#anyways what if i wrote a fic and actually posted it anon. what if i wrote the fic ive been itching to write since the thought came to me

[thickenmyblood]

hi maca :) do u already know when you can post chapter 20? im so sad about hiuh ending but also so excited for some happiness :( also, will it really only be 20 chapters or will you add one or two more? in any case, thanks so much for all the time and effort you put into this! I loved every second I spent reading this fic <3

hello!!! well, i was supposed to post ch20 on feb 1st . . . but that obviously did not happen. this month is the month though!!!! I'll try to make it happen before march.

about the chapter: yes, it's the last chapter ever. there will be no more. ever. honestly, I don't think you'll want another chapter after this considering the rough draft I'm working with is 250 PAGES

[loosesodamarble]

Hello soda, I love your blog. I'm a huge Nacht fan and I want to write a Nacht x reader/oc (haven't decided) fanfic . I'm too shy to post it but I want to write it for myself. Can you give me tips to write fanfic especially about Nacht.

🖤 Anon! The answers you seek are finally here!

It's very exciting that you're writing some self-indulgence! It's one thing to make requests for what you want to see but taking the writing into your own hands is something else entirely! Make the most of it!

(This post ended up being longer than expected so pardon for the rest of it being under a cut.)

First off, reader insert or oc, or heck you could even do a full self insert. Any way you go about it, do what gives you the most fulfillment! You said that you aren't gonna post it but even if you did, your first and most important audience is yourself, so cater to what you want.

Second, when it generally comes to writing fanfic, play to your preferences. Do you enjoy banter or heartfelt dialogue? Then you can easily write scenes that focus more on characters speaking with little sprinkles of scenery and action written in. Or if you prefer prose and detailing the finer details of a moment, feel free to write a fic where you go five paragraphs without character speaking.

(For me, I like fic that's a little introspective. Where prose isn't just about the characters' actions or surroundings but also acts as their inner monologue. And thus, I tend to write fic that's a lot of "their feelings swirled inside of them like a storm" stuff.)

And don't worry about skipping over stuff that you don't feel confident or interested in writing. For me, I can manage a bit of fight scene choreography but it's not my strong suit so I don't write fights often and I usually keep it vague and short. The less interest you have for writing a certain thing, the less you end up writing. (That's not the whole picture since burnout/writer's block can leave you wanting to write but not having the energy or mind to do it.)

Something that I try to keep in mind when writing is the question of "what is the ultimate point of the piece?" It can be anything from a simple "I want these characters to talk/fight/kiss" to a complex "I want to show how a single event is actually a chain reaction of smaller happenings and how they can have massively different effects on people's lives and personalities." For me, the answer should be less a plot summary of the piece you're writing and more your motivation for writing it.

TL;DR for those previous points: write what you like, don't write what you don't like, and know why you're writing (since that can help you stay motivated).

Now when it comes to writing Nacht specifically, I keep these character details in mind:

Nacht has self-loathing issues, making it hard for him to believe he is good.

That self-loathing is projected onto others, mostly Yami.

While he does care for others, Nacht is afraid of loving and being loved. He fears hurting those he loves (see Morgen's death).

Those are probably the most important traits of Nacht's to keep in mind when writing him, pre or post Morgen's death. Although the projection aspect of his personality more shows up afterwards.

I also tend to write Nacht repeating the same mini arc. -He looks down on himself -He resists happiness when he has a chance for it -Someone talks some sense into him -Nacht lets himself be happy

Yes, it's keeping his character kinda in the same arc over and over. But to me, Nacht is a character that I see struggling to accept that he's allowed to be happy despite his dark past. He lets himself be happy but he doesn't want to risk too much good fortune in case it blows up in his face, if you know what I mean.

I think that writing Nacht is about finding the balance between suffering and salvation. He hated and punished himself for the longest time until he finally learned to let go of his guilt. Although I personally like to keep Nacht from fully letting go of the guilt and grief. Because squeezing out angst from Nacht's character is fun. Giving Nacht love and letting him be happy is ultimately more fulfilling though.

Really, like for any character, you have to write what you want for Nacht. And for me it's that ever present sorrow in his life. For you, it could be something else entirely.

You gotta write for you, 🖤 Anon. But hopefully my advice gives you something to work with. Good luck with the Nacht fic and I hope you enjoy what you come up with~!

[kindahoping4forever]

on your WIP list, are ones that have a ship name for the guys in the title still reader x stories or are those slash 👀

I'd say it's a pretty even split between the two tbh 👀

[daydadahlias]

fr so glad you haven’t left the fandom after take notes

you bring a special breed of insanity to the table and we love you for it🌈

thanks, im weird <3

[pyrriax]

yk what i just realized?

i accidentally wrote pandora with a slightly altered version of my issues pvnjkdml

i noticed it but not All of it

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[misc-obeyme]

heyyy!!!! It's for the Kinktober list \o/

Solomon and breeding kink please babes ❤️

Drink water, sleep 8 hours and eat three healthy meals a day!!! Luvoo

Hey there, anon!

Okay I already had a prompt for Solomon for Kinktober when I got this ask, but I was like listen. Is it really a CC event if I don't get more requests for Solomon than any other character? So now I feel like it's just tradition.

Also I can't believe I didn't include Solomon's pact marks in the other kinktober post I wrote for him! I didn't even realize until I'd posted it and then I was like how is it that I didn't mention them at all?? I'm so into it, it's ridiculous and yet... anyway, this gave me the chance to include them so I feel that makes up for it a little bit. One of these days I'm gonna write a smut fic that's like... about those marks 'cause they just do something to me.

Anyway, I did afab reader so hopefully that's okay! I also feel the need to thank you for telling me to drink water and so on. Those are all things I almost never do lol. Sometimes I eat three meals a day, but are they healthy?? No. They aren't. Right, sorry for the ramblings lol.

Thank you for submitting a prompt!

KINKTOBER 2023

AFAB!MC x Solomon

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: breeding, penetration (reader receiving)

You were on the sofa in Cocytus Hall in the middle of a heavy make out session with Solomon when you pulled away. Solomon let out a breath at the loss of your lips, but he didn't say anything. You met his eyes, saw the desire in them and the question.

You reached down deliberately to put your hand on his erection. Solomon closed his eyes and tensed, trying not to react to the feeling of it.

"We haven't even been doing this that long and you're already hard," you said quietly.

Solomon took hold of your wrist and pulled your hand up. He leaned in, his lips against your ear. "I'm sorry, MC. I guess I'm just that eager to breed you."

A thrill ran down your spine and you shuddered in his arms. Your reaction caused him to laugh softly against your skin.

"Ah, I knew it," he said. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

You flushed, but you couldn't exactly disagree. "So what if it is?"

Solomon laughed again. "You're so cute, MC," he said. "But you don't have to hold back. If that's what you want, all you have to do is say it."

You huffed. You tried to look away from him, but the close proximity made it difficult. You considered refusing to say anything else, but your own arousal was creeping in now and you didn't think you would actually be able to resist him.

You switched tactics, turning into him. You pulled your wrist from his hand and tugged on his belt buckle. You pressed your lips to his neck and said, "I want you to breed me, Solomon."

Solomon pulled you up off the sofa, his hands already moving beneath the fabric of your clothes. He removed your shirt, kissing along your collarbones as you finally unbuckled his belt. Your pants went next, soon followed by his cloak and shirt, too.

You paused now that Solomon's bare chest was before you. You looked into his eyes for a moment. He waited to see what you would do.

You ran your fingertips over his pact marks. He stayed still as you did so, patiently watching you. It wasn't as though you hadn't seen them before, but most of the time it was easy to forget they were there, hidden beneath his clothes.

Solomon allowed you to be mesmerized by them for a few moments before he turned you around and pulled you against him. Your back nestled against his chest. He still had his pants on, but they were open enough to let his cock free and you could feel it pressed against you. Solomon's lips trailed down your neck, his fingertips trailing beneath the waistband of your underwear.

You felt your body heat up and found yourself filled with impatience. If you let him, Solomon would continue to tease you for some time before finally giving you what you wanted. So you decided to take matters into your own hands.

You removed your underwear yourself, adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor. Then you put your knees on the sofa, bracing yourself against the back of it.

You arched your back and said, "Hurry up, I can't wait anymore."

Solomon made a groaning sound behind you, but you couldn't see him anymore. It was only moments before you felt him behind you. He kissed down your spine while reaching around to stimulate your clit with his fingers. You pushed against them, letting out a small moan as you sought more of that feeling.

"Solomon, please," you begged.

As you had hoped, that was enough to make him finally push his cock inside you. You were wet and ready, taking it in easily and moaning at the way it felt.

Solomon didn't hold back now. He had one hand on your hip and one hand on your clit as he pounded into you. The angle allowed for deep penetration and you felt your body unraveling with each thrust. The sparks of pleasure ran through your veins, the tension building in your legs and your back, your muscles tightening.

The hand on your hip moved up to rest on your back as Solomon leaned forward further. "You're so ready for me," he said, his voice heavy and shaking with his own impending orgasm. "I'm going to fill you up."

You cried out incoherently as you came, his words sending you right over the edge. Solomon seemed to anticipate this, both hands moving to hold your hips steady as you clenched around him.

Just as he promised, you could feel his hot cum filling you up as he came, your name spilling sweetly from his lips.

From then on, you found it was a simple matter to get Solomon to breed you. As he had said himself, all you had to do was say it.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb

[discoveredreality]

intro post <3

don't mind me editing this like every single day lol

my dm's and askbox is always open if u want to talk <3

anons are welcome too <3

also if u want to make new friends i am right here pls say hi im fucking lonely😭

anyways

BELOVED MOOTS <33333 (everyone is tagging them and this is fun)

this in no particular order just whoever pops up on my dash or smth idk. not every moots just the ones i actually know lol. ok so

@im-ur-sleep-paralysis-demon THEY'RE AMAZING LOVE THEM SM IF U DON'T FUCK OFF BECAUSE OMG KJHLGJKFJHLKYFJHKJGL

@ma-lan13 HELP MY BESTIE IRL GOT TUMBLR OMG OMG. AND SHES ACTUALLY USING IT WTF?????? ANYWAYS SHES THE BEST <333

@bloophasarrived SHE'S THE SWEETEST AND SO WONDERFUL. HER PERSONALITY SPARKLES AND OMG SHE'S SO FUN AHHH

@marylily-my-beloved I LOVE HERRR WE HAVE THE BEST CONVERSATIONS. SO NICE AND EASY TO TALK TO. AND WHY DOES SHE KNOW ME SO WELL <3333

@im-just-here4853 my vent buddy omg we just vent to each other i love her so much idk what i would do without her <33

@im-on-crack-send-help TWINNING IN LITERALLY EVERYTHING. SAME MUSIC TASTE. SAME TASTE IN FOOD. IN DRINKS. IN THE WAY WE THINK. WTF. ANYWAYS SHE'S MY POOKIE I LOVE HER <333

@the-gay-skeleton-in-ur-closet THEY'RE THE BEST OMGGGGG and they're nice and cool and shit <333333 i'm quoting myself it's fine AND LIKE SO NICE AND GOOFY AND EVERYTHING OMG

@cubemagnet somene i met on a random post and now we occasionally team up to correct grammar lol 🤓🤓🤓 anyways she's amazing :D and everything she says is so iconic like isjflsrijglruhglsuglijrsg

@book-girl4eva SHE'S AMAZINGGGGG. IT'S SO EASY TO GOOF AROUND W HER I LOVE IT. SHE ALWAYS SLAYS SO HARD. EVERYTHING ABOUT HER SLAYS. idk if you'll see this but this is for u pookie <3

@mil-pinterest-sss-here-i-am ??? questioning why we're moots. but he's literally so nice. literally will be my therapist and help me w maths because that shit is impossible 😭

@dandelionflowery omg literally so kind and everything all the time. so fun fun reading their fics and doing shit together omg

@sweetwarmcookies16 OMG RIJGDJFGIJFGIF THE BEST I LOVE PLAYING GAMES TOGETHER AND TALKING AND EVERYTHING. ALSO AN AMAZING WRITER

idk brain isnt braining ill add ppl as i go along

moodboards made by my lovely lovely moots <3

so far i only have one here cause i forgot to link the previous ones whoops 😭😭😭

about me

i'm ari. she/her. nicknames welcome. go wild. dude/bro/girl/literally anything is also fine. i use 'lol' and '<3' too much. minor. literally the biggest procrastinator and so disorganised i dare u to find someone worse than me. i'm indian but i live in australia. bengali/north indian idk. band kid :D my pinterest is here. PLEASE DM ME IF U WANT TO. I NEED FRIENDS. IM AWKWARD AND BAD AT MAKING CONVERSATION BUT STILL PLS 😭😭😭

personality/star sign or whatever

according to the mbti test here i am an istp-t. i am also a cancer. i found out my sun, moon and rising signs and the marauders version and i wrote it down and lost it so then i redid it and i lost it again so i can't bother at this point someone help me :(

time zone

Australian Eastern Standard Time (AEST) i think?? SUCK ON THAT AMERICANS AND WHOEVER ELSE EHHEHEHHEHE ;LSDJFSFJIJFDJF;LJ

my music taste

i love taylor swift, conan gray, olivia rodrigo, sabrina carpenter and honestly a lot of other stuff lol. also love bollywood music.

