into Ciel’s and saw lots and lots of hate.

And best of all, during potions, which was his last class of the day, Snape looked like he was ready to kill someone…and got close when Lockhart burst in and proclaimed that he simply couldn’t take it anymore, that they were made for each other. (Out of all the the crazy, embarrassing things that happened that day, this was the one Ciel guessed would be the most difficult for either of them to live down).

Hilarious confessions aside, Ciel was relieved to find that the potions master was at least trying to counteract the curse himself, by having them make antidotes and anti-love potions, and drink them (allegedly, lots of students refused to drink them in earlier classes, so he had to forgo their Latin name and call them “Happy Sunshine Potions,” which was quite possibly the best string of words he’d ever heard Snape say, and the unaffected students looked like chipmunks holding in their laughter in when hearing it). Although this was another teacher Ciel would have liked to see under the affects, he was guessing the net worth of breaking the curse would be far greater.

However, as far as he could tell, currently, Snape’s attempts to douse the proverbial fire were ineffective. (Yet another reason to think Undertaker’s love potion was some mutant version).

At each break he had, Ciel attempted to find Undertaker—(Except at lunch, when everyone was screaming that Draco was running around, and in increasingly boisterous and/or risqué methods, trying to declare his love for Ron Weasley. While Harry and Ron were also running around, either avoiding him at all costs, or messing with him. It was, first of all, difficult to get around the crowd, and, second of all, not something to miss.)—But Undertaker had an ongoing disappearing act that had nothing to do with magic. The one thing Ciel knew, was that the old coot couldn’t have left; he’d want to see every glorious minute of the chaos he wrought, so Ciel wasn’t giving up on finding him.

After school, hungry, tired, and desperate (especially after a run-in with Peeves, through which he earned the ex-reaper’s location, but also a cluster of lipstick marks on his face) he finally found Undertaker back in the Divination Classroom (of course he just had to pick one of the tallest, most tiring towers to climb). The room was cold, and Trelawney was nowhere in sight.

The pretty, setting sky over the frosty roof outside didn’t provide an iota of solace.

Ciel rolled up his sleeves, his anger a newfound immunity to the cold, and, with fingers curled into fists, marched up to him.

“You.”

The Undertaker, resting against the windowsill, turned to the seething boy, grinned, and spoke as if this was no more than an ordinary meeting.

“My, Young Earl, looks like you’ve been getting busy.”

“Wh—?!” he remembered the marks on his face and rubbed them off on his sleeve as Undertaker cackled.

“You seem awfully upset about something,” Undertaker continued, “Don’t want to let it fester—as your butler would say.”

“You spiked the punch with a love potion.” The boy growled.

“Did I?” he put a finger on his chin as if thinking, “I can’t seem to recall.”

Ciel’s brow twitched. “You bloody well know you did, I watched you. Now tell me how to undo it.”

“How do undo it, you say? And why would we want to do a thing like that?”

“I am in no mood for your games.”

Undertaker shrugged. “‘Fraid I can’t help you then. You know the rules; no payment, no information.”

“The whole school is a joke! That’s your payment!”

He contemplated it. “Sure you wouldn’t like to give an old man a good chuckle?”

“I’m certain.”

He sighed. “I suppose you got me there. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t quite got to the whole undoing it part.” He twirled his hand in the air like the ringmaster in this show.

Ciel blinked, emotion flickering as he spluttered, “How can…? But you—? I—? What?!”

He laughed, and the Undertaker’s nonchalance and disregard made anger jumpstart his tongue.

“You made it, didn’t you?” he kept his voice low, and his hand on the wand in his pocket, marching forward, “You can at least tell me how you made it. Then maybe I can unmake it.”

Undertaker tapped his chin, as if knocking around the marbles in his skull, “Don’t much feel like it.”

“You don’t feel like it?! Listen here—!”

He no sooner pulled out his wand than it was in Undertaker’s hand. He hadn’t even noticed Undertaker draw his own wand.

Undertaker ruffled his hair as he walked by, dropping the boy’s wand back into his pocket, “Part of the fun is figuring it out for yourself, Young Earl. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

He headed down the stairs, leaving Ciel standing alone, angry breaths steaming up the chilly classroom.

When Ciel trudged back to his dorm, all the energy he had used to run around that day had given up the ghost. He barely noticed the smooching and starstruck kids in the hallways anymore, and didn’t have the energy to send even a derisive snort their way.

