#camping in a roof top tent

[ccampsdg]

Enjoy the freedom of Camping in a rooftop tent. Explore our range of comfortable and easy-to-set-up rooftop tents at Ccamp.com.au.

camping in a roof top tent

[shachormet]

[mostlynatur3]

Pollo did some camping

[peace-andharmony]

Yeah it might be nice to be rich but then I wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing my husband pack our family car up like the Goofy Movie every time we go tent camping

[popupchangingroom]

Portable Pop-Up Changing Room: Convenience On-The-Go

In a fast-paced world where time is of the essence, convenience and practicality have become paramount in our daily lives. Whether we are attending outdoor events, going on weekend getaways, or exploring new places, there's one thing we all need at some point – a private space to change outfits comfortably. This is where the revolutionary Portable Pop-Up Changing Room steps in, offering a solution that redefines convenience on-the-go.

The Birth of a Game-Changer:

The concept of a portable pop-up changing room was born out of the need for privacy and convenience during outdoor activities, particularly in sports and adventure events. The conventional practice of changing behind a towel or struggling to find a discreet spot often left people feeling uncomfortable and exposed. Innovators recognized this gap and set out to create a product that would alleviate this issue.

Design and Functionality:

The Portable Pop-Up Changing Room boasts an ingenious design that takes mere seconds to set up. Made from lightweight yet durable materials, it folds into a compact form for easy transportation. When unfolded, it springs into shape, forming a cozy, private space to change clothes. The structure is typically tall enough to accommodate most individuals comfortably and is enclosed with high-quality, opaque fabric to ensure complete privacy.

Many models come with additional features to enhance functionality. Some include built-in hooks to hang clothes or towels, pockets for storing personal items, and ventilation panels to keep the interior fresh and breathable. Furthermore, the water-resistant materials make it suitable for use in various weather conditions, adding to its versatility.

Versatility Redefined:

The Portable Pop-Up Changing Room is not limited to a single purpose. While it remains a game-changer for outdoor enthusiasts, it has found applications in various domains:

Sports Events: Athletes and sports enthusiasts can now change into their gear or dry off after a workout without worrying about prying eyes. This adds a layer of comfort and convenience, allowing them to focus on their performance.

Beach Days: Sun-soaked days at the beach are even more enjoyable with a pop-up changing room. Families can change in private, and surfers can put on their wetsuits discreetly.

Camping and Hiking: Explorers can embrace the beauty of nature without sacrificing their privacy when it's time to change clothes or freshen up.

Festivals and Concerts: Festival-goers and concert attendees can confidently change into fun and quirky outfits, enhancing their overall experience.

Photography and Film Sets: Models and actors can have a dedicated space to change between shoots, ensuring a seamless and professional production.

Emergency Situations: In disaster relief scenarios or emergency situations, pop-up changing rooms can provide displaced individuals with some privacy and dignity.

Sustainability and Eco-Friendliness:

With sustainability taking center stage, the manufacturers of Portable Pop-Up Changing Rooms have also embraced eco-friendly practices. Many products are now made from recycled materials, and efforts are made to minimize waste during production. Their durability ensures they last for years, reducing the need for frequent replacements and lowering the overall environmental impact.

Conclusion:

The Portable Pop-Up Changing Room has undoubtedly revolutionized the way we change clothes on the go. Its blend of convenience, practicality, and privacy has earned it a special place in various activities and events. From sports enthusiasts and beachgoers to travelers and adventurers, it has become an indispensable companion for those seeking comfort and dignity wherever they go.

[incorrectbatfam]

Jason is a hopeless romantic 100%

it just doesnt show

But everyone goes to him whn its time to plan dates

Dick: Hey, can I ask you something?

Jason, reading: No.

Dick: You see, Wally and I have our weekly date night coming up, but we've been to pretty much every place there is. You got any ideas for how to shake things up?

Jason: *scribbles coordinates and tosses him the Bat-plane keys*

[later]

Wally: Wow, I've never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Dick: I'm glad you like it.

Dick: *texts Jason a thumbs up*

Jason: *read at 8:55 PM*

———————

Tim: Jason, glad you're here! I totally forgot it's me and Bernard's six-month anniversary. Help me out, man.