favourite books and authors

i love reading and i'm usually a really fast reader lol. i love harry potter (fuck jkr tho), kotlc, chetan bhagat books, the inheritance games, agggtm, literally all of karen m. mcmanus's books, the divergent series, pjo and hoo, lorien legacies, the selection, powerless, soc, girl in pieces, dictionary of lost words and bookbinder of jericho, all the books by amish, and a bunch of other books.

dni

idk the usual?? if u think ppl arent valid or you're literally an asshole. honestly you all can go get stuffed. idgaf

tag games and shit

yes you can absolutely tag me. i love tag games and chain asks. sometimes i may not get to doing it but i usually will and it makes me so happy when i'm tagged lol

tags

i don't post that much stuff so i don't really have mulitple tags for my posts. anything or any shitposting or thoughts will be tagged #ari's shit. for asks it's #ari gets an ask?

fandoms!

i'm literally obsessed with drarry but i'm mostly part of the marauders fandom. i'm starting to make my way through all of the marauders fics. i love love love hermitcraft. i'm an ethogirl literally who doesn't love etho?? also really into trafficblr. i literally love six of crows so much like omg. desperately trying to get through the magnus archives im only 8 years late haha i also love kotlc sm. (team foster-keefe forever!) i'm low-key in love with keefe sencen cause omg. aaaand also a bunch of other shit but those are the main ones idk bro

i'm bored and this is too long already might as well add more so here are a bunch of userboxes :D

and that's all not because i have self control but because there is a limit to images per post 😭😭😭 i literally had to delete some of my aesthetic images for this soooo

all the above photos are not mine, i got them off of pintrest.

my profile pic is obviously from the makowka picrew here

the beautiful dividers are linked here. these are by @saradika-graphics she is a literal star these dividers are so good

IK THIS IS WAY TOO FUCKING LONG AND I KEEP ON ADDING SHIT MORE SHIT SO IF U ACTUALLY LIKE READ TO THE BOTTOM THIS HERE IS FOR U LMFAO ILYSM <333333

[wambsgansshoelaces]

i loveee you work! i was wondering if you’d be willing to write a roman x reader fic that’s kinda anyone but you vibes where she’s in shiv’s wedding party and her and roman hate each but have to pretend to get along for the weekend. this is so random but i’ve been stuck on this idea lately.

also for music recs i’d totally recommend eliza mclamb, i love her stuff and she has a new album coming out this friday.

xoxo!

Baby’s Breath

Roman Roy x Reader

oneshot

ahh I’m so so sorry this is extremely late!! I promise I’ll do better anons waiting. I hope you like it, though!! I honestly do not have the patience to slowburn but I hope I still wrote what you wanted. thank you so much for requesting, I love you anon <33

I’m also really sorry i haven’t been posting fics recently!! I’m getting to it all haah. I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think xxx

also, I listen to eliza mclamb now…

Word Count: 2.557k

“Roman and Y/N, you’re walking together.”

Immediately, the two of you exchange a strained look. You and Shiv are long time friends, having met in elementary school and been attached at the hip ever since. At some point in your life, you were spending more time at the Roy household with Shiv and her siblings then you were with your actual family. You and Kendall got along just fine- he was too quiet for your liking, anyway, and would just listen when you spoke. He’d give you advice in that soft way of his, and to this day you don’t think you’ve ever heard him raise his voice.

Roman, on the other hand?

Every conversation you’ve ever had with him had ended in some sort of argument. It’s not that you necessarily had opposing viewpoints, but rather you both wanted to be heard, almost always at the same time. The two of you have been clashing since the first time you’d gone over to their house, when you’d bickered over who got the pink Wii remote.

You weren’t going to argue over this, though. It was Shiv’s big day, and you were going to make sure it goes exactly how she wants it to. You weren’t going to be the reason she gets stressed out on her wedding day.

She continues on, giving the rundown on the rehearsal dinner. Everyone’s expected to be there at five p.m. sharp, in their places at five thirty.

She and her fiance decided that their wedding was going to be abroad, and your flight out to Athens is tonight. Shiv had gotten the entire bridal and groom’s party together just to go over everything beforehand.

She’d finished speaking a while ago, and you’re now sat scrolling through your notes app making sure you have everything at home ready to take with you to Greece. You were helping Shiv move a few of her things, like a few suitcases of clothing for her honeymoon, and were also bringing a gift for the couple.

You’re absorbed in your mental check listing, but you still feel the couch under you bow a little with the weight of someone sitting down next to you.

“We can get along for the next two weeks, can’t we?”

“I’d hope so, Roman.”

“As long as you don’t instigate anything,” he amends, looking up to meet your gaze.

“If I don’t instigate anything?”

“There you go, instigating.” You suppress a sigh, pressing your lips together, causing him to crack a smile. “So much better.”

“I’m only doing this for Shiv,” you remind him. “As soon as this is all over, I’m going back to praying you get clotheslined.”

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to do the matchy thing.”

“Don’t we have to?”

“I mean, yeah, but I was thinking I get you a corsage, you know? And I put matching flowers in my breast pocket. Maid of honor and best man and everything. So that we look good in photos.” His face pinkens as he speaks, and he’s suddenly unable to look you in the eye.

“I think that’d be cute,” you say honestly. The bridesmaid dresses were a muted lavender, the groomsmen’s suits a deep black. You knew they all had pocket squares to match, but Roman’s suggestion is strangely thoughtful. You like it.

“Okay. Great. I’ll text you,” he manages, pausing a bit to look over at you before getting up and leaving.

And he does.

You’re swaddled in bed, invigorating face mask on before you have to fly nine hours. He’s sent you a screenshot of a Google search on his phone.

help, he sends after it.

The search is just ‘pretty purple flower’.

look into baby’s breath, you send back.

what the fuck

is that a fucking flower

yes

what a godawful name

There’s a short pause as he presumably searches it up. He sends you another screenshot, this time of rows of photos of the flower.

yeah, those

can i find them here?

You don’t know why he’s asking you, but you respond.

probably

you’re already in athens?

but what if i can’t?

yeah, flew out after shiv’s town hall

then order fake ones online

god, you’re not very helpful

You think he’s done texting, but he sends you another five minutes later.

fuck you

You have to get to the airport bright and early the next morning. You can barely blink the sleep away from your eyes as you shuffle to your terminal, having checked your obscene amount of luggage with the help of a scary looking driver the Roys employ.

You’re bored out of your mind as you wait impatiently in line to board the plane. Shiv had gotten you a first-class ticket, so you at least had that to look forward to.

You’re delighted when you get on the plane and find a massive, plush seat waiting for you. You stick your carry-on into the overhead compartment and relax.

You sleep through the entire flight. Your seat converted into a bed, and you were provided with the softest pillow and blanket you’ve ever touched. You fell asleep the minute your eyes shut.

You don’t realize something’s wrong until you’re inside the airport.

Since you’d spent almost your whole life in close orbit of the Roys, you weren’t unfamiliar with the press. They knew who you were, you knew who they were. They endlessly pissed Shiv off. She’d done her best to keep her spouse-to-be out of the spotlight, to give them both as normal of a life as possible. The press was overly invasive, and when it came to her family in specific, destructive.

Which is why you suppose the press is targeting you.

A few flashes go off, and immediately, reporters are in your face. You don’t know how they were let in to the terminals, how they were allowed to get so close. You feel the heat creep up your neck. You don’t like the attention- especially not this kind.

You try to push through, but you can’t. They’re incessant, and all you have in your hands is your sweater and your suitcase. You have your headphones on, and you do your best to keep your eyes averted. Despite the fact that you can’t hear anything, you just know they’re demanding comments on Shiv’s marriage and her relationships.

Before you give up entirely, the crowd is shouldered apart by a built man you recognize as employed by the Roys. He’s immediately at your side, arm closing around your shoulder, and helping you bulldoze through the crowd.

You’re frazzled, trying to stamp down the anxiety swirling in your chest. You make a mental note to thank Shiv for thinking ahead. You’re guided out into a private parking garage and pointed to a car. You’re then told that all of the luggage you’d brought would be retrieved, as it was all tagged, and you’d be off the moment you could.

You climb into the backseat of the car, just to find Roman waiting for you.

He’s worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, but he visibly relaxes once you slide into the seat next to him. Neither of you say anything until he glances sideways at you.

“I saw your face on an article online an hour ago. Someone posted your flight details. I was worried,” he offers lamely.

You blanch. “How do they even get that information?” you ask, voice cracking.

“I, uh, don’t know, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you got hurt.”

Neither of you say anything the entire way to the hotel.

It all feels wrong. The caring, the thoughtfulness. It feels like it shouldn’t be happening. But you like it. You like this side of him. It makes you happy.

All of your bickering had always been pointless, anyway. It’s not like you have some real vendetta against him. You hope he looks at you the same way.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, breaking the silence. “Thank you for thinking about me.” Shiv hadn’t. ๋࣭ ⭑

The day of the wedding, you’re rushing around, getting things done for Shiv. You’re running here and there, making sure the vendors know what they’re doing, making sure not a single hair is out of place. The entire day needs to be perfect. She deserves as much.

Your dress is on, your makeup is done, your hair is up. You’re all ready, and now you just need to make sure everyone else is, too. You aren’t about to let anything go wrong.

The makeup artist starts on Shiv, and you run over to the groom’s suite to check on them. You knock softly, and Roman slips out to meet you. He’s just in a plain cotton shirt and sweats.

“Are you not getting ready? Pictures are in an hour,” you tell him.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine. They’re all pre-gaming.” They all were. You can tell Roman is not.

“Can we take this seriously? We can’t have anybody be late. If we have to wait for anybody, then the entire schedule gets fucked up.”

“Fuckin’… calm down. We’ll be fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Miffed, but not in the mood to argue any further, you give him a look. “If you’re not all ready within the hour, I’ll kill all the groomsmen and then myself. Fucking hurry, Roman.”

You turn to leave, but he catches your elbow. “What asshole did up your dress?” he asks, annoyance seeping into his voice. He tugs you back to him, and you feel his hands smooth over your back, hunting for the string edges that controlled your corset. “Tell me if I go too tight.”

He pulls, slowly and softly, as to not disturb you. He stops when your dress sits snugly on your body, as it’s supposed to, and ties it tightly. He takes a half-step back, admiring his handiwork, hands ghosting over the curves of your hips.

“That feels a lot better,” you tell him.

His eyes flit up and down your body. “Looks a lot better, too. Whoever did that is trying to see you fail.” He trails off, but it looks like he wants to say something else. He’s in a sort of a daze, stare at you. He can’t seem to look away. He snaps out of it soon enough, and you come to realize it’d given you a rush of satisfaction to see him eyeing you like that. You liked it. “Fuck off. I have to get ready.”

So you do.

You make your way down to the ceremony space, inspecting everything. Thankfully, all is well, and nothing is out of place. Everything’s calm, quiet, and nearing perfection.

The time comes for you to help Shiv into her dress, and you’re both emotional, on the brink of tears. You tell her she looks beautiful, because she does, and you help lead her to her first look, where all of the couple’s portraits will be taken before the entire group gets together.

After you step out of the room, leaving them to it, Roman’s making his way up the hallway, this time dressed in a crisp black tuxedo, lavender pocket square tucked neatly.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re here. I have something to give to you,” he says, and you notice the small box gripped in his hand. You have to admit, he looks good in black tie dress. You could get used to the sight of him like this, every bit of clothing tailored exactly to his measurements. Not that you exactly found him unappealing other times, though. Because you certainly found him appealing.

He pops the box open, taking out a delicate corsage made up of purple and white baby’s breath. You have no idea where he got the thing, but it’s gorgeous. You offer your hand when he stretches out his own, and he carefully slips the corsage onto your wrist, adjusting it so that it’s straight. He keeps his eye on it, making sure it’s sitting perfectly on you before pulling away.

“It’s so pretty,” you murmur.

“I’d hoped you’d like it,” he murmurs back. “But, uh, if you don’t mind, I need some help.” He gestures vaguely at his breast pocket, where the pocket square currently sits all by itself. He takes you back to the groomsmen’s suite, beckoning you inside. He goes to root around in his stuff, which is all in a clumped pile in the corner of the massive bedroom. He cautiously takes out a glass tin, a single stem of white baby’s breath identical to the one on your wrist contained inside. “Every time I try putting it in it sticks out weird,” he clarifies, looking up at you, embarrassment tinging his features. “And, uh, you’re the only one who’ll give me the time of day.”

Your heart drops a bit. You feel bad, so you take the tin from him and motion for him to turn and face you. He does.

Roman doesn’t look you in the eyes as your hands smooth out his blazer. Again, these tender moments between the two of you felt like they shouldn’t be happening. It felt so right, though, you felt so at home, letting your hands linger on his chest. You gently tuck the stem of the flower into his breast pocket, letting it peek over and starkly contrast both the color of his suit and the pocket square. You smooth out any wrinkles you can find on his blazer, your hands sliding over the fronts of his shoulders, down his sides, over his stomach.

His face reddens, but he doesn’t stop you.

“You look nice,” you say quietly, straightening out his tie. He catches your hand before it leaves him, keeping it pressed to his chest.

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You… you’re handsome.”

“You, uh, you’re always the prettiest out of all of them. All the time. Like, I’ll see other girls, but I… I always know they’ll never hold a torch to you. I always think- I mean, I know I’d just be happier with you.”