Sebastian was supposed to be the one running around trying to find answers. These menial tasks were beneath him. Hard work, and running around, looking for answers, was no suit for a fourteen-year-old boy to wear. Oh, Ciel would devise a particularly difficult and useless task for his butler to accomplish once he—or someone—finally broke the curse.

Caught up in thoughts of needless revenge, he ran into someone in the hallway, sending both their books to the floor.

“Sorry!” The boy called.

As they both crouched down to pick up their fallen items, Ciel looked up to see unruly black hair, crooked glasses, and lightning-struck forehead.

“Harry Potter.”

“Yeah…?”

“Sorry, I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Ciel Phantomhive.” He held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry smiled, taking his hand.

“Likewise.”

They both returned to their task.

“It looks like you haven’t been…love-ified,” Harry noted.

“You seem to have your wits about you as well.”

“Lucky us…Draco wasn’t so lucky though,” he laughed. “I heard someone spiked the punch at Lockhart’s Valentine’s day ball.”

“I heard that too.”

“A perfect end to Lockhart’s ball huh?”

“Hehe…yeah…”

Ciel turned to the next book, about to hand it to Harry.

Here’s the thing, about dark magic.

It has this sort of…pull. The more you use it, the more sway it has on you.

A pure soul looks at a dark object and feels uneasy, but doesn’t know why.

Someone who has participated in the dark before, let it creep in and corrode the soul, is attuned to the darkness. Like a resonant frequency, a humming in the back of their mind, putting them on the same wavelength, (and if they listen too long, they might shatter). They may not always know what it is or does, and sometimes they wont recognize why something has this aura, but they will know that an object is not just that, in as much as darkness is not just the absence of the light.

Ciel Phantomhive was no ordinary student. While he may have learned from the teachers at Hogwarts, the reason he was here was at the request of the Queen, not for learning, and his most informative teacher, was Sebastian. Before they arrived at Hogwarts, Sebastian, going above and beyond as always, made sure he knew more spells than half the students in his year. More importantly, however, fear of the dark had long left them both. Knowing dark magic, they surmised, would put them ahead of their enemies (not to mention their friends), and could be a powerful trump card were the situation to call for it.

When Ciel looked at this diary everything slowed. Like in a movie, when you can hear your heartbeat, and the camera zooms in. From the moment he saw it he knew it would be both silly and dangerous to think it was merely a diary. One may pour their soul into the words dear diary, but the Something that lurked beneath it’s pages was far more than the heartfelt and trivial adages of teenage boys and girls. There was something living in those pages.

He knew it was alive. Unlike other dark artifacts, which gave off a hint, a whisper of more-than-I-seem, this was more than a whiff of untapped potential, or forbidden mystery; the resonant darkness, rather than a faint, inanimate hum, was a Horror singing old-fashioned lullabies to himself in the darkest corners of the pages.

Ciel was tired. Tired of running around, tired of searching for a cure, tired of doing all the work himself. He wanted an easy way out. That’s how he’d always been. People who like to take the long way ‘round don’t make contracts with demons.

So, in a moment of weakness…

…or a moment of strength

He slipped the diary into his own bag.

That night, despite being interested enough in the book to steal it, he hadn’t had any energy to begin figuring out what that darkness was, meant, or could do. Nor did he have any energy to spend on figuring out the antidote to the plague himself. In fact, he had had so little regard for either, that he ignored the dumb looks of his roommates, slipped the diary into the chest at the foot of his bed, flopped facedown on top of his covers (screaming into his pillows for good measure), and went to sleep.

The next morning wasn’t much better. He woke up with a splitting headache, the love-zombies were still up to their shenanigans—(he half hoped it would end in the morning)—and when he tentatively checked on Sebastian, the demon had traveled further down the Grell-obsessed rabbit hole than before.

When Ciel entered the teacher’s lounge (it had taken a moment to find him) the smell of flowers smacked him full in the face. Unlike some of the teachers present, Ciel was unimpressed, and quite honestly queasy, to see that he had moved on from admiring the picture of his affection, to creating his own; or rather than a picture, a bust made of flowers of none other than his…erm lady-love, Grell.