Jason, clipping his toenails: Fine. You better write this down 'cause I'm only saying it once.

Tim: *nods*

Jason: Go to Home Depot. You're gonna need some rope, a tarp, hammer and nails, a hatchet, matches, and fuel. After that...

Tim: *furiously takes notes*

[later]

Bernard: A camping trip was a great idea. It's nice to get away from it all. And I can't believe you set this all up yourself.

Tim, chuckling nervously: What's a boyfriend for if not to build a tent and chop down a tree?

———————

Duke: So the school dance is coming up.

Jason, working: Theme?

Duke: Under the sea.

Jason: Ugh, how cliché. Anyway, Armand's Tailoring has a blue suit that'll match whatever your girlfriend's wearing. Tell him I sent you. After that, call Patricia's Bistro and make a reservation with the code word "surreptitious." Alfred can take you in the limo if you give him a 24-hour heads-up to clean it. Once you're there, remind the DJ he owes me a favor to get your song requests bumped up. And remember, a slow dance is basically moving your feet in a square but otherwise go with the flow.

Duke: Sweet, thanks!

———————

Cass: Steph is sad.

Jason, cooking: *sighs*

Jason: *takes out a tub of ice cream*

Jason: *scoops a hole in the middle*

Jason: *fills it with candy*

Jason: Here.

Cass: Thanks!

———————

*phone rings*

Jason, waking up from a nap: What?

Kory: Sorry if I woke you. Barbara's coming over for breakfast in half an hour but I burned it with my powers. It was supposed to be eggs benedict.

Jason: Order takeout and put it on fancy plates.

Kory: You're a lifesaver—

Jason: *already hung up and went back to sleep*

———————

Kate: It's Renee's birthday tomorrow. I have a gift, but I'm not sure if it's good enough.

Jason, polishing his gun: If it's from you, it will be.

———————

Bruce: *walks in*

Bruce: Hey, son. Selina's not talking to me after our argument. How do I tell her how much she means to me?

Jason, reciting Shakespeare: I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you."

Bruce: You're right. I'm just gonna tell it to her straight. Thank you.

Bruce: *leaves*

Jason: *takes off his headphones and turns around*

Jason: Did someone say something?

———————

Damian: Todd, what is love supposed to feel like?

Jason: Why do you want to know?

Damian: None of your concern. Now tell me.

Jason: *shoots a training dummy*

Jason: It's when they're lodged in your head like a bullet. Except without the excruciating pain and messy red stuff.

Damian, nodding: Tell me more.

———————

Roy: *takes down a villain*

Jason, sitting on a roof: *wolf whistles*

Roy: The hell?

Jason: I know hot when I see it.

Roy: What are you doing here?

Jason: I brought Arrowdogs.

Roy: You hate Arrowdogs.

Jason: But you don't.

Roy: Aw, how sweet—EYES UP HERE, TODD!

[polakina]

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

-

is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

[etclouie]

pretty in a pink bow

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: on a supply run together and you find a bow, your previous flirtatious relationship with shane gives you an idea (Shane Walsh x !fem reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 setting: farm era

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: ooc shane, soft shane, allusions to previous sexual encounters, situationship basically??, shane doesn’t shave his head 

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 490

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: originally was going to write this smutty, but there’s no point. also based off of the tiktok trend, example here

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 twd masterlist | main masterlist

everyone in the group knew you and Shane had a thing for each other, hell they even had an idea that you’d slept together too. 

you were both too close for their minds to not get an idea of something happening, but neither of you admitted to anything. you simply didn’t know what you were, you had moments where it seemed as if you were dating and then others where you couldn’t stand each other. 

so when they all unanimously decided on sending the both of you away out on a supply run, they all hoped for the best. that you’d both come back not at each others throats like the last run they sent you on. 

the run had gone successful, you’d searched a block of houses and found food for the camp. just basic canned goods, stuff you could live off of while Hershel refuses to let you into his house. 

even that felt silly, the end of the world and he wouldn’t let either you or Shane inside. your closeness with the ex-cop drawing his suspicions, and deeming it that he didn’t want you under his roof either. 

to the both of you, that small feeling of the oldest Greene made your sneaking around easier. whilst everyone else was inside eating, you could both have alone time in your now shared tent. 

now, however, on the way back to the farm. you sat idly in the passenger seat while Shane drove, his gaze flicking between you and the road. 

one thing you never told Shane that you had found was a pink bow, or ribbon even. you’d found it lying on the top of a dresser and the idea came to mind, practically giggling as it played over in your mind. 

pulling the ribbon from your pocket and glancing over at him, a knowing smirk making its way across his face before stopping the car. turning to face you while cradling your face in his hand, his voice low. 