Your face heats, and you can’t help the smile that begins to spread over your face. He moves your hand from his chest up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Since when?” you ask, trying to keep yourself together as he turns your hand over and litters kisses along your palm.

“Since forever. I’ve been crushing on you since you yanked the Wii-mote from me then beat my ass in Super Smash Bros.”

You let out an airy giggle. “I’m sorry our relationship’s never been… amicable ’till now.”

Roman lets go of your hand, instead winding his arms around your hips and pulling you flush against him. “Don’t know what that means,” he says simply, fingers going up to brush gently along your jaw. He’s careful not to mess up your makeup or hair. He just wants to touch you. “Just glad you’re here.” His gaze flickers down to your lips. “Can I…?”

You don’t answer, instead leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He makes a strangled noise at the contact, hand adjusting to instead cup your jaw, anchoring you to him. He immediately deepens the kiss, and you swear you can taste the universe on his tongue.

[linkito]

I am here to make puppy eyes at you and ask for Cub and Scar tidbits pretty please? <3

-🎀

YES HI RIBBON ANON!!!

Ohhh what to say about Cub and Scar... <3

Both of them are vex hybrids, of course, and I'm not sure how much I've talked about their Past™ before, but... the general idea is that they originally did live with other vex. But the Bad Kind. The kind that the hunters of the other world envisioned all vex hybrids to be.

Cub remembers it, but Scar really doesn't, because one day, Cub took the both of them and ran. This is why Scar doesn't know much about how to handle his vex instincts/magic at the beginning of our story, because it's something he was never really familiar with.

The thing about Cub, too, is, maybe he could have fit in there. It's not like the vex there were Evil, just... brutal. Focused on expanding their magic to its very limits. Strict and aggressive.

It's Scar who did not belong. Scar who had big dreams, a creative mind, and the brightest laugh.

Cub couldn't bear to watch the vex squander that. So one day he grabbed Scar and they fled.

Because of this, they're each other's only family, even if not directly related.

And speaking of family, did you know there are other sorts of vex bites besides the mating ones? The idea is definitely borrowed from omegaverse lore (shhhh), namely the diagram from this post here. It's only a loose similarity though, so don't take all of that info as canon to hhau! But another notable mark is that of a parental/familial bond—

Cub marked Scar when they were young. Scar doesn't even remember it. It's on the back of his neck, almost completely obscured by his hairline. You're never going to see it unless you know what to look for.

And with this little ritual comes a magic-laced bond—nothing too significant really, but it means Cub can always feel a sort of tug toward Scar's presence. It's subtle, almost unnoticeable, just an instinctual sort of thing... but imagine how Cub felt waking up from the destruction of Season 8 to having that feeling suddenly gone.

It's how the rescue team tracks down Scar as well. Scar alone.

And isn't it sad how all of those things Cub tried to protect Scar from happened anyways in that other world? Scar comes back with a white streak in his hair and Cub knows exactly what that means. Scar comes back on edge, claws out, ready to pounce and bare his teeth and it absolutely breaks Cub's heart.

But Scar and Grian also come back together, and that mating mark doesn't escape Cub's knowing eyes.

He's definitely one of the few Hermits to understand that the bond Grian and Scar have together is not something to be concerned about in the slightest. It's natural, really, just maybe not for what the Hermits have come to understand vexes to be like. Because Cub and Scar (up until now) have not been your typical vexes!

It's a little difficult, as a vex himself, to really change the minds of anyone else alone, but what he does do is make sure Scar knows he's there for him. He's still family and Scar is still Scar, despite everything that happened to him.

I actually wrote a mini-fic of sorts about hhau Cub and Scar back in April, but the premise is... very silly. I'm not sure if I'll share the whole thing LOL

buuuuuut you can have this <3 ~

[xxswagcorexx]

the swagcore fic archives will become real in 5:

anyways, hi, i write too much fanfic, but a lot of it is on anon. i know a lot of people go to me for fic recs (you can see a post with More fic recs here) and i'm happy enough with my fics to recommend them to people :) also for funsies i'm gonna put small author's notes after each entry!

the stuff with my name on it:

Swap by cherubium and swagcore

[CLICK] [Jaron]: Statement of Ash…Swag, regarding events surrounding his husband, Red Doons. Statement recorded live from subject on April 4th, 2023, recording by Jaron Yeager from the LIFE Insitute, London,...Ohio. Statement begins. [Ash]: Are you seriously gonna be recording on that? or: a fic written for day 2 of roses and smoke week, swap/horror.

A/N: a collab fic I did with the lovely cherny! all i'll say is that we might have lied a little bit in the beginning notes. heh.

the sleep buoyancy investigation by swagcore

While Fundy walks around his street, he notices an odd poster about researching dreams. Having weird dreams all of his life and with nothing else to do, Fundy grabs the contact information and heads to the address. What possibly could go wrong? - "the sleep buoyancy investigation" is an experimental fic made with Twine. This fic is based on the Stargate Project, a now-defunct project by the CIA to study psychics. Word Count: ~3k

A/N: this fic was so so fun to do. my god. it really gave me my first taste of really experimental fics and that is something i've been playing around with! i do have an idea in mind for another fic like this (which is one of the first fic ideas i had when going into the lifesteal fandom) so! i'm excited for when i actually put my head down and write it!!!

from a windowsill by swagcore

It’s a cold night tonight. As Pearl stares out to the moon, feeling the wind through the tower’s rafters and the howls of the hound army roar from below her, she squints her eyes. There’s supposed to be a blood moon tonight. or: it's late at night, and pearl has some thoughts about the blood moon (and herself)

A/N: i'm going to be real, i'm a dl!pearl sleeper agent. i love her so much and her character is sooooo....*dies*.......she makes me ill!

late night break-ins and henna by swagcore

Ash visits Soc Inc. at the very normal hour of 3 AM on Christmas to give Red a Christmas present.

A/N: fun fact, i wrote most of this on an ipad at one of those friend reunions my dad had with his friends 💀 we were like 8 hours away from our house so i couldn't exactly leave so while on vc with my good friend toast we worked on fics together LOL she's actually the one who came up with the water bottle thing. it was awesome

misc collabs i did:

insufferable hand in insufferable hand by Anonymous

ashswag and reddoons get married in a very thought out, entirely sound plan.

A/N: this was a collab wiith np13, who you might know from "all of the roads led to you". it was actually working on this fic at first, i mentioned wanting to write a swagdoons divorce fic, and it brought me on the team to work on this one. this fic was so silly to work on and i had a great time writing it!!!

the various anon fics i have written:

one and a half cups of stout by Anonymous

Bdubs and Etho leave a party and are now burdened with the task of grocery shopping for cake ingredients. - (or: etho drags bdubs to his apartment so they can bake together)

A/N: god this fic was so fun and fluffy to write. i love baking in general, and the amount of detail i managed to put into this fic and how cozy-feeling it is is something i'm really proud of. fun fact, it's my most viewed and kudosed fic of all time, as well as the first fic i felt really, really proud of!

pommes voyage by Anonymous

headcanon that ren started making potatoes like crazy, like to the amount doc started to check up on him - originally a post meant for tumblr

A/N: this fic was really fun to write as well. it was supposed to be a tumblr post, but i got really carried away (and when i sent a screenshot of it into a gc my friend replied with "that is terrifying", and i decided to leave it as a standalone fic instead of a post) and it's a fun fic to read, methinks

and maybe, you'll find peace in the sun by Anonymous

During the time [x] escapes prison for the dozenth time, [s]he takes a quick detour to pick up some supplies. or: [x] finds an unguarded house in the woods, stealing ingredients so [s]he can make some stew

A/N: alright so, as a disclaimer, this was a fic written before ivorycello transitioned, but for archival purposes, i haven't changed it. for this post, i've made it clear what part i've changed. i'm still proud of this fic, in general, and ivory has since said that her past persona doesn't bother her anymore, so that's why i've included it here. once again though, read with those warnings in mind

the sun vanished by Anonymous

The stars revolve around Planet. It's their little secret, and most don't know enough about the stars to be able to notice. That's why, when they got banned, no one noticed that the sun vanished.

A/N: my first lifesteal fic! i really, really like the ideas in this fic and how i've conveyed them. fun fact i wrote most of this while in the car from homecoming--but i'm really proud with what i managed to beat out considering ost of it was written in a car backseat

dust by Anonymous

After winning Double Life, Pearl has some thoughts about the end of the world while looking at the death menu.

A/N: this fic is AWESOME i love minecraft death screens and like i said before, i'm a dl!pearl enjoyer to the MAX. it's also the first fic i ever had translated, and it was such a nice surprise to see it was translated in my email inbox that morning <3

jackalope by Anonymous

have you heard the myth of the jackalope? (of course you have. who am i kidding.) --- or: a character study on rekrap, as told by the myth of the jackalope

A/N: this was originally for a comic that was, looking back, wayyy too ambitious for my art skill level LOL. i've been brewing it in my brain for a while (hell, even my english teacher at the time looked over at it), and i still find it fun to read. once again, experimental fics ftw!

take your time, we've got all night by Anonymous

It’s rare to find quiet moments like this–moments safe enough for Ash and Red to get some sleep without either of them going on looking shifts. It’s a luxury in the apocalypse. And yet Red still couldn’t get his mind to shut up and let him sleep. Great. or: red can't sleep during the apocalypse. he wakes ash up and both of them spend the night talking about their pasts.

A/N: i'm already a huge sap in the notes, but this is, arguably, one of the most important fics i've ever written. for context, i wrote this while i was really down due to my entire family but me getting covid right before my finals and our winter vacation, so that left me alone in my room for 2 weeks. i was really down, especially since i couldn't spend christmas with my family as a result. however, writing this gave me something to pass the time, and the reception on it when i posted during a dark time in my life really helped. it's also the first swagdoons fic i've ever posted, so there's that too :) also, one of the comments of someone going back to read it a few months later also came while i was in a rough patch, so that really helped <3

four of a kind by Anonymous

Ash, Branzy, Clown, and Red close up the casino for the week.

A/N: first of, CASINOQUARTETCASINOQUARTETCASINOQUARTET- and fun fact, this is one of the first fics written after casino quartet first became a Concept (which. considering i first came up w/ the concept in the swagdoons server is. Yeah <- ill) so that's rlly fun to see how big casino quartet has become considering i see it in random places now LOL

l'appel du vide by Anonymous

If there’s anyone that knows Death, it’s him. or: sven escapes death, and still feels the void linger around him. and he has some thoughts about it.

A/N: i loveeeee minecraft death mechanics holy moly....anyways yeah this fic was so fun to write and the concepts are *chefs kiss*. it's also the first fic in the kenadian fandom tag so there's that too!

5 years, eleven months, and seventeen days by Anonymous

It's been 5 years, 11 months, and 17 days since they went missing. or: laurance is still investigating his friends' disappearances. even after all of this time. (he can't seem to move on, can he?)

A/N: this fic was a gift for my bestest friend ever :3 i'm going to be real it's been like, 6+ years since i watched mystreet but my friend reminded me of how fucked it was and i felt really included to write this. i loveeee fucked up implications in fiction!!!

jenga tower by Anonymous

"Dude-" Ash says through a wheezed breath, "Do you think this a little much?" Clown hums, "Mmm, no. I think you're just fineee." "Exactly," Red chimes in, definitely not helping the 'hey wouldn't it be funny if we all laid on Ash?' cause. or: casino quartet turn into a human jenga tower. for roses and smoke week, free day

A/N: once again. casino quartet brainworms strike again. i think this is the only fic i finished in time for the first roses and smoke week LOL. it's very fluffy and i still think it holds up. yeah they'd be Like That

what's the point of living if you can't die with someone else, huh? by Anonymous

"you mentioned about me going back home, right?" ash nods, eyebrow raised with suspicion. "well," red starts, "i think i said this last season: 'what's the point of living if you can't die with someone else?'" red gets up from the floor, "and you haven't used your god powers much," he says as he offers ash a hand to get off the floor. "dude." ash can exactly see what red's asking. or: alternatively titled: who knew killing your bestie with god powers could be so affectionate?

A/N: i love love love sappy swagdoons so much. this fic was so fun to write all of their memories and stuff. i love them so much i want to pinch both of their cheeks so bad!!! <333

a late night conversation about a stolen horse (and a few other things) by Anonymous

Red's going out for a supply run, and runs into Ash. They have a conversation about a stolen horse (and a few other things).

A/N: once again, sappy swagdoons. i love them so much. i'm going to be real a lot of this was inspired by this one survival guide book that i've had for literal years. i've kept it with me for fic purposes but when i was little i did read through it out of boredom so i do have a little bit of knowledge, which inspired this fic LOL

the thing about ash: by Anonymous

A glitch (as defined by Wikipedia) is a short-lived fault in a system, such as a transient fault that corrects itself, making it difficult to troubleshoot. In an article by Alex Pieschel, Pieschel writes that a "'glitch' suggests something more mysterious and unknowable inflicted by surprise inputs or stuff outside the realm of code." (or: ash, as told in the very nature of himself and what makes him, him.

A/N: okay i'm going to be real this is one of those fics that i'm 90% sure i was struck down by god to have a vision for this fic. i'm really proud with how deep i made the metaphor and it's one of the fics i'm most proud of :) it's awesome

mors mihi lucrum by Anonymous

"death to me is reward" is it really? (or: zolister has some thoughts about the trophy room)

A/N: this fic was so so fun to write. if you haven't noticed already, death in minecraft is one of my favorite things to explore and that showtime smp video activated a nueron in my brain when i watched it. i love death in mc so so much <3

Ashswag's 3-step, very simple plan, to survive the Genesis SMP by Anonymous

Exactly what it says on the tin.