Just like Sebastian, he was attentive to detail; only the freshest of flowers for his beloved, and each component of Grell’s complexion was a different flower: the coat was made of red Amaryllis’, the vest, brown orchids, the shirt, white hydrangeas, the face was pale dahlias, the eyes were green carnations, and the hair was, of course, roses. He wondered if Sebastian went far to find all of them, though knowing him he probably ran to the finest flower shop in Paris at 1:00AM that morning for them and was back before anyone could wonder where he’d gone.

Yes, quite far gone. But not far enough to forget the ‘offense’ Ciel had caused to his new master the day before.

Or perhaps Ciel had caused him new offense by blurting out “What the devil is this?!” upon seeing his labor-of-love.

If it was good idea in general for the public not to talk to the young earl, today, it was an inescapable rule: if people didn’t give him a wide berth, they learned quickly he was not in the mood for human (or reaper, or demon) interaction.

Wasting his time before class on pointless attempts to slap the delusion out of his butler was idiotic. So he headed to the library to actually try and make some progress, and picked up a book on love potions—(Madam Pince was too busy writing love poems to scold kids like him for going into the restricted section. Knowing this was a rare opportunity, he grabbed several more books he’d had his eyes on while he was there.)—with the intent to read up on counter curses every spare minute he got, not excluding during certain classes overtaken by horny teachers.

More students were missing from classes today, and those who weren’t were either more randy than before, or losing patience and brain cells every second they were around those afflicted. The teachers who were still in possession of their faculties—namely McGonagall, Snape, Vector, and Flitwick, (Madam Pomfrey was too, but she wasn’t present)—made an announcement at lunch, in front of their dreamy-eyed headmaster, that they were trying their best to find a solution to the problem presently.

While it was comforting to hear they weren’t sitting on their asses, and it would save him a hell of a lot of trouble if they did solve it, he didn’t expect they’d figure it out anytime soon. If Snape couldn’t figure it out on his own, he wasn’t sure they would have much luck, even together. Even if he had had faith in them, he wouldn’t have stopped his own research. He and Sebastian always did it their way, this was personality, not practice—(he’d learned from a young age he couldn’t rely on anyone else)—and a setback, even one that kept his butler from his work, wasn’t going to stop him.

It was during a disappointing lunch that he saw a flash of red in the doorway to the great hall. At first he thought nothing of it—it was probably a banner some kid made to impress their one-true-love, or a bunch of heart-shaped balloons, or a leftover decoration—it didn’t matter, he was going to try his best to eat, and read, in peace.

Until the ‘banner’ came inside to steal his food.

When he finally realized who it was, he practically screamed;

“Grell!”

“That’s my name darling, don’t to wear it out,” he blew a kiss, sitting up on the table.

“Love potions, huh?” in his horror, Ciel hadn’t even noticed Ronald had stolen the book (as well as a sandwich).

“Ooh!” Grell called, leaning in closer, raising his eyebrows. “Is somebody looking to trick some poor soul into loving him?”

“No! No, in fact I’m trying to un-romance someone, thank you very much.” He stood.

“That shouldn’t be too hard…for you.”

Ciel rolled his eyes.

“So, not that crushing the dreams of others isn’t in your repertoire, why do you want to do that?”

“It may be difficulty for you to understand, but some of us don’t look for romance in every guy they meet,” he stole the book back from Ronald (who was starting to to look too interested for the young earl’s comfort.)

“Now that’s just rude,” Grell folded his arms over his chest and put his chin in his hand. “But, I’ll choose to ignore your impotence,” he turned, becoming more animated, “because you’re in charge of my Sebas-chan. Speaking of love,” he said the word like it was fine caramel, “where is my precious Sebas-chan?” he looked around, casting his eyes towards the blank spaces at staff table.

“He’s—”

Before the sentence could fall on his tongue, the words snagged on the mental image of Grell and Sebastian canoodling like schoolboys.

“NO!”

That caught their attention.

“I mean uh—” he coughed, “No…He’s uhh…I…”

He could barely think with these images making him sick to his stomach. He set down what was left of the lunch he was no longer hungry for, trying to shove his brain into the mode where it could formulate a cunning plan.

“Well? Spit it out, boy! We haven’t got all day! Some of us have plans. I, for one, have a hair appointment this afternoon,” he fluffed his crimson locks.

“You know what?” Ciel chose a more confrontational approach. “I don’t have to tell you where Sebastian is.”