“what? need to tell me what you’re thinking or i can’t give it to ya”

rolling your eyes at him before pulling his hand away from your face, grabbing at his arm and wrapping the ribbon around his bicep. pushing up his sleeve to give yourself more room, watching as the muscle flexed under your touch while tying it into a bow. 

glancing up to meet his amused gaze before admiring your work, pulling the ribbon into as perfect of a bow as you can. sitting back in your seat with a contented smile on your face, voice soft as you spoke. 

“that’s better, don’t you think? you’re all pretty in a pink bow now Shane”

hearing him huff as he turned to face the road again, starting the car once more and continuing the drive back to the farm. his right hand held out to you, his thumb soothing across your knuckles. 

“whatever makes you happy sweetheart”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[cultofdixon]

Falling for you…wasn’t meant to hurt

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • The two of you grew close because the universe thought you were meant to be. But Daryl agreeing to let you help him find Carol’s daughter, he didn’t expect anything bad to happen • ANGST/SFW • TW: Impalement / Injuries / Anxiety / Restlessness

Requested by: Anon

“If you’re gonna go search for the kid, don’t go alone.”

“Fine” Daryl made his way toward the camp outside the farm house as Rick gave him a confused look.

“Who are yea takin’?”

“Y/N” He states without a second thought in mind as Rick quickly grabs his shoulder stopping him.

“You sure that’s your best option?”

“I trust her more than you, Rick. She’s more than the best choice” Daryl retracts from the man continuing his way over to the tent city they have going on as Y/N’s was on the side closest to Daryl’s.

________

“Who’s that?” Merle elbows his brother to look at the woman seated on top of the RV.

Daryl looked over trying to get a good look at her face but when he couldn’t. He gave up and told Merle not to go there knowing damn well his brother was going to holler at her.

Then later in the night, Daryl went over to the camp fire they always have going when dinner was made from whatever he and Merle caught. He went to get him and his brother some dinner only for the woman from the roof of the RV to hand him two prepared plates before he could ask somebody to.

“It’s Y/N by the way”

“What?”

“My name. I’m the “who’s that” from the other day” Y/N gave him a small short lived smile before looking down at the book laid in her lap.

Daryl stood there a bit awkward while holding the plates as he cleared his throat to get her beautiful E/C eyes to look up at him.

“Daryl”

Her smile shot back instantly making his heart beat quicken.

“Don’t be a stranger, Daryl”

________

“Do you trust Rick?” Y/N asks Daryl as he was getting one of the Greene’s horses strapped with a saddle.

“Don’t know yet, more than Shane if it came to that though”

“Ugh. In those terms I agree…I just. Don’t understand how he’s so blind to their nonsense” Y/N frowns looking over to the camp while Daryl did his thing but his attention seemed to always fixate on her when she didn’t seem alright.

“Ready. Least I think I got this shit on right”

“You ride a horse before?”

“Uh. No, shouldn’t be too hard”

“If we had the resources like the old world, I’d tell yea to wear boots. So your feet wouldn’t slip from the stirup” Y/N stared watching Daryl get on with ease extending his hand for her as he kept his cool when her smile practically shot him. “Don’t do anything too crazy, cowboy”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” Daryl chuckles lightly as his mind was running miles at everything she did, even if it was the smallest thing of wrapping her arms around his waist. “Alright, let’s get”

God I really hate horses Y/N thought as she held onto Daryl for dear life wishing they went on foot.

I can’t focus On the other hand, Daryl’s mind raced having her this close.

But a good thing can’t last forever in the end of the world.

________

Daryl cared, but he also didn’t. In the moment he didn’t care about anybody else except her when he returned from Atlanta to find out a herd was crashing through.

Not that she needed any help given every walker that came toward her, met the short end of the stick.