A/N: this is another one of my "hcs into a fic" fics, and it's really fun! i'm going to be real, i still don't know much about ultrakill but i fuck with the aesthetic hard. that clair de lune level is so pretty....

in another universe: by Anonymous

things would have ended differently. (an experimental webweave done on ao3)

A/N: this fic was SOOOOO fun to do. i've always wished for webweaving to be more of a thing outside of tumblr, so this is an experiment into other options! it's so awesome i love experimenting with fanfiction...

the best of the best, you'll die like the rest by Anonymous

Agent Rek Rap II, an ex-agent trying to enjoy his life in early retirement. Or well, he was trying too. He gets invited to a concert by a familiar name. (He already knows how this is going to end.)

A/N: this fic turned out so well. i had a general vibe and i RAN with it. it was so fun to write, and hopefully, it's a fun read if you also like spy stuff!!!

homemade comforts by Anonymous

If Red was being honest, he reveled in moments like this. Moments when Ash and he were far away from all of the violence, all of the responsibilities, and away from any prying eyes around them. Just Ash and Red, cooking together in their shitty little kitchenette that only fits two people.

A/N: this fic was so so fun to write. i'm going to be real, it was supposed to be part of another fic where it showed swagdoons across servers but i decided to make it a standalone. i love cooking together with people so much, and hopefully this fic conveys that :)

it’s no big deal (that i love you) by Anonymous

Sometimes Ash understands people when they call him and Red a couple. They are partners, in a sense, but not in that way. After all, when you’ve spent so long as enemies, survivalists, comrades, even, you notice a lot about the other person. From tracking down Red’s movements to stealing that stupid bell from Capital City, to pressing down on wounds and praying it didn’t get infected, they’ve been through everything. Been through the happy, sad, and angry tears together, and everything else in-between. But of course, everything they did had to be a business deal—a private agreement between just both of them. or: ashswag has some thoughts about red while they fall asleep together (ft. swagdoons qpr)

A/N: once again. sappy swagdoons. because i am predictable. this fic is so fluffy, and i'm so proud with how deep the metaphor is and how soft and fluffy everything is. qpr swagdoons ftw!!!

fallin' in love by Anonymous

Ash and Red go to a pumpkin patch on their day off.

A/N: more fluff. i love them so much. i love fall vibes and pumpkin patches so this fic was me putting all of the fall vibes i could into this fic. so glad it's going to get cooler where i live now LOL

...and, scene by Anonymous

kenadian, the train escape, and the fourth wall. ...and all of the horrific implications that come alongside it.

A/N: this was written as a spirtual successor to my prev. fic about sven. it was so fun, and fun fact, it's the first fic in the kenadian character tag! yippee!!!

world is mine! by Anonymous

In a sleep-deprived move, Minecraft player Ashswag decided that making a Hatsune Miku cosplay would compliment his entire God shtick perfectly. or: ash becomes swagsune ashu

A/N: this fic was mostly written for shits and giggles, but although i haven't have much time for it, cosplay is something that's so dear to me <3 i love the craftsmanship that does into it!!! and the community is so kind <3

go to the end with me, my lover by Anonymous

“Hey Ash? I…want you to come here and take a look.” Red says warily. Ash quietly follows Red ahead. He climbs over the rubble Red is looking out on and— Oh. It was their wedding venue.

A/N: fun fact: i first heard of this song in class when someone showed me the mv after school and um. well let's say i shed a few tears. god if you haven't watched the love wins all mv, please do. it's so well done <3 also in general SWAGDOONS WEDDING LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO (ignore the angst)

it takes two to tango, but somebody has to lead by Anonymous

The tango is a dance that requires someone to lead, and a partner willing to follow them. (or, swagdoons through the ages)

A/N: this was so fun. i love writing in different formats!!! also it being experimental is AWESOME i love playing around w/ language :3 also i love acherswan so so much so that was also a bonus!!!

developments by Anonymous

A group photo of the Hemlock family and staff. Absolutely nothing goes wrong.

A/N: i love photography so much, esp as someone with terrible memory. i've been having fun exploring it in fics recently so yeah!!! also the first fic in the whitepine tag #awesome

memento by Anonymous

“You have a pretty face,” Red says out loud without thinking. Ash stops in his tracks, whipping his head back to stare back at Red. “I—What?” “Ah. Um. You look nice when you’re talking,” Red clarifies, “Wait.” Red steps closer and grabs Ash’s jaw. “The fuck—” or: Red is a photography student and takes a picture of Ash.

A/N: listen me and my friend dusty were talking and my brain came up with the most gay scene ever and i HAD to write it. once again, i've only used dslr's in my life, but hopefully the magic of photographing someone was captured in this fic. old people yaoi.../silly

and OH BOY that was a lot of fics. these are the fics i'm really proud of, so i hope y'all enjoy (and please say nice things to me if you have enjoyed them). thank you for making it through this LONG post!!!

[campfam4lyfe]

Got any campfam aus or ideas in the works?

hey anon! I wouldn’t say I have any ideas in the works, because I have what I like to call commitment issues when it comes to writing fic.

This means that while I have an abundance of ideas, outlines, and wips in my Google docs for the fandoms I’ve been in. I’ve never actually finished a fic and posted it.

In fact, the only single time I have, (diff fandom!) I am not counting properly, because it was a collab with a close mutual, and a lot of the legwork was them. I had the initial plot bunny and was going to leave it as a one off tumblr post, but my mutual rlly liked the idea and we bounced drabbles and such back and forth. We wrote a bunch of snippets and put them together in a doc, until we had cohesive chapters, as we filled the empty spaces with more and more work, ending up to a total of 18 chapters. It took us a year and a half to post it, and that was mostly my fault, as where my mutual had finished most of their allotted sections, different hyperfixations kept pulling me to other unfinished works. This is why I won’t promise anything—I don’t want to disappoint anyone.

But, that being said. I do have ideas, hcs, and aus! One that is currently consuming me, was actually inspired by this one other post I saw recently. (When I find the post ima link it dw!) OP of the post was saying that there should be a Carmen Sandiego au for CC and I jumped on that SO fucking fast anon. I LOVE Carmen Sandiego, and have since it first aired when I was in HS.

So. Here’s some of the Carmen Sandiego au thoughts copy/pasted from my Google docs. (Yes I do always write out my outlines as if I’m taking to someone but that’s bc i sometimes end up sharing the doc link with some friends)

JWCC Carmen Sandiego AU:

Y’all know Kenlynn is my JAM and so is RedCrackle. So obvi I thought of mixing the two right? But here’s the thing. While I love Carmen/Gray, I am also in love with Carmen/Ivy and Carmen/Julia.

So with that in mind. Kenlynn is going to take a backseat for a second (meaning tho they'll become a thing and obvi they will bc they are a constant to me, theyre not the center of this), and my fave girls YASAMMY will be at the forefront of this au.

I’m thinking. Carmen Sammy. But I’m not entirely sure about whether or not that’s what I want? It could be argued that Sammy’s love for her family is a core driving force in her character, and Carmen doesn’t KNOW her family. But also—a huge plot point is that she’s looking for her mom. So. Tentative Carmen Sammy.

MANTAH CORP AS VILE MANTAH CORP AS V.I.L.E MANTAH CORP AS V.I.L.E

So I figure not everything is going to be one-to-one. This means I am placing Kenji in the role of Gray/Crackle. His story is going to be different tho, bc whereas Gray was a recruit, with MANTAH CORP AS V.I.L.E that means Daniel is already on the board. So kenji trying to make his dad proud? More likely than you think.

(I just wanted my Sammy&Kenji besties. Bestie betrayal can be just as good as romantic betrayal)

I’m sure you know where I’m going with this if we’re not going the redcrackle route. Thats right. YASMINA JULIA.

I considered at first, YASMINA CARMEN and SAMMY IVY, but in the end the need for Sammy Carmen was too great.

So I also considered Dave and Roxxie as Chase and Julia but, I decided to scrap that idea for now. You know me, at some point I might revamp most of the au anyways lol, now is not a time for fine tuning it’s just a tentative starting point.

Torn between DARIUS as Player or Brooklynn as Player. I considered Ben of course, but I think we need to put him on an island at some point—he needs a Bumpy, no matter the universe.

WAIT. REVISITING BEN AS PLAYER. BECAUSE DARIUS AND BRAND AS ZACK AND IVY. This means no Carmen/Ivy vibes but since we ditched the Gray/Carmen as well in this au I think it’s fine.

Ben still has to end up with Bumpy somehow tho? Original Ben plan, when Darius was a Player candidate, was Ben is also a V.I.L.E recruit.

V.I.L.E having a faction that deals with genetics and cloning (in addition to like. Kash and his robots) and ending up with a dinosaur—Bumpy! And that being Ben’s flip to the other side/Team Sammy. He defects and steals Bumpy on his way out.

Okay I’m a little too attached to that, so yeah. V.I.L.E recruit Ben, so Brooklynn as player??

Oh! She doesn’t have!!! IRL friends!! Brooklynn being an Internet famous vlogger as in canon. So we get that running gag of Sammy and Brooklynn always being in contact and Brooklynn being a big part of the heists through investigative work and such, yet she’s constantly on the other side of the globe? Sammy needs to be in Sydney but Brooklynn is in New Orleans. That kinda stuff.

Works with Brooklynn having traveled all over the world, she can also do those factoids player does—she’s got the deets.

Oh!???? THATS HOW WE GET MY FAVE DUO OF DINOSTAR BESTIES!!! They both love their facts. They’re nerds.

Mae as shadowsan? Tentatively?

Okay. Player Brooklynn. Except instead of being home most of the time, she’s usually on the go. She’s talked to kenji a few times during Sammy and Kenji’s V.I.L.E recruit era.

Kenji as the Gray of this au. he’s a V.I.L.E legacy. he became friends with sammy his recruitment year, and he'd talked to brooklynn a few times, due to sammy introducing them because kenji was curious about whether or not sammy has friends in the outside world, and sammy noticing brooklynn feeling a little left out/jealous that sammy had friends she was hanging with in person rather than over a phone call.

kenlynn kenlynn kenlynn

does he recognize her voice from her vlogs? does he even watch them? i dont think hed be a brooklander, guys got a lot on his plate and thats impressing his dad

ben is a V.I.L.E. recruit. maybe a bit of mime bomb, in that he was. not as close? with the other recruits. i do think having ben come in as a recruit the year sammy defects would be cool tho. so he doesn't know her as "black sheep" or whatever code name V.I.L.E refers to her as. he'll first meet her as Sammy.

yaz as JULIA!!!!! a junior agent? a former athlete. trying to make it make sense, but i think it fits.

omg. yaz. is alex rider basically holy shit

was thinking of dave as chase, and decided that i was going to keep it.

roxxie as the Chief.

mae as shadowsan.

yes. it IS because i want a roxxie/mae/dave love triangle and that need's final form was ot3

DARIUS AND BRAND AS ZACK AND IVY. i dont want their mom to be dead. but i dont know WHAT happened to her and why theyre involved in this life of crime? i love the og carmen&ivy&zack meeting. and i love that they were involved with racing. trying to find a way to incorporate it and make it make sense

important question.....is darius and his dad's great shared love still dinosaurs?

OR IS IT CARS? RACING?????? BRAND BEING INVOLVED IN THE RACES BC IT WAS IMPORTANT TO DARIUS AND THEIR DAD AND DARIUS CANT DRIVE YET

AND. SAMMY. AS CARMEN!!!!!!

okay so carmen's dad was a former V.I.L.E. agent who left it all behind for the woman he fell in love with right? well. obvi this au isnt a one to one. like there clearly have been changes in characters and dynamics. but i think involving elements from this could work. lemme map it out to make sense

okay so in cc sammy spies for mantah corp despite her parents not wanting her to. meanwhie carmen's dad defects from V.I.L.E., i think shadowsan was there and so was the chief and he dies.

okay so--sammy's dad was a V.I.L.E. agent, fell in love, defected. V.I.L.E. catches up with him, and does A.C.M.E. and in the fallout, the house collapses. A fire? an explosion? they think sammy died. (im not killing off sammy's dad bc damnit she needs a happy ending)

yaz losing faith in the system and having her hot girl summer being romanced by the pretty thief she's supposed to be catching

ben ditches VILE/Mantah Corp with Bumpy and meets Darius at some point--oh!!!

mae/shadowsan joins Team Sammy at the end of s1 i think? okay, so, when she joins, she brings ben, a fresh defector with her.

obvi ben left after he stole bumpy from them

at some point during their occasional talks, kenlynn became friendly with each other. then The Train scene happens. and kenji is promptly deemed a disappointment and dealt with the way gray is.

brooklynn ends up coming across a memory-wiped kenji during one of her vlogs. he doesnt know he knows her, just that something about her voice seems familiar.

brooklynn brings it up and the other are Concerned but also have a lot on their plate rn/dont truly trust him again or are unclear on whether or not they should. darius/brand bc their experiences havent been good so far, and sammy doesnt want to risk them. but he was still one of her first friends. shes torn

brooklynn making contact with him. smth smth she ends up needing a camera man for one of her vlogs and kenji volunteers. they grow closer during her sporadic visits. he asks her out.