“You don’t have to, darling, you should want to.”

“No. You know what? I don’t want to. And you know why I don’t want to?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

He had to think of something fast. Something clever. A good excuse.

“Why don’t you ever want to spend time with me?” he slammed the book on the table.

So much for that.

“Huh?” Grell, Ronald—(and Ciel’s own brain)—responded upon hearing the words.

“Yeah. You heard me.” It wasn’t the best plan—hell, it wasn’t even a good plan—but Ciel was committed at this point, and came up with a plot fiercely in his mind, “That’s right. It’s always ‘Sebastian this’, ‘Sebastian that’, but what about me?!”

“What about you, brat? You’ve never shown any interest in me. What happened to ‘we’re definitely not friends?’” he mocked his voice.

“….That’s what I say to my true friends.” They definitely weren’t convinced, so he added, “I’m only nice to my fake friends.” (Ronald lifted his head like a dog being told he was a good boy all along).

“Regardless if you’re telling the truth—which, I don’t believe you are—what makes you think I’ll give you the key to my heart now, after you threw away your chances? That’s no way to treat a lady!”

“I…I never had the chance to,” he looked away and hugged himself, trying to look pitiful, “what with you fawning over Sebas…chan,”—it made him sick to speak the nickname, but not as sick as he would feel if they found each other— “you never even pay me any mind.”

“What’s there to pay mind to?”

Ciel bit his tongue, and tried not to let that get to him, reminding himself everything could and would be far worse.

“Hey, hey!” Ronald stepped in the middle, noticing the rising tension of the scene, “There’s a simple solution after all; why don’t you and Mr. Sutcliff go for a walk today? That’s not too much to ask, right?” he turned to Grell, “You’ll still have time to see Sebas-chan before your appointment.”

“I suppose,” Grell bit his nails, ruining his manicure—which he quickly realized, and petted them as if to say ‘forgive me!’ “But I’d better get some quality time with my Sebas-chan!”

“Does that sound alright with you, Mr. Phantomhive?”

The thought of spending any amount of quality time with the reaper was repugnant. But not more repugnant than certain other thoughts and predictions his brain was happy to provide.

“Yes, that sounds just fine.”

“Then let’s get this overwith,” Grell stepped dramatically off the table, twirling his high-heeled shoes in the air.

Ciel’s thoughts exactly.

But there was something he had to do first.

“Erm, Ronald, would you mind doing something for me while we’re on our walk?”

Grell put his hands on his hips, suspicion and curiosity in his eyes.

“Uhh sure—I mean, that depends on what it is”

He pulled Ronald aside, towards the wall, out of earshot of the red-haired reaper.

“I just need to buy some time,” he whispered, “Will you please get Sebastian out of the teacher’s lounge for me.”

“Um…” he glanced between the two of them. “I suppose I could. May I ask why?”

“No you may not.” When Ronald seemed less than happy with this response, he added, “I can pay you back. Money, sandwiches…whatever you want.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he grinned.

“Alright, Grell,” he cleared his throat, “it appears as though you and I will be going for a nice walk together.”

“‘Nice’ would be pushing it.” Grell muttered.

Ciel couldn’t agree more.

The scene reminded him too much of a Thomas Kinkade painting; the snow covered trees and grounds, the faint chirping of birds, the pitter of small animals in the snow, the patter of kids playing, as well as more than a few romantic escapades displayed for all the world to see—like everything else in this sugarcoated nightmare, it was so sweet and was sickening. Ciel spent great lengths trying to avoid the mystic hellscape that was ‘outside,’ and whenever he found himself forced into its grasp, he remembered why.

Well, he supposed it wouldn’t have been so bad…if it weren’t for the blithering idiot beside him.

“Yeesh… love really is in the air around Valentine’s day.” Grell commented in the direction of the kids kissing by the frozen river.

“Oh? I thought romance was…your thing.”

“When I’m involved! Not these ragamuffins slobbering all over each other,” he shuddered.

They spent a while in awkward silence, before Grell spoke, “So, what do I have to do to get you off my back, Brat?”

“Ohh just spend a little quality time with me,” Ciel sang, putting his hands behind his back and stepping in front of Grell like a mischievous schoolboy. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Grell looked away. “I better be Carlos’ last customer today; my hair’s going to be a mess by the end of this.”

Ciel laughed fakely.