Once the horror show came to an end and many were mourning, Y/N dropped her axe before falling to her knees and trying to wrap her head over all the happened. Her mind was flooded until she felt hands carefully take a hold of her face. Her eyes instantly locked onto his piercing blues.

“Are yea bit?” Daryl frowns waiting for her to answer as she shook her head, bringing a whole wave of relief. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s get yea cleaned up”

________

They can handle anything

Daryl jolts awake in a bit of a haze feeling the pain in his side realizing he was impaled by his own arrow. But given the racing situation at hand, it didn’t remain in his side as he quickly pulled it out while scrambling to get his crossbow in order to shoot the walker getting dangerously to Y/N’s unconscious form.

The second he landed the shot, Daryl dropped his crossbow rushing the best he could over to Y/N and rolling her onto her back noticing the branch embedded in her side.

“Fuck” Daryl frowns removing his shirt wincing when he agitated his injury and wrapping it around her middle to secure the branch. “Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP” he didn’t meant to shout so loud at the last part but it got her to jolt awake wincing in pain immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry”

“W-…What a way….t-to wake a dying p-p…person” Y/N scoffs wincing more feeling the branch move when she took a breath.

“Y-Yea ain’t dyin’”

“H-Hurts…though” Y/N finally got a deep breath in, exhaling slowly feeling his fingers press against the pulse point on her neck. “Mm still here…”

“Yea better be by the time we get back”

Y/N couldn’t even wrap her head around that thought. Of making it back alive. She thought she was going to die there or on the way back, but given how hard Daryl was trying and the anxiety laced in his voice. Even with how much he’s talking…she’s not going to feed into the seeds of doubt and let him try, hell…she’s still trying.

“Can’t move yea too much…gonna have to go the long way”

“H…How’d we even…?”

“Stupid goddamn h-horse” Daryl winced to his pain when he tried to get up so he could help her up. Y/N carefully pressed her hand to his injured side getting another wince out of him and when she removed her hand she saw the blood.

“You can’t die for me” The first clear thing she’s said since the fall and Daryl didn’t know what to say. The anger that always laid dormant in him at times, started to peak out when his mind raced to the conclusion that he’s not going to listen to her if she starts talking about leaving her behind.

“F-Find something”

“What?”

“F-…Find ah…” Y/N laid back again in the dirt looking around locking onto the walker he had killed to keep her from getting bitten. “S-Stop the bleeding. T…Ta…Take his s-shirt”

He would listen to her direction but find himself yelling at every moment she closed her eyes. They were both weak, but he’s the only one capable of getting them out of there.

Daryl took the shirt and secured it to stop the bleeding on his side. Then he decided to take the dead’s pants thinking if he could climb up from where they fell while Y/N was wrapped to his back, then they could follow the same tracks that got them there instead of trying a whole new route. But that meant having to cut the branch shorter and warning her was the easy part.

Feeling her nails dig into his arm as he used his knife to shorten the branch on either side…listening to her scream in agony and the blood continued to seep through his shirt that was supposedly secured around her. He was in hell.

Y/N tiredly watches the creek disappear as Daryl carries her on his back taking his sweet ass time climbing.

“Gonna get Hershel, to check on yea.”

“You…”

“Me? Me what? Me too? Yeah no shit. None of’em out there are gonna let me walk around bleedin’”

“…s-someone needs to care”

Daryl was reaching the last stretch in climbing when she said that. He was confused on what she meant but when he finally got onto the main path pulling the rest of her up and beside him. Y/N had gone unconscious again. She wasn’t finished and he wasn’t happy seeing her eyes closed.

“Come on” Daryl shakes her at first, trying to keep the yelling at a minimum because the only thing it’s going to do is draw more sickos toward them. But he wasn’t getting anything immediately. “Y/N?” His fear started to get him as he gently brushes the hair out of the way of her face shaking her head carefully. “Please. Please. I can’t lose you. I can’t.” His voice cracked, his tears were threatening to spill over.

It took a second but she tiredly opened her eyes reaching forward and grabbing a fist full of his tank top.

“Tired…” She sighs feeling his hands rest on her face. “Sorry”

“You’re not allowed to die, alright? I’ll kill yea if you do”

Even in a weak state she couldn’t help but laugh to such.