DANIEL KON HAS ENTERED THE CHAT. SAMMY NEEDS BROOKLYNN TO DO HER THING. SHE MISSES THE DATE.

Meanwhile, that entire interactive ep??? of carmen sandiego with the julia/carmen??? THAT. THAT HAPPENS. YASAMMY DANCE AND WE GET THAT SCENE YOU KNOW THE ONE

[yuu-kumeii]

Heeello, hru?

i want a tsukishima kei × fem!reader, NO TIME SKIP, i want his reaction on the reader hugging him suddenly without saying anything and the reader doesn't pull away from the hug (aka gives him a long hug)

(Reader is clingy and doesn’t want to vent, but at the end she let it all out)

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, crying

Omg hi anon❗❗❗ I'm doing fine when I got this, but now I'm like a deflated grammar balloon 😭😭😭

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO FINISH YOUR REQUEST I SWEAR I WAS THINKING ABT IT THE WHOLE TIME AFTER I GOT IT, I just didn't get the motivation at that time so I waited for inspiration to strike. But then inspiration hit me too hard and this ended up going waaaay off track ⚰️ PLUS I wrote the middle part during a campus tour and boy am I glad to have friends who are willing to be my beta readers bc past Yuu was NOT having a good time there 🥹. So sorry again in advance if this isn't exactly what you were expecting 🙏

Btw, your all caps red NO TIMESKIP is kinda funny to me bc it's like telling me to REMEMBER THAT THIS IS A PRE TIMESKIP THING NOT POST since I'm someone who mainly writes for post timeskip 💀 ntm how you probably had your own timeskip waiting for this thing 🧍‍♀️but anyways I hope you still enjoy this monster of a drabble fic hybrid 🫶

Also heads up, it's an established relationship, yeah sorry I didn't know if you would be ok with that but uh yeah sorry 😭

Word count : 3.5k (How did I get here)

There wasn't any indication as to why you started to feel the way you do, maybe you were tired. It could be from stress, school work has been piling up so it wasn't a stretch to say that you might've been feeling a little burnt out. But deep down, you know exactly why. You're just too embarrassed to say it out loud, because what kind of person would you be to think that your friends were that shallow? A bad manager and an even more awful friend, that's what.

Everyone has been asking about you, concerned for your lack of response as of late. You barely look up from your notebook, something about a 'full proof strategy for their next game'. One so full proof it apparently doesn't need any input from the team or Kiyoko...or the coach... It's obvious you're trying to avoid them without being absent. Which makes it even more strange, usually you'd want to get away from the people you're avoiding. So why aren't you?

"Oh no, [Y/N] lookout!" A voice suddenly calls out, snapping you out of your thoughts just as you see a ball coming straight for you.

Before you could react, someone beat it to you, "I got it!" A hand reaches out and blocks the ball, you don't register who it is until—

"Nice save, Yacchan!"

Of course.

Yachi was the one who saved your face from getting pummeled while you sat there with your head in the clouds. All the more reason the team should just— just—

Just kick you off the team.

Ah.

There it is.

That's what's been on your mind. Why it was so hard for you to actually avoid them, you were scared to be pushed aside while trying to encourage them to do so. Thinking you were being good at your job, only to see someone new do it better.

You feel like you've been lacking as a manager, despite being in the club for longer. It felt like the newcomer, Yachi, was doing a lot better in the short time she's here. You know it was unwarranted, she's been nothing but helpful. Picking up all the little things you and Kiyoko taught her. The team also welcomed her with open arms, as did you.

It was a gradual realization on your end, with 3 managers on standby, it's easy to lose track of who does what job. But more and more it felt like you've been doing the least out of the 3 of you. It really affected you, even without you knowing.

You start to forget routines, things like after school clean up duty, homework, even going as far as to forget planned hangouts. It felt like all you wanted to do was finish the day as quickly as possible, you don't even get up from your seat much anymore. Your indifference in class is mostly likely why no one tried approaching you for stuff, which makes sense, you probably look unapproachable anyway.

Well, almost unapproachable. If it weren't for Tsukishima, who chose to come up to you on days you fully ignore the team.

"What's up with you?" His words were short and lacked any poise, fitting for the only first year keen on riling up opponents and allies alike.

"...Nothing is, I'm fine" Much like Tsuki, your words were curt. Hoping that the less you answer, the more he's inclined to leave you alone.

Giving you an unconvinced look paired with an equally unconvinced once over, he shrugs and turns to leave you be.

"Suit yourself"

That hurts more than anything your own mind can throw at you, because all it does is convince you further that they're better off without you. All you've been doing is feeling bad about yourself, starting to forget everything important in favor of ignoring the problem.

But strangely enough, even when you forget, nothing seems to have any big consequences. When you realize you forgot about cleanup duty, your class partner just shrugs, saying your friend stayed behind and helped them instead. You think that it could've been Yamaguchi, he sometimes helps with cleaning duty when someone's partner goes home early.

It makes you feel worse about your moping, inconveniencing not one but two people. All because you can't convince yourself that just because Yachi is doing a lot better than you, it doesn't mean you're useless.

Right?

Not to mention the heartwarming messages from your friends when you don't show up to a hangout, they seem so understanding in spite of how you don't even tell them anything. The messages telling you to "Take care of yourself" and "Work things out at your own pace" could honestly make you cry.

Even the team tries their best to cheer you up, or at least to get your attention. You can't lie and say you don't see Hinata trying to get the other first years to pull some cool volleyball stunt he saw once, hoping that you'll congratulate them. It's hard to ignore it, especially when you can just feel his occasional stare, trying to get a reaction from you. But, as much as you want to cheer them on, you just can't do that. And yet, they're still so understanding. Trying to raise your spirit, Yachi even tried to start a conversation with you by asking for help on different managerial duties. But to no avail, all you do is point her in the right direction before going back to your place in the stands. Her efforts weren't in vain, but not enough to really get to you.

But it doesn't add up, how would they know you're going through a tough time? Are you really that obvious? You probably are. Either way, it's sweet of them to still think about you even when you're basically ditching them.

What does make sense to you is the homework, which you still end up submitting on time. All thanks to, you guessed it, Tsukishima. He just started reminding you about homework due in 2 days, complete with the pages and formulas needed. A smart comment about your recent forgetfulness is always attached to the message, something to remind you that it's from Tsuki of all people.

Someone you got to know through Yamaguchi, a mutual friend of yours, and if that's not enough, then being on the same team definitely is. As a manager on said team, you were always there for whatever sarcastic quip he had at the ready. Complete with every short joke ever made and that snide smile of his almost everyday. Needless to say, it didn't take long for a friendship to bloom. No longer hanging out only when Yams was around, you both built a routine for when you have each other. Yet you were always one to break routine for something new, a habit the tall beanpole never fails to challenge.

"Why do I have to come with you? You can just go alone" He says, not too keen on the idea of skipping your usual bakery visit for a cafe.

"Because I don't want to go alone and you're the only free one" You were always so sure he'd come with you anyway, to the point where you don't even try to convince him anymore.

He did end up going with you in the end, even if he did have his complaints here and there. But overall, it was one of the few times you can visibly see him having a good time. You chose a cafe themed around the stars and space in general, which you knew Tsuki liked quite a bit. Sure it would've been better to go to a dinosaur themed cafe, but the ones you know about are all the way in Tokyo and Fukui. Nevertheless, that space cafe visit was definitely a core memory in both your and Tsukishima's friendship, no matter how much that salt shaker wanted to deny it.

Though you did promise that one day, both of you would go together.

As friends, cause that's what you are, right?

Wait, actually do you even remember what happened after the space cafe? Wasn't it really important?

It feels like you know exactly what it is, it's a *fact* that you remember what it is. But much like everything else around you, it as well, whether you mean to or not, is pushed to the back of your head. Your thoughts start to discourage your resolve in this self-driven solitude of yours, built upon claims with no support. But why would the evidence matter if the claim itself is enough to make you believe?

It really felt like you were going to keep up this ruse forever, nothing really served as a consequence to you. The only thing keeping you in this state were the small glimpses of the team above your notebook, always up to some dumb fun. Something you always looked forward to in spite of the grueling practice ahead of them, well it was something you looked forward to.

Your eyes catch onto the other first years happily chatting with each other, except for Tsuki who preferred to stand on the sidelines, only chiming in to add a sprinkle of sarcasm into the conversation. That seems fun, you knew it was. As you watch everyone laugh at something Yachi says, something in you starts coiling around your heart.

You're suddenly aware of every breath you take, your thoughts start to repeat 'breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out...'

Your surroundings start to feel heavy, like you were tethered to your place. The sound of your own breathing feels louder than the voices in the gym. So focused on your empty notebook that everything else blurs at the edges of your vision.

It wasn't until you caught golden-brown eyes staring at you from across the court, genuine concern masked under a nonchalant gleam. You hold his gaze for longer than you'd like, unsure if there's anything else hidden under the bespectacled stare.

Tsuki only tilts his head in the direction of the other first years, probably telling you to come with them. You can only refuse, solemnly shaking your head. They can't possibly want you there with them, not after ignoring them for the better part of a week. It wouldn't be right to just butt in like that.

He probably knows that you're still not giving in, because it looked like he let out a sigh before walking towards them. Not before one last stare down with you, his gaze asking if you're sure about your decision. You can only hesitantly nod, you're not sure, you don't want to pick this decision, but you've convinced yourself that you're backed into a corner.

A corner you made up.

Well, no use in thinking about it now.

"Oi [Y/N], I'm gonna lock up the gym now! Better get going" Oh coach Ukai, you forgot he was still here. Taking your notebook and pen into your arms, you nod at the coach before heading towards the exit. Body slightly hunched over when you pass him, unable to look at him in the eye.

"Whatever it is you're going through, you know they got your back, right kiddo?" Ukai suddenly says, right before you leave. It makes you stand in your place for a while, thinking. You know they do, it just doesn't feel right to, especially when you didn't give them a valid reason for your distance.

"Y-yeah…Thanks, coach" You mumble, fully facing away from him. Turning to leave, when you catch a glimpse of the orange sky outside. Realizing how late it got, you break into a sprint back to your classroom.

Through the now empty halls, doused in ombre. No other soul in sight, leaving the sounds of your footsteps to be heard. The sky is beautiful today…wouldn't it be fun to experience it together?

Your pace slows right in front of your classroom, 1-4 written on a sign next to the door. Putting your hands on your knees to catch your breath from all the running, you stop to admire the light that passes through your classroom door.

And that's when you heard it, the faint scratching of a chalkboard being erased, you'd know that sound anywhere. It's soft, you could barely hear it over your own breaths, who could be cleaning it at this time? You know your partner didn't come to school today, they were sick. You yourself forgot, so why would anyone be there?

Slowly peeking through the door frame, you see a lone figure standing by the chalkboard. Short blond hair, a lean figure, headphones over his neck, the wire hanging loose. It's him, the one you felt the most guilt for. You watch him for a while, lazily swiping the eraser across the chalkboard.

So that's who your cleanup partner was talking about.

It wasn't Yamaguchi…

It was Tsuki.

He's been the one filing in for you, the one picking up after you. The one who kept pushing you to just talk to the team from a distance, he was looking out for you. The one that's been trying to reach out in his own way, you feel so stupid. Running away while your…

Your…

Your...

Own boyfriend looks out for you even when you unfairly pushed him away.

Your eyes glaze over and your breathing interchanges between short huffs and long shaky sighs. Feeling like you owe so much to him, keeping you afloat in an ocean of your own solitude. Step by step, you make your way over. Speeding up the closer you got.

Reaching him, you immediately press your face into his back. Arms wrapping around his waist, grabbing at the fabric of his school uniform to keep yourself in place. You can feel him tense, before slowly relaxing and going back to his cleaning. The guilt eating up at you even more, you clench your fists around his uniform, trembling in your place. Your lip trembles slightly, making your words sound even more pathetic than they already are.

"I'm…I-I'm so-so-...so-sor—ry—!" You sob, voice breaking off the same way you are. No words could express the mix of relief and remorse you feel, relief to be able to express your true feelings and remorse for your actions that didn't. Your eyes fill with tears that linger at their edge, waiting for a push to get them down.

"You better be, do you know how much they miss you? Those idiots won't stop asking me about you" Kei's words striking right through your heart, the coil no longer tight. Your tears finally fall as your cries get louder. You press your face further into your boyfriend's back for comfort, letting out all the pent up feelings you've harbored the past week.

"I…I just f-felt like—like I wa-was u-useless!" You whimper, sobs reduced to short intakes of air between big breaths.

"Idiot…" Turning to face you fully, Kei's hand settles itself on the top of your head, sliding down to the back. Pushing you further into an embrace of his own, refusing to look at you. One hand on the back of your head, the other fiddling with his headphone wires.

All that you've done, the distance you tried to make, it all came tumbling down. All at once. It was never supposed to take hold of you the way it did, so all you needed was something to justify ending it. Kei, is that something.

"It's just tha-that—Yachi is such-such a good mana–ger…be-better than me…" The words flow out before you could stop them, a confession to your actions. Hearing it out loud, you truly realize how weak your reasons are. It just shows how little it took to have you questioning your worth as a member of the team, laid out in front of the both of you.　

"..." His silence causes you to meekly look up at him, afraid of what he might think. Kei was always good at keeping a neutral face, never making it easy for you to know what he's thinking.