“So…” Ciel tried to think of something to talk about, “tell me about Carlos. Is he…cute?”

“Oh come on!” Grell stomped in front of him, “You can’t possibly mean any of this! You’ve never shown any amount of interest in me. I may be prone to fantasy, but I’m no fool!” he crossed his arms and looked away, then his green eyes trailed to him suspiciously, “What are you plotting?”

“Plotting?” Ciel laughed again, “Why so sinister?”

“Oh things are always sinister when Sebas-chan is involved,” he said ‘sinister’ like a radio announcer telling you that sinister is what you want, “usually it sends tingles down my spine! But this is just…” he looked down at the earl, his lip curling in distaste, “freaky.”

Ciel tried to ignore the fact that they were on the same brainwave today.

But he could see that he wasn’t going to fool him for long if he didn’t do something.

“Well…” Instead of formulating a suitable answer, he subtly pulled his wand from his robe pocket sliding it behind his back, and cast a little nonverbal spell that sent a snowball hurtling at the back of Grell’s head.

“Hey!” Grell spun around to two kids playing on the bank. “Which one of you imbeciles did that?! Haven’t I suffered enough?” he held up a split end of his hair.

The kids glanced at each other, confused.

“Now Carlos will have to give me the extra treatment to cover this!” he took a strand of hair and petted it.

Ciel smirked.

Messing with the reaper seemed both more effective, and more enjoyable, than chatting, so whenever a risky topic came up, he had a little extra fun avoiding the subject (goodness knows he needed it)—until enough time had passed that, if Ronald had done his job, Sebastian would be out of the teachers’ lounge, and they headed back into the school.

“Sebastian’s right around the corner.”

“He better be, Brat, after the hell-walk you took me on.” Ciel tried not to laugh when he looked at Grell—the sticks in his frazzled hair, the smeared mascara and lipstick, the muddy clothes (he had eventually stopped trying to protect or fix his appearance).

Ciel gave the fake laugh again, opening the door.

Despite requests and expectations, Sebastian was right around the corner.

There the demon remained (apparently he had been there all day) with a finished bust of the reaper sparkling beside him, not to mention a few more, smaller art pieces of the Redhead in different poses of increasing erotica.

Ciel felt all the anger that had been briefly soothed by messing with Grell re-entering his body with ferocity.

Why hadn’t Ronald removed him from this place like he asked? All he asked for was one simple thing, and he couldn’t even do that. Well, maybe it was his own fault he had put his trust in someone so incompetent as Ronald. Whoever’s fault it was, this encounter, and the memory of it, might just stain his brain forever, and someone was surely going to pay for it.

He turned towards Grell (the real one). Both his eyes and mouth were open wide, focused on the statue of himself, leering down at him with a flirtatious grin.

When the butler emerged from behind it, and saw Grell, he too froze, but in the quiet, reverent way the hot dude does when they see their love in romantic movies.

Ciel wanted to grab one, or both, of them and wrench them away from each other—exorcise the romantic spirits out of them (it’s an odd day when you want to exorcise a demon out of a demon), and maybe wring their necks—but he knew that would be met with more than a little resistance, (and using the Imperius curse in the teacher’s lounge would be more than a little conspicuous), and there was something rather mesmerizing about the scene; like a horror movie you can’t bring yourself to look away from.

Sebastian closed his eyes, giving a small smile before rushing to grab a rather large bouquet (likely made of the leftover flowers) and bowed, presenting them to Grell.

“For you, my darling Mr. Sutcliff.”

Ciel covered his eyes with his hand.

“For…me?” Grell’s words were distant and confused.

Rather than taking them with honors—Ciel saw between his fingers—however, he took a step back.

Sebastian held them higher. “Only you.”

Grell glanced between master and butler, and his hands shook as he took them (then his arms sagged with the weight).

Ciel shut his eyes tight, waiting for hell.

Soon the scene would turn into the amorous novel Grell always dreamed of, and that would be it. They’d find love in each other…or what passed for love when it comes to love potions. Should Ciel leave now and spare his mind the eternal horror? Or should he wait and just make absolutely sure that’s what would happen? Maybe there was some sick part of him that was even curious what would happen.

His patience, however, was rewarded;

“Get away from me you freak!” Grell threw the flowers across the room, and rushed to hide behind Ciel. “What the hell have you done with my precious Sebas-chan?!”