Soon they were on their feet, Y/N’s arm draped over Daryl’s shoulders as he kept her up the best he could while they made their way back.

“Walkers!” Andrea yells catching everyone who was outside’s attention.

As Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog grabbed their guns and made their way to the walkers given there was only two. But Andrea decided to take the hunting rifle and get ready to take at least one of them out.

“Andrea don’t”

“Shut up Dale”

Y/N groaned touching her side to see the fresh blood coming out as she gave Daryl a worried look while he kept a stern one. He wasn’t stopping. Then her anxiety got the best of her right when the four approached them aiming their gun.

“That’s the second time you aimed that thing at me” Daryl huffed.

“Oh my god Y/N” Glenn frowns noticing her injury then they all were startled by both Y/N shoving Daryl off and her falling back when the shot rang through. “Holy FUCK!”

The group that rushed over surrounded Y/N as Daryl weakly looks up from his fallen position noticing her unmoving form. He couldn’t quite pick out what they were saying as he tried to get himself off the ground. Eventually T-Dog approached him with an extended hand.

“C’mon man. We gotta get you checked out”

“Is she—-“

“She’s still breathing” T-Dog reassures him as he got Dixon back on his feet bringing his arm around his shoulders. “The hell happen?”

“Goddamn horse” he scoffs feeling his anger bubble inside himself when watching Shane carry Y/N sprinting toward the house.

Daryl found himself at the dining room table letting Maggie do his stitches while the room that once had Carl, now had Y/N being worked on by Hershel with help from Patricia. He anxiously waited and winced every now and then when Maggie pulled a bit too tight on her stitches. She’d apologized immediately.

“Yer dad is good right?”

“Yes. For someone who originally only worked on animals” Maggie states applying the bandage as Daryl immediately got up leaving the house and approaching the camp.

“Who the fuck fired?”

Everyone grew tense with the tone he took as it was obvious given her avoidance to eye contact when he brought it up.

“Who. Shot. Their. Gun.”

“Andrea” Glenn blurted as Dale smacked him in the arm. The guy was nervous. He wasn’t about to lie for her.

“I’m sorry Daryl! You two looked awful and from afar—like walkers. I had to protect—-“

“FOUR OF YALL CAME TOWARD US. WE DIDNT NEED SOME TRIGGER HAPPY BITCH TAKE CARE OF IT” Daryl snaps as Rick stepped between them pushing him back gently keeping mind of his own injuries.

“Look. You’re upset. We all are. We’re worried about—-“

“Nah. She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you had just trusted me to take care of business by myself. I shouldn’t have taken the one person I care about in this goddamn apocalypse” Daryl clenched his jaw moving his gaze to the floor. “I’m leavin’ if I lose her” he whispered.

“Daryl”

The two quickly turned to Maggie as she kept a relaxed expression but the tension in her shoulders struck Daryl’s anxiety.

“We need you”

Daryl quickly ran toward the house and barging into the room noticing the branch was still in Y/N’s side.

“Why the fuck haven’t—-“

“I stabilized it but she woke up, screamed at us wondering where you were—-“

He didn’t say anything all he did was instantly to go to her side noticing the color that left her face from the blood loss, and the bullet graze on the side of her face.

“D-Daryl. It h-hurts” She whined with tears streaming down her face as Daryl held her hand trying not to fall apart.

“He’s gotta take it out and access yea, sunshine”

“P-Please. Don’t leave”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” Daryl states giving Hershel a look for him to get started as he watches the doc move the bandaging showing the branch that still needed to be pulled out. His heart was pounding in his chest holding Y/N’s hand knowing in a split second he’s going to have to hold her shoulders.

Which happened to be now. Hershel started to pull the branch out and Y/N tried to fight Hershel wanting him to stop but he kept repeating “almost there”. Daryl brought his hands to her shoulders pinning her down as Patricia held her legs down to keep the movement at a minimum. She clawed at Daryl’s arms crying in pain as he knew he would be hearing her screams whenever something went wrong in the future.

Once the branch was removed, the blood poured in new places that weren’t where the clamps were. Leading Hershel to apply pressure immediately while Patricia scrambled to get what they needed. Daryl relaxed but tensed instantly when Y/N’s breathing slowed…slower than normal.