"I don't want to stop being your guys' manager…" You lower your head, voice a whisper, lip still quivering slightly.

"Then don't, no one's telling you to quit"

Huh.

"But—" You quickly look back up at him.

"But nothing, Yachi's great and all but when will we ever get another clutz like you who pays for my drink?" He has a smug look on his face after saying that, eyes filled with nothing but mischief.

You say nothing, words stuck in your throat. Still staring at his stupid smile, he's probably so proud of himself for that. But, you knew he said that to cheer you up. Something to keep you out of your own head, and it's working.

"Way to ruin the moment…" You mumble, "Could've been a bit more dramatic" A soft smile takes over your expression, already feeling much more relieved than before.

"You can do that by yourself," Kei retorts, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

"But you'd still do it with me" Your smile grows, eyes filled with adoration for the pretty face in front of you. After being alone for the better part of a week, it was nice to finally talk again. Even if you had so much making up to do, to everyone in the team, maybe you could start with the one who still held you close.

"Oh? You sound so sure of yourself for someone who's been running away from me" Eyebrow raised in faux skepticism, waiting for your answer.

"I promise I'll make it up to you first" You tell him, before burying your face back into his front, basking in his familiar scent and warmth where you feel most at ease.

"You better"

And you will. To all of them.

Walking home from school during sunset is a special kind of rare to you, barely anyone on the streets. Your newfound goal for the following week, circling in your mind. Beside you was Kei, matching your pace with long strides contrasting your own smaller steps.

"Kei…Do you want to stop by Paprika heaven?" You suddenly ask.

"Paprika heaven? Really?" Kei is not convinced you're being serious, you can practically sense that raised brow.

"It's a cafe! I know the name isn't the sweetest sounding but trust me on this!" You insist, letting out an exasperated huff.

"Shouldn't it be closed?" He questions further, still doubtful.

"It closes at 9, I checked" You proudly exclaim, crossing your arms with a content look on your face.

Kei rolls his eyes at your antics, "Alright, I yield" he raises his hands in surrender, yet a smirk still makes its way onto his face, "But you're paying"

You freeze, realizing that he's right. You are going to pay for it, with your own money. Immediately, your figure deflates dramatically. Slouching forward with an exaggerated groan.

"Right…" Your wallet will never forgive you. But not because Paprika Heaven was too expensive, a piece of your soul just dies whenever you take out a remotely large amount of money from your wallet.

This apparently amuses your boyfriend because he starts laughing, so much so that his shoulders move in time with each laugh. He turns to look at your stunned figure, which only entertains him more. Hearing his mocking laughter, it shakes you out of your stupor. Irritation starts to take hold of you, wanting him to stop laughing at your obvious misery.

"Wha—?! Stop laughing!" Your fists make contact with your boyfriend's chest, repeatedly hitting him to get him to shut.

"I'm serious! I might become poor after this!"

"That's your own fault" In between laughs, Kei is still able to call you out. Seriously, can't he take this seriously?

After a while he calms down, wiping a single tear from his eye. You also calm down, arms tired from the repeated attacks on your boyfriend. Leaning your forehead on his chest to rest, eyes closing on their own from the change in atmosphere. Kei only stands proud, hands in his pockets and a grin spread across his face in content.

Comfortable silence wash over you, the sun still peeking just beyond the horizon, lighting up the road just enough for you to see the way ahead. It's way too late for a bunch of high school students to be out, let alone ones who plan on staying out. But that doesn't matter, you can take the worried lectures from your parents later. Right now, you want to make up for lost time.

"Kei—," You raise your head to face him, taking a deep breath,

"Thank you" A closed eyed smile appears on your face, "For still putting up with me"

"...Whatever" He looks away from you, eyes gazing over the road in front of you.

But no matter how much he tries to hide it,

You can still see that small genuine smile on his face.

[olderthannetfic]

Just wanted to share an interesting musing: a friend and I at one point bemoaned how hard it is to find niche unhinged flavors of fanfic in newer fandoms (like "I spawned a crack treated seriously/horny af/goblin idea and I made it your problem" kind of writing) because it always feels like a lot of fanfic feel weirdly hallmark movie-esque (repressed? sanitized? family friendly?). And they wondered if its because of the rise of puritan/morality/censorship ideas in fandom. I had a lightbulb moment and said maybe it's also because fanfic tend to be posted in Big Main Sites (ao3, ffnet, wattpad?) instead of scattered into archives (or even personal blogs) that once existed. Could go on with the possible effect of having social media as your first internet thing and not grasping the concept of archiving and your own personal internet space (as social media doesn't reward you for that). But yeah, do kind of wonder if the weird hallmark vibe we get is both because of a fear of being accused of evil and the urge to be seen and praised in a one-sided competition against an ocean of writers.

--

Musing on fanfic anon pt 2: Also just generally that having nearly everyone yeet their fic in Main Fanfic Sites (in which! I am not complaining, as someone who has seen LJ and fics getting deleted but-) makes it just hard to sift through what you really want, even if you're using search functions in overdrive. Anyways musing over.

I think you'd have to define what goblin ideas you used to see more clearly because I can't tell what you're actually describing here.

I haven't noticed any particular change in the kinds of fic that astolat's buddies write. A lot of oldschool types, me included, always aspired to write basically sff novels but with more gay or romance novels about our blorbos. You know: professional-ish prose, coherent plots, etc. They might also be horny af and if our kinks are "weird", then the fics will be weird, I suppose, but only someone who's having trouble believing that anybody could really like that kink is going to see them as crack.

I used to see more "LOL, I wrote this on a sugar high!" type author's notes, but they were never big in the part of LJ that built AO3 and so they're not big on AO3 either.

The "I like hobbitses, especially when they touchessss each other" type fic is still mixed into the oldschool LJ stuff, just in the small proportion it always had. (Yes, I saw you all clicking on that in 2005 and pretending you didn't find it hot.)

I guess it really depends on what kind of unhinged you're looking for.

[infinite-ticking-clock37]

Help why is Silved mpreg a new thing on this app- like what started this help me

OH BOY how the fuck do I explain this shit

Ok so basically back in very early January I decided to draw Silver Spoon.. but pregnant. AS A JOKE-

Then my gf (@humanaltarr) posted the pic, and a few of my moots on Tumblr saw it, and at first I was like "Welp this is the end of my Tumblr career" and I think just a few hours later one of my moots (@spiritmander13) wrote the first Silver Spoon mpreg fic called "Silver Suffers With Morning Sickness" with 6 chapters (technically 7 but the 7th isn't involved with the story)

Then Silver Spoon mpreg became a big joke mostly on the oscc discord I believe (I joined it for a few days but left) and then for a while it was quiet, until I started an ask blog called @askthe-iii-shipchildren, on April 5th, and on April 30th I got an ask by an anonymous person where they wanted Candelabra to put Silver Spoon in a maid dress, and I ended up drawing Silver in a maid dress

Now here's were the second Silver mpreg era began. I made a joke with Candle saying "If Silver stays in that for much longer Candelabra is gonna have a little sibling soon" cuz I thought it would be funny (had no idea what it would cause)

Then @spiritmander13 reblogged it and said something like "CANDLE NO-" and I replied back saying "Silver Spoon mpreg part 2 /j" AS A JOKE. She told me not to start it again, and I said "Aw shucks" but in the tags of that reblog, I said "Time to draw Silver pregnant in a maid dress" and that's where I messed up since Spiritmander said they were intimidated.

Suddenly, I got tagged in a post by Spiritmander, and it seemed to be a screenshot of them saying "Don't tell Infinite, my sins shall stay hidden until it is the right time (I scrolled for like 20 minutes on their blog to find that fucking hell)

Then I got a little spooked cuz yk it's not everyday shit like this happens. I then screenshotted it and went into her inbox with the screenshot and asked "WHAT IS RHIS, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN" and she replied with another screenshot and it said "*Casually steals Tumblr mutuals fankid for the story*" and that's when I knew what was happening.

Soon, Spiritmander posted another Silver Spoon mpreg fic called "Little Moth"

Then it was a little quiet after that, with me making an occasional joke about it, always ending it with Spirit saying "HEY YOU STARTED IT!"

There is also this whole thing with "Bab Incest" Spirit did but I wasn't involved with that

Later in to May, me, @spiritmander13 and @mxmc13 formed the "Silver Spoon simp trio" cause apparently we all saw each other as friends so why not

Then the (sort of) mpreg era 3 started again. I'll put this part simply and say that me and a few other people on osc Tumblr got asks in our inboxes by "Anon~Chan" that were basically like a shitty Wattpad story but with II characters, and I personally got a Silverloon mpreg thing.. so fun..

And the most recent thing that happened. There was a Two x Jax post, and me, Mc, and Spirit were basically joking more about Silver Spoon mpreg in the reblogs, until Spirit came along and said "Silver Spoon simp trio canceled." And me and Mc were absolutely DEVASTATED and then Spirit said that me and Mc had to write Silver Spoon mpreg as well, for me as punishment for drawing it and confusing the original poster, and for Mc.. dunno..

And that's what's currently happening, I am working on my Silver mpreg and so is @mxmc13 ..

And yeah that's the whole story pretty much, this was a VERY long post and probably not even was the asker really wanted but meh

Anyways I imma end this off with saying.. I do not regret first drawing the Silver Spoon mpreg, since this is all genuinely fun and it even got me some friends on this site (Spiritmander and Mxmx and their great) so yeah =]

(also this is NO hate to anyone mentioned in this, and the fics that Spirit wrote are actually really good so I recommend checking them out)

[cheshiresense]

Anon:

Fandom: Harry Potter (CLV kinda?)

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

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

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

-0-

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

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

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

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

-0-0-0-

1.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe Hadrian Evans could be something different.

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

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

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

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

"SLYTHERIN!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-0-0-0-

2.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Evans, are you listening to me?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves. So Hadrian does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

"Why would you??"

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

"…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-0-0-0-

3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-0-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-doesn't like it.

-0-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Evans moves forward and-

-sits down.

At the Gryffindor table.

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

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

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

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

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

-0-0-0-

4.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Greedy.)

Hadrian Evans does not disappoint him.

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

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

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

It's Blaise who reacts first.

He laughs.

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

There's a clatter. The door opens.

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

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

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

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

-a memory.

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

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

Patience, he reminds himself.

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

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

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

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

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

Evidently, he never has.

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

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

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

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

Except-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Fortunately, Blaise has no such compunctions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 So then.

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

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

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

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

 Evans' attention shifts again, and as with Theo, his gaze is neither friendly nor hostile, but it's different all the same in a way Theo can't quite name. "Is that my problem?"

 The room is quiet for a beat.

 Evans smiles, careless, casual. "I'm the one doing the teaching. Who I teach should be up to me, shouldn't it?"

 Blaise stares, unblinking, hands finally gone still. "Aren't those Gryffindors your friends though?"

 "Sure," Evans agrees. "Still doesn't mean they get to tell me what to do just because they're biased against Slytherins." He shakes his head. "I doubt it'll be much of a problem though. Like you said, they're my friends, and aren't I a Slytherin too?"

 Nobody says what Theo is certain they're all thinking— that in many ways, Evans isn't anything like your average Slytherin.

 (And in others, Evans is the very epitome of one, but the Golden Trio probably doesn't know that, do they?)

 "Are you saying other Slytherins are welcome in your tutoring sessions then?" Blaise says next, and it's the most straightforward Theo has ever seen him, skipping at least three prevarications and five backhanded compliments that Theo could've sworn Blaise would normally include just because he doesn't know any other way to speak. Apparently not.

 Except Evans' response is to huff a breath that sounds like laughter, except not in any way they've heard before, not as amicable, and Theo sees Blaise's smile grow a little fixed.

 If they were in the business of distributing vices, then excessive hubris would undoubtedly go to Malfoy, but only because Blaise doesn't have the same reckless self-defeating habit of flaunting what he has everywhere and retaliating like a rabid lapdog the moment he feels slighted, the latter of which is helped along by the fact that he doesn't hold many people in high enough esteem for them to offend him. After all, you wouldn't get mad if a ghost or a goblin or even a house-elf - as unlikely as that is - is rude to you, would you? At most, you'd punish the latter and move along with your day. And for those who do register enough as people in Blaise's eyes, well, Blaise far prefers retaliating when the other party least expects it.

 It's the same now, in the way Blaise blinks twice rapidly but doesn't otherwise react. Of course, since this is Evans, he won't be able to retaliate later either, not with any kind of success, so it's doubly impressive that the other boy manages to keep his pride nailed down and tucked away.

 "You know," Evans says lazily, mirth or perhaps mockery gleaming in his eyes. "You could just ask. Take a leaf out of Theo's book; it wastes less time."

 Because even Blaise's straightforwardness needs to take a stroll or two around the block first, and apparently, Evans had caught onto that possibly since the first time Blaise had opened his mouth since this conversation began.

 Blaise's lips thin, but after a moment of no doubt weighing the pros and cons, he shrugs gracefully like it doesn't sting and asks, "Then, may I join your tutoring sessions, Evans? I would also appreciate some assistance with my Ancient Runes studies. Of course, I will abide by the terms you've set as well."

 Theo listens and wonders just how much self-control those three sentences took. Before today, he hadn't even known Blaise was capable of it, and the fact that he is, for this, actually says a lot more about his regard for Evans than Theo had realized even just a minute ago.