This time it was Ciel’s mouth and eyes that dropped open, staring, dumbstruck, like a bird that had hit a window.

Grell had flirted with Sebastian from the moment he met him (to be fair, he did this with pretty much every attractive guy he came across, still…). There were times when master and butler could use this infatuation to their advantage, but most of the time it was just a gigantic nuisance. Luckily, Sebastian shared Ciel’s distaste for the reaper’s advances, and never returned them. Since it had seemed impossible, before today, Ciel hadn’t had much time to imagine what Grell would do if the butler returned his affection. Not one of the sickening scenarios his mind had provided today had Grell rejecting Sebastian. Grell had always appeared superficial enough that Ciel guessed he wouldn’t care how or why Sebastian returned his feelings, just that he did. The fact that he could tell this was not Sebastian’s normal self made Ciel think slightly higher of the reaper.

But only slightly.

Maybe it should have made sense; it was the flirtation; the game, that Grell enjoyed, more than true romance, and heart. He had said so himself—he was just as disgusted by the teen romances in the courtyard as Ciel. (Though, to be fair, most adults generally found teen romance to be gross).

He couldn’t help but feel a growing pride and satisfaction that he would not have to witness any romance, or worse. That the roles of disgust had now reversed, and Grell could walk a mile in their shoes. Not that he thought Grell would become a better, less annoying person after this.

“I…don’t understand,” Sebastian’s eyes were full of welling hurt. He stood, staring at the discarded bouquet (which had all but exploded on the wall), “I’ve done everything for you…” he gestured around the room, “I thought this is what you wanted.” He looked at Grell like a puppy who had been thrown from a warm and loving upper-class home, out into the streets of London. He pulled out the picture he had barely stopped staring at since the other day, “Remember?” he held it up, “You said you would always be with me.”

Grell seemed torn, almost like Sebastian’s puppy-like disappointment drew his pity, but he backed away further, (still holding on to Ciel, almost making him fall backwards).

“What is this?!” he pointed, “Some kind of sick prank?! I want my sexy, coy Sebastian, back! Not this coddling fool!”

Ciel had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. This was too rich.

Sebastian looked at the ground, sadness, anger, rejection flaring in his eyes. Ciel would have liked to stay and enjoy Grell’s blubbering a little more, but he could see a demon-sized tantrum coming a mile away.

He didn’t make it a practice to touch pests like Grell, but in this case, he didn’t have much choice; he grabbed Grell and pulled him out the door, dragging him down the hall.

“What the hell is going on?!” Grell ripped his hand from the boy’s grasp and blocked his way, “Who was that idiot?!”

Ciel could barely breathe from laughing.

Grell blinked at him, then anger flared in his eyes again. Before he could catch his breath, Grell grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him, “What have you done with my Sebas-chan, you little Punk?!”

This made him regain composure quickly. He brushed his hands away and explained, “You remember the Valentine’s ball Lockhart threw?”

“Of course. My Sebas-chan was looking particularly dashing that night,” he blinked dreamily, then his expression changed as he remembered he had just seen Sebastian, and he was not so dashing today as previously advertised. “What did you do to him?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he half-lied, “Undertaker was the one who spiked the punch with a love potion.”

“Undertaker’s the cause of this?! He took my Sebas-chan from me?! Oh that sexy bastard hasn’t seen the last of me!” he started to march past the earl.

Ciel blocked Grell’s way. “I already talked to him. He didn’t have the antidote.”

“Well maybe he just needs a little roughing up!” he rolled up his sleeves and tried again to go around him.

“You really think a man who takes pleasure in ruining other people’s lives will help us fix this?” he said to his back.

Grell stopped, turned around, “Well you would know wouldn’t you?!” He looked away, biting his lip. “You put him back then!” he shoved his chest.

“Why do you think I was reading that book about love potions?!”

That quieted his rage slightly.

In that moment, a certain student walked by, though not one of Hogwarts. He was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and didn’t even see them.

“Levicorpus!” Ciel shouted, and the girls’ gasped as Ronald was hoisted into the air by his ankle, his clothes hanging off him (showing off his stomach, and a bit of his underwear—the girls’ blushed and giggled).

“Whoa, whoa! What’s this—?! Oh…” the young reaper blinked upon seeing Ciel, recalling the task the earl had given him, and he rubbed the back of his head giving a mock-sheepish smile, “Hehe.”