 At least Evans doesn't make it harder for Blaise than that.

 "Sure," The other boy acquiesces with the air of a predator sitting back on its haunches. "On your own head though."

 At this, a trace of a smirk - his real one, beatific in its cruelty, instead of his regular fit-for-public one - cuts across Blaise's face for the span of a heartbeat. "No problem."

 Evans levels another long look at him before shaking his head with another twist of a smile. "Okay then. We're all good now?" He looks from Blaise to Theo and even spares half a glance in Crabbe and Goyle's direction before nodding, satisfied. "Fantastic. Back to work for me."

 He spins back around to face his desk, reaching for his quill, and the rest of the day passes as usual, without another word traded between them, even when they all get up for dinner. Malfoy comes back shortly before that, stalking over to his section of the dorm with the mulish single-minded intensity of someone unwilling to even acknowledge Evans' existence, although that probably won't last once he finds out what Theo and Blaise have agreed to.

 Later, in private, Theo remarks to Blaise, "I didn't expect you to care so much about your Ancient Runes grades."

 Blaise slants an indecipherable look at him even as a shallow smile stretches the width of his mouth. "Who wouldn't care about their grades when someone's offering to help raise them for free?"

 It's a rhetorical question and answers approximately nothing, but Theo wasn't expecting anything of substance anyway.

 Besides, when it comes down to it, he supposes it's not so surprising that Blaise can also see which way the wind is blowing, hard enough to tell anyone with decent enough instincts that a major shift in power is imminent.

 And no one likes a fence-sitter.

 -0-0-0-

 5.

 Hadrian would like it to be known that he isn't quite sure how he's gotten to this point in his life.

 Well, that's a lie, he sort of knows, or at least he can pinpoint all the decisions that got him from Point A to Point B, but he supposes he just wasn't expecting a couple Slytherins whom he'd always assumed - even back in his original world - were just Malfoy's lackeys in school, to commit, and commit hard. They hadn't even participated in the war on either side, as far as he was aware— Nott had died relatively early on under mysterious circumstances, and Zabini had by all accounts returned to his home country. To Hadrian, they'd been little more than faces in the background that he'd never even exchanged five words with in total before coming to this world.

 But within the first week after they've asked to join his tutoring sessions, Nott and Zabini - Slytherin/Pureblood Rule Number Who-Knows-What: you can't use someone else's first name until you're invited to - make it really fucking obvious who they're… supporting? Have sided with? Because Slytherin is a nest of brewing factions and shifting alliances and political doublespeak and even a couple blood feuds, and this is precisely why Hadrian doesn't want anything to do with this House.

 Except apparently, agreeing to tutor Nott and Zabini means he's… joined the power struggle? Formed his own faction? Decided to vie for in-House supremacy and possible world domination? Who knows because Hadrian sure doesn't, and he's determined not to know, because surely if he just continues doing his own thing, it'll become clear sooner or later to all and sundry that he has no interest in fighting a bunch of schoolchildren over whatever they think he wants to fight for.

 It's just that he can't quite do that either, because not even three weeks after Nott and Zabini start joining him in the library every Wednesday and Saturday with a wary but accepting Hermione, something that translates to them moving their seats to sit with him in class and - when they can make it look natural, if still deliberate - walking with him in the hallways, the displeasure and animosity in Slytherin House reaches breaking point.

 It's not as if Hadrian hasn't already been the target of multiple hexes and curses from his own Housemates. He's a halfblood who hangs out with Gryffindors— it's to be expected. But so far, the spells have always been in the realm of reasonable, ones that might make him trip down the stairs or rip his bag or screw up his potion, and he's been able to block or avoid them all, so he'd figured it wasn't that big a deal. He'd put the fear of a Horntail in Malfoy early on because he has to live with the berk, and he doesn't much feel like returning after a long day of classes just to have to butt heads with him every single time. But he basically has no intersections with the rest of the House, so he just hasn't bothered paying attention to any of them.

 Then, perhaps rather suddenly, Nott and Zabini are there, not so much orbiting him as they do hover from afar. But they join his tutoring sessions, and they're serious about learning from him, listening earnestly and asking questions and even checking out the books he recommends they read if they have time. There are holes in even the most simple of their fundamental knowledge of Runes - Babbling, read a how-to book on teaching for Merlin's sake - so Hadrian has to more or less start from the ground up, as he had with Hermione, but both of them quickly prove themselves more than intelligent enough to keep up, and they're startling enthusiastic - by Slytherin standards - about everything he teaches them. Nott is more obvious - more ravenous - about it, but even Zabini - who likes to pretend he's only there for the novelty of it or something and therefore tends to play up a laidback sort of indifference - never fails to complete the optional exercises Hadrian writes up for them once a week.

 And outside of the tutoring sessions, it's like they've decided that being tutored by him means that he's now their new Malfoy or something. Not that Malfoy was their Malfoy before, if Hadrian had understood Nott correctly, but they'd at least acted like they were part of Malfoy's groupies. Now they've done a one-eighty, and it's not as if they follow him around all the time the way Crabbe and Goyle do with Malfoy, honestly if you don't count classroom and dorm room, they're not even around him half the time, especially Zabini, but when they are around, when they move their cauldrons next to his in Potions class despite working separately, when they go down to breakfast with him despite splitting off at the entrance, when they trail behind him back to the Slytherin Dungeon after a tutoring session, they're so damn conspicuous about it that they might as well be waving neon-bright signs above their heads.

 In contrast, they don't even sit next Malfoy during mealtimes anymore, much to the blond's increasing red-faced ire that vaguely resembles a Silenced teakettle on the brink of boiling over. But now they sit at the end of the Slytherin table, which Hadrian has gradually gathered that that's not a good thing, but he doesn't know how to fix it either, and neither Nott nor Zabini seems to mind.

 They also talk to him now, not often, not just in private, and not just about Runes, although that does still take up the majority of their conversation topics, if only because they don't know each other that well yet. But in their dorm or in class or in the library or in the halls, sometimes, Nott would say something completely normal, like whether or not he owns an owl or if he's noticed Snape's increasingly intent attention on him or if he's found the secret passageway connecting the Dungeons to the sixth floor yet because climbing six flights of moving stairs isn't what anyone would call a good time. Zabini on the other hand prefers sharing obscure gossip that even most of Slytherin isn't aware of, sordid little secrets like whose parent has a mistress (or three) on the side that will very likely cause an inheritance problem down the road, who killed a cousin over the summer due to jealousy but has done a decent enough job of covering it up as an accident because said cousin had been the heir apparent, and even who had to go to Pomfrey for an Abortion Charm just last week but will likely have to break her betrothal contract - and consequently have her magic bound, as per the terms of said contract - in the future anyway because there's no hiding the loss of her virginity from the olde family magicks no matter how frantically she searches for a way.

 To the former, Hadrian responds the way he would if Neville or Ron or Hermione were to ask him similar questions. To the latter, he says, "You have serious issues, Zabini."

 Nott never smiles, but his body language is a little less closed off and his eyes look a little less hunted with every random conversation they have. Zabini is almost always smiling, and in response to Hadrian's incredulity, he only laughs like it's the grandest joke he's ever heard.

 They grow on him, is the thing. One's probably abused at home, and the other is honestly half a psychopath already, and Hadrian shouldn't care but he's always had a bit of a soft spot for broken people, people who don't quite fit in no matter how well they fake it, people who remind him of himself. And the war he'd survived had only served to destroy what little compunctions he'd ever had about getting too close to dangerous things.

 So they grow on him, day by day, and half a month in, the other Slytherins apparently can't handle it anymore.

 Hadrian's just coming back from dinner. Nott and Zabini are with him, having joined him once he'd bid Neville, Ron, and Hermione goodnight. They're halfway across the common room when Hadrian catches movement in his peripheral, and he has half a second to decide what to do, to abort the reflex to go for his wand, to cancel the shield ward sparking at his fingertips, to pivot around on the spot and abruptly swing himself right into Nott's personal space, which means Nott immediately puts on the brakes, and - behind him - Zabini has to do the same.

 Hadrian senses more than feels the curse that grazes the back of his robes and splashes against the far wall between a pair of suspiciously empty armchairs in an area that's normally a popular hangout spot. There's no sound, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way it oozes a sickly viscous purple that puddles to the ground and eats straight through the carpet before finally evaporating into nothing.

 He doesn't turn his head, doesn't challenge anyone into a duel the way his hands are itching to do. Instead, even before the spell disappears, he's already asking, "Did you copy down the Potions assignment from today? I just remembered I forgot."

 In front of him, Nott's turned three shades whiter, and he's already pale-skinned to begin with, so he obviously recognizes the spell. Zabini clearly does as well if the way he's gone gargoyle-still is anything to go by.

 If they'd continued walking, that curse would've hit Nott right in the ribcage. His left ribcage.

 A beat of silence passes. Then Nott takes a breath and answers in a voice that doesn't waver but is even more inflectionless than usual. "Yes, I wrote it down. I can show you."

 "Cool, thanks, let's go."

 Nobody else speaks, nobody even moves, as Hadrian leads the way back to their dorm.

 Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle aren't back yet so they have the room to themselves. As soon as the door is shut, Nott almost slumps onto his bed, hands shaking. Zabini pulls out his chair to sit, a smile hooked at one corner of his mouth, but absolutely nothing about the rest of him says amusement.

 (Slytherins don't have friends, and Zabini doesn't seem to know how to have friends, but Nott's probably the closest to one that his disposition will ever allow.)

 Hadrian looks from Nott to Zabini and back, and then he asks, "Who was that boy? The one surrounded by that group by the fireplace."

 The one who'd fired the spell. Don't think just because a bunch of students were arranged in front of him that Hadrian had missed the way his arm had moved, the jab of a wand, the blossom of light at its tip before the curse had flown across the room. Did they think he was blind?

 Nott blinks up at him, features still pinched. It's Zabini who answers, soft as silk, "Malcolm Avery, seventh-year."

 Hadrian takes a moment to digest that, to press that face into his memory before filing it away for later. He focuses on his roommates again instead and presses on, "Has this sort of thing happened before?"

 Because even if they're spending time with him, Nott's an old pureblood name, isn't it? And Zabini is Zabini, and everybody's heard of his mother. Even if they're shunned a bit, jeered at a bit, even hexed a bit, any serious assaults should only be aimed at Hadrian, right?

 Well, apparently not. That curse earlier had been a much Darker cousin of the Bone-Vanishing Spell, a variation on the more public-friendly Bone-Breaking Curse. If Hadrian hadn't seen it coming, if he hadn't stopped Nott in time, that thing would've not only shattered the left half of Nott's ribcage but also stabbed the resulting fragments directly into the nearest organs before dissolving into the bloodstream as a lethal poison— in this case, it would've been the heart and a lung. Nott would've been dead in under a minute, drowning in his own blood in extreme pain, and it's a tossup if even Hadrian would've been able to save him.

 Zabini - unsurprisingly - shakes his head. For all that he doesn't have an old bloodline to rooted in Britain, he still has enough family clout to grant him a strong backing. And that's not counting his own means of protecting himself. Hadrian had actually gotten the feeling very early on, from the moment they'd had their first conversation, and he'd only been proven right as they'd gotten to know each other a little better— Zabini has all the best traits of a quintessential Slytherin. And thereby also all of the worst. Magic-wise, Hadrian can overpower him in a second, but that's why Zabini knows not to make an enemy of him, knows how to bend and stretch and profit while he's at it. He doesn't need anyone to protect him.

 Nott on the other hand doesn't reply right away, and when he does, it's an evasive, "Spells like that would be an instant expulsion from Hogwarts, especially coming from a Slytherin, and from a seventh-year, they'd go straight to Azkaban. There are portraits all over the school. I'm not stupid enough to wander into places where there aren't any."

 Hadrian aims a flat look at him. "That's not what I asked."

 Nott purses his lips and stares at his lap. Hadrian waits him out.

 "…They've tried cornering me," Nott finally admits, grudgingly, almost resentfully. "There's no avoiding a couple areas with no portraits. But they never used a curse this Dark before, and I've always been able to slip away."

 Hadrian swallows the first three things he wants to say, to shout, because at his core, he likes to think he has a long fuse, but when someone crosses his line in the sand, his temper has always been explosive and violent, which won't help here.

 Besides, hadn't he more or less told these two to handle the consequences of letting him tutor them on their own? Even if they weren't Slytherins and actually had the mind to reach out for help, they probably wouldn't have come to him after what he'd said, so he has no one to blame but himself and the fact that he'd underestimated just how deep some Slytherins' senseless hatred runs.

 So he breathes through his first instinct, his second, his third, and then he pushes off the desk he'd been leaning on in favour of pulling out parchment and ink and the appropriate books.

 "Alright, come here," He beckons, spreading everything out on his desk. "I'm gonna teach you a Fourfold Rebounder Ward so you can wear it on you from now on. The variation I'm thinking of has a chameleon element, so it'll be both strong enough to deflect a curse on the level of the one from earlier and also camouflage it when it's bounced back at whoever attacked you. It's based off of intent too, so it won't act up in a scuffle or a practice duel or something, the other person has to really want to harm you with deadly intent, so keep your guard up for other stuff, and honestly, this should just be for emergencies, you should still try to dodge it because it's not good to grow overly dependent on stuff like this. I'm confident the runes won't fail when I'm the one making it but your reflexes will get rusty if you get lazy. It's a bit- okay, a lot more difficult than anything you're learning right now, but I'll do most of the work, you just watch and provide the magic at the end, and once your foundation is a bit more stable and we can move ahead to more interesting things, I'll come back to this first so you'll be able to learn how to do this yourselves one day."

 A long silence follows. Hadrian looks up. Neither of his roommates has moved. "What's wrong?"

 Another few seconds tick by. It's Zabini who gets up first, an odd smile on his face, one that Hadrian's never seen before. But all he says is, "Nothing's wrong. I was just hoping if we waited a bit, Malfoy will get back in time to see what we're doing and finally keel over from high blood pressure."

 Hadrian snorts with laughter. "Get over here. If that really happened, we'd be the ones who'd have to waste time carrying him up to the Hospital Wing."

 Zabini's expression says that that wouldn't be his problem but he only smirks and saunters over to Hadrian's desk with his chair. When they both turn to look, Nott is already on his feet as well. He doesn't say anything, but he looks steadier, and he's watching Hadrian with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes them look almost feverish.

 They settle down around him, eager - by Slytherin standards - to learn in a way that reminds Hadrian exactly why he likes to teach.

 He gets to work, explaining each step even though he knows most of it is going over their heads. That's fine though; for now, these wards just need to protect them properly, and in the future, he'll teach them how to protect themselves.

 -0-

 Of course, things aren't over just like that, because Hadrian's temper is an explosive and violent beast, and the only things that's changed from when he was still a teenager is the fact that he's gotten a lot sneakier about it as an adult.

 They aren't friends. But Nott and Zabini are his roommates and his students and kids that he's starting to genuinely care about, and nobody gets to walk away scot-free after fucking with the people under Hadrian's care so long as he's still alive to do something about it.

 Malcolm Avery is seventeen anyway. That's an adult by any magical community's measure, which means Hadrian doesn't have to hold back.

 It takes a week. A week of slipping out after curfew and eavesdropping on conversations, of finding out what the seventh-year's next practical Potions class will be working on and scanning all of Avery's belongings to see what Dark spells he's been mucking about with, and finally of filching Avery's cauldron for an afternoon while he's in class and replacing it before he returns to his dorm.

 When it happens, Hadrian isn't even in school. Even if he were, it wouldn't matter because he'd made sure to time everything just right, and all the fourth-years - and most of the rest of the student body too - are already in the Great Hall waiting for lunch to be served. Seventh-year Potions is in the morning block, and Avery always goes overtime when there's a practical.

 Hadrian isn't even in school, sitting his Ancient Runes exams at the Ministry all day instead, but he certainly hears all about it when he gets back that evening.

 A few minutes before noon, a silver doe Patronus comes bounding up from the dungeons with an urgent summons for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Nobody hears what is said, but the three staff members rush off even as the food begins to appear, and nobody hears from them again until half an hour later when whispers start going around about Healers from St. Mungo's being called and one Malcolm Avery being carried out the front doors on a stretcher because his condition is too unstable to be transported through the Floo. The professors don't really tell them anything except that there was a Potions accident, but - as these things do because the rumour mill at Hogwarts is healthier than ever, and there'd still been a few other seventh-years in class with Avery at the time - everyone more or less knows what happened anyway by the time afternoon classes start. Potions is cancelled for the rest of the day, because no one else was injured but Snape was too busy furiously documenting what had happened after running multiple diagnostic spells over the remains of Avery's cauldron to teach. Also, he has to submit said documentation and a Pensieve memory to the Aurors investigating the accident, which doesn't exactly say great things about his mood, so nobody's unhappy about being able to give Potions a miss.

 Apparently, Avery had been using his cauldron to make other potions - banned potions - in his dorm room. His roommates had been willing enough to keep mum and even give him a hand, and the book he'd been learning from had been found in his trunk. Thankfully, he hadn't managed to make anything too terrible yet, and his failed attempts hadn't managed to kill anyone, but he also hadn't cleaned his cauldron properly, and so there'd been a mess of residue potion and Dark magic clinging to the metal. Coincidentally, it had ended up reacting quite badly to the potion that the seventh-years were to work on that day, and the end result was a magnificent explosion that Snape had barely managed to protect himself and the other students from in the nick of time. There'd been no helping Avery who'd been standing right next to the unholy concoction.

 In the aftermath, the explosion had caused bad enough burns to disfigure Avery, but time and Healers would fix most if not all of that. Far more serious had been the potion damage to his body— the liquid had seeped right through his skin and disintegrated the majority of his left ribcage, and then it had gone on to chew even further, straight into his heart and left lung, an insidious venom that had dissolved into his bloodstream and sent him into convulsions that had wrung scream after agonized scream out of him until Pomfrey had deemed it safe enough to knock him out, although even then, his body wouldn't stop seizing from the pain.

 He'd still been alive when he'd been rushed out of the castle. Word has it that he's still alive now in St. Mungo's, except the Healers have no idea how to even begin treating him. Mixing multiple failed attempts at Dark potions, most of which even Avery's own roommates couldn't list all the names of or in which order he'd made them, together with one N.E.W.T.-level potion but in an explosion that had caused the maximum amount of entropy in the magic imbued into it— Merlin himself wouldn't be able to fix it with just a wave of his wand.

 By dinnertime, everybody is talking about it, and the professors have given up trying to stop them.

 (In truth, the outcome probably wouldn't have been quite so serious if Hadrian hadn't added a spell to amplify the toxicity and volatility of the residue in the cauldron, as well as several looping single-use runes to hide the volcanic buildup and also bind the whole thing to Avery alone so that it wouldn't have hurt anyone else even if Snape hadn't reacted in time. Without Hadrian's interference, it would've still exploded sooner or later, but Snape might've seen the danger signs in time to evacuate everyone from the classroom, and even if he didn't, the effects of the potion on Avery probably wouldn't have been so terrible.

 But then, that wouldn't have been enough. After all, lessons like these should stick.

 Avery will live, but he sure won't enjoy it.)

 It's almost ten by the time Hadrian gets back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Snape drops him off at the entrance before sweeping off to his own office in a dramatic billow of irritably flapping robes. He'd been at the Ministry for half the day just to piece together what had happened for them, but as Hadrian had ensured, the Potions master had been cleared of any negligence in the matter. The potion had very obviously shown no signs of exploding - three other experts had verified - and students are expected to take care of their own cauldrons from third-year onwards without the professor having to do weekly checks. Snape had been released by dinnertime, but he'd apparently decided to simply eat in the Ministry cafeteria and return with his student and Babbling, so here they are.

 Except-

 Just before Snape makes to leave, he turns and pins Hadrian with a long appraising look, clinical and penetrating. Hadrian stares back serenely, and maybe the fact that his mind is a steel trap wrapped around a battlefield would be highly suspect to anyone looking in, but he also doesn't feel so much as a brush of Legilimency from Snape whatsoever. The professor really is just looking at him.

 It's a strange new world.

 In the end, Snape doesn't say anything before walking off, and Hadrian is left to blink after him before letting himself into the common room.

 Everything goes eerily silent the moment everyone realizes he's back. Even if he hadn't said anything, someone - let's be real, it's Malfoy - had spread the news of Hadrian taking his Ancient Runes exams early, so pretty much everyone had known where he'd gone today. It was never a secret though so Hadrian hadn't cared, except when he steps into the room, it's very obvious that everybody is focused on him, and just as obvious that nobody is willing to make eye-contact with him.

 The younger students should've already retired for the night. At least everybody still in the common room, studying or playing chess or chatting with each other like any standard evening, are fifth-years and up, so most of these students had probably known - or had been told after the fact - exactly what that curse would've done to Theo Nott that day, and exactly who had been the one to attack him.

 And everybody knows what had happened to Avery today. More specifically, they know that what had happened to him today had been an almost perfect mirror of what he'd wanted to do to Nott one week ago. Nobody here believes in coincidences, and there's only so many people who would've had the motivation to orchestrate the entire accident down to the smallest detail.

 Most of them have known Nott and Zabini for at least a few years. Perhaps they're not on speaking terms, but they'd still been Housemates for a while. Something like this isn't really Nott's style, and while it is Zabini's, neither of them has the ability.

 The only real unknown is Hadrian Evans, and if they still can't put the pieces together at this point, they might as well sell their brains.

 The area by the fireplace, normally always occupied by Avery's group at this time, is empty today. Avery's at St. Mungo's, his roommates are in overnight lockup at the Ministry, and any who aren't but were part of Avery's faction are probably hiding up in their rooms. Nobody else has taken their seats, not even the students who usually do when Avery hasn't claimed it for the day.

 Hadrian walks towards the doorway leading to the boys' dormitory, and no one stops him. It feels like the entire room is holding their breaths. Nobody speaks. Nobody even moves until Hadrian is out of earshot.

 The dorm is likewise very quiet when Hadrian enters. Malfoy's bed curtains are already drawn, as are Crabbe's and Goyle's, but Zabini's are open, and he's lazing against the headboard with a book in his hands while Nott is still at his desk doing homework.

 They both look up as soon as the door swings open. Zabini stays on his bed but Nott even stands up as Hadrian shuts the door behind him. His whole frame is tense with a restless sort of energy, and he's staring at Hadrian with shining eyes. They both are, although in different ways. Zabini looks equal parts ecstatic and hungry, while Nott just looks the kind of deeply confused and deeply grateful that makes Hadrian want to set fire to someone, preferably whoever stitched this very expression into Nott's range of emotions out of the pieces they'd torn from him.

 Nobody says anything right away. Hadrian squints at them as he makes his way to his own bed, feeling vaguely perturbed, because he hadn't truly expected them to not connect what happened to Avery back to him, but he hadn't thought they would be so fixated on it either. Maybe a roundabout tactful thank-you from Nott, an offer of a favour at most. But not… this, whatever this is.

 He laments the fact that these two aren't more stupid when it comes to this sort of thing. Ron would be oblivious. Hermione would be determinedly oblivious. Neville… would actually react a bit like Nott, Ginny would react a lot like Zabini, Luna wouldn't react at all but she'd be extra cuddly for a few days, and gods, Hadrian needs saner friends.

 Not that these two are friends of course.

 He manages to get through a shower, brush his teeth, and climb into a bed before Nott is suddenly at his side, eyes still shining with something Hadrian really doesn't want to put a name to. Thankfully, he doesn't burst into any heartfelt speeches that would probably embarrass everyone within hearing range. Not so thankfully, he honest-to-fucking-Merlin bows, all archaic and meaningful in every way Hadrian has never learned and so doesn't understand, but even he can sense the weight and deference behind every word as Nott murmurs, "All of mine is yours, until the end of days. I would be honoured if you would call me Theo."

 "Jesus fucking Christ," Hadrian mutters, because sometimes wizarding swears just don't have enough oomph to encompass the never-ending circus trainwreck that is his life. He scrubs a hand over his face, peeks at Nott - at Theo - who's still halfway bent over, and of course, it's just his luck that he has no idea how to respond in the proper pureblood way.

 He would've preferred the heartfelt speech.

 "I'm a halfblood, I don't know how to respond appropriately," He says bluntly because he doesn't know what else to do. But he also flicks a Silencing Ward at Malfoy's bed, then at Crabbe's and Goyle's as well because you can never be too careful, and then he leans over and hauls Theo upright and catches his gaze and holds it, "I'll call you Theo if you call me Hadrian. One day, you'll be strong enough to take care of your enemies on your own, and you won't need anyone else to do it for you if you don't want them to, but until then, if all of you is mine, then your enemies are too, so I'll deal with them if it turns out that they still haven't learned after today. That makes us allies from now on though, which means we're equals, and that means you never, ever bow to anyone again. Not me, and not anybody else either. Understand?"

 Theo stares again, wide-eyed and lost and so terribly young, and sometimes, Hadrian wonders what it says about just how messed up the world is when broken kids can be bought so easily.

 Finally, almost dazedly, Theo gives some semblance of a nod.

 "Hadrian," He says, and something about him straightens, grows steel, settles.

 "Hadrian," He repeats and dips his head, not a bow, but respectful all the same, and his eyes are still bright with that unnamed creature, but at least he looks at Hadrian head-on. "Thank you. Goodnight."

 Hadrian sighs and figures that this is about the best he's going to get tonight. Maybe it'll dial back to normal in a few days. "Goodnight, Theo."

 Theo smiles, tiny, crooked, a little awkward. It's the first one Hadrian has ever seen from him, and that at least he can't be upset about.

 They can finally go to sleep though. Theo returns to his own bed, Zabini is still watching them both from his bed like they're his new favourite show, and Hadrian resolutely pretends he doesn't see anything else as he takes down the Silencing Wards before drawing his curtains, rolling over, and promptly making a sincere attempt at smothering himself with a pillow.

 His life.

-0-0-0-

End Notes: Ok wow so this got hella long and I didn't really get to all the stuff anon wanted whoops. Theo just… wouldn't stop thinking lmao, and also this AU has the potential to get so big so I ended up cramming in worldbuilding wherever I could. So unfortunately all you get is sort of a starting snapshot of where this is going and how Hadrian is going to turn out and a shitload of Theo's character. I kind of wanted to do him and Blaise's POV but I could only fit Theo, and I feel like getting Blaise through Theo's POV actually added to his character just as much as a personal POV would've. Anyway, those two are basically blank slates in canon so ofc I would pick them to write lolol.