Ciel tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. “Would you care to offer an explanation?”

Now that he knew Grell had no intentions or returning Sebastian’s artificial affection, the fact that Ronald hadn’t accomplished the task wasn’t nearly as big of a deal, but it could have easily been catastrophic, the anger was still there, and letting those who disobeyed him off the hook was a bad precedent.

“I’m sorry, Earl, but these girls…they just kept coming up to me! There something must be in the air today!” he held out his hands as if to say you really think I was going to turn them away?

Ciel rubbed his temple, muttering, “Nope it was in the punch.” He sighed, taking a step forward like a predator. “I’m going to let you off this time, but believe me, I won’t be making that mistake again.”

“Come on, it was an honest mistake!”

“And an honest—”

“Mister Phantomhive!” a deep voice rang out across the hallway.

Ciel winced.

“…Professor Snape.”

His footsteps were a judgment toll.

“Care to release Mister…?” he looked at Ronald quizzically, realizing he didn’t recognize him.

“Knox,” the reaper offered.

“Knox.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ciel murmured.

Liberacorpus he cast, nonverbally, and the reaper spun in the air until he was set upright again.

Strictly speaking, they weren’t allowed to do magic outside class, and the curse on the school evidently hadn’t made the potions master forgo any of the traditional rules.

“I’d like to know who you two are, and what you’re doing at Hogwarts.” Ciel felt a little smug thinking of the potential trouble they could get into….until Snape turned “As for you, Mr. Phantomhive…”

“Yes, Professor?” he said politely, as if his politeness could suddenly change his heart and get him a less-harsh punishment.

“Detention.”

“…Yes, Professor.”

Ciel glanced at Grell, who had crossed his arms and whose look said it’s-what-you-deserve.

“Well!” Grell broke the tension. “We can certainly explain who we are and what we are doing here…at a later date. As of now, I have an increasingly important appointment to get to—Good Professor, I’m so sorry you had to see me like this, I promise wont look this bad when when we next meet!” he bowed low, “Come along, Ronald!”

“Yes, Mr. Sutcliff!” He blew a kiss towards the girls.

“This isn’t over” Grell whispered in Ciel’s ear as he skipped by.

“Nothing ever is with you, is it?” he muttered.

“What’s that?” Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing, just excited for my detention!”

Snape raised an eyebrow, perhaps wondering if Ciel was under the spell after all.

Ciel didn’t even go to class that afternoon, as it was double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Once again he returned to his dorm, and flopped onto his bed. He had only made it halfway through the day this time, and he was already drained. After some time resting (though his mind raced too much to actually take a nap), he finished skimming through the book on love potions. In the end, the only help it gave was a comprehensive list of the usual ingredients in love potions.

As he was putting the book away a diary fell out of the trunk at the foot of his bed. In the fatigue of the evening, and the tumult of the day, he had forgotten about his run-in with Harry yesterday.

He picked it up; the same simple, dusty, empty notebook as before. When he opened it to the first page he saw the smudged name T. M. Riddle. He hadn’t thought it was Harry’s in the first place, but was still displeased that the name didn’t sound familiar to him. He wondered if he was a student who dabbled in dark magic. Still, the power it held seemed more than what a mere student could conjure…

Ciel had never been one for feelings and the kind of sentimentality a diary implied, but it couldn’t hurt to try it out. There wasn’t much else to do but write in it. Evidently it wasn’t just a diary.

Setting it down on his desk, he flipped it open to the first blank page, got out his quill, dipped it in the ink, and began to write:

“February 16th

“Two days ago, Undertaker spiked the punch at Lockhart’s god-awful Valentine’s ball with a love potion.

“Now Hogwarts is infested with a swarm of insolent, love-struck zombies, because Undertaker is a—”

As he wrote, the words, instead of staying in place like words should, they were swallowed by the paper. As the earl stared, the ink resurfaced like a serpent beneath water, a reply forming from secondhand ink.

“My, that does sound awful.”

The words disappeared as soon as they came, then reappeared…

“Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

*Yes this is a Sheldon Cooper (The Big Bang Theory) quote. I think I had just been watching that episode before writing, and when that came to mind for Ciel’s response, I couldn’t think of anything better XD I decided to keep it in, but I had to note it didn’t come from my own brain!

Once again, sorry for that ending XD