“Goddamn it” Daryl frowns holding Y/N’s face shaking her slightly. “Come on come on come on!” He shouted startling everyone as Hershel took notice and quickly checked her pulse while Patricia kept the pressure.

“Son, you know CPR?!”

“What?! Nah. No she don’t need it. She’s just—-“

“You need to do it or she’ll die”

Then the sound went out in his head. Daryl instantly started to do CPR and tried his best not to instantly break her ribcage with the pressure he was building up to. His shoulder was grabbed when Hershel finished his work and checked her pulse. He did good. Daryl did good.

“She’s gonna be unconscious for a while” Hershel states, about a few hours later as it was now the evening. Daryl hasn’t left her side and he mainly said that in hopes he’d get up to walk around a bit. But he didn’t want to face anybody. “She lost a lot of blood and it’ll take a while—-“

“Use mine”

“Pardon?”

“I’m fucking universal. Take some of mine to help her”

________

“He seriously did that?” Y/N questions Daryl as the two were sitting alone in the room they were sharing at the CDC.

“Got a lot of money out of it”

“But that’s not safe. Taking three pints? How did you not go into shock?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“Daryl, I’ll fucking kill you if you ever gave me your blood”

“Huh?” Daryl was confused on what she meant and Y/N was getting at, if the situation asked for it. She wouldn’t want him to bleed himself just for her to live. “You ain’t gonna lose a fuckton of blood. Won’t let it happen”

________

Three pints. Fucking moron.

But Hershel only took one a day and gave it to Y/N, letting Daryl take the couch in the living room to recuperate after each transfusion. He had to be a human blood bag, Hershel couldn’t calculate a pint so he had a cut off period. Meaning 3 pints could’ve been less than what was taken.

Daryl didn’t have to give anymore and found himself back in the chair beside the bed staring blankly at the window seeing the group take advantage of the luxury of the Greene farm. Part of him knew it wasn’t going to last. Something in him was leaning toward that, but he wasn’t going to lose her if something bad were to happen.

He flinched to feeling something as he brought himself to cross his arms turning toward her thinking it was just a breeze. But when he noticed her open eyes and extended hand, it was her.

“Holy shit. Holy SH—“ Daryl cut himself off when Y/N brought her finger to her lips to shush him as he leaped out of the chair dropping to his knees directly beside the bed dropping his head onto the bed. She instantly wrapped her arm around his shoulders as her other hand carefully reached over to run her fingers through his hair. “Thank god. Thank fucking god”

“Dar…your arm is bruised”

“Don’t…don’t worry about it, sunshine. I had to do what I had to do”

A sigh escaped her lips making him turn his face toward her as she gently caresses his face watching him relax to her touch.

“I’m always going to worry about you”

“Y/N…you almost died” His voice cracked as her expression saddened gripping the back of his shirt tugging at him. Daryl got the idea as he pulled himself up letting Y/N wrap her arms around him as they both kept in mind their injuries.

“I’m not going anywhere…has to take a lot to take me away from you”

“I love you…I loved yea since I first met you…”

Y/N held onto him with the strength she had feeling Daryl hide his face in the crook of her neck.

“Falling for you, wasn’t meant to be literal” She giggles feeling him pull away so he could get a good look at that smile of hers that he missed so much. “I love you Daryl”

The tears came back when he brought his lips to hers feeling her gently wipe away his tears not breaking the kiss they shared. She returned her arms around his shoulders parting from him to bring him close once again.

“I ain’t letting go, sunshine”

“Good…”

[familyfriendlydilfartist]

Bedtime (Short)

Synopsis; you can’t fall asleep so you seek comfort.

Warnings; None

One thing everyone in camp knew was Astarion enjoyed reading. They would always catch him with his nose in a book, crimson eyes taking in every word moving slowly from the top to the bottom of the page. Astarion often held onto the books he found when looting crates and shelves during your adventures.

It was midnight and everyone was getting ready to settle down for the night. Shadowheart sat In her tent unbraiding her hair and then running a brush through her raven strands before finally heading to bed. Lae’zel sharpened the last of her weapons, a ritual she refuses to neglect. Gale lay in his tent attempting to fall asleep as he used magic to mimic rainfall white noise. Everyone else slept soundly in their tent, or so you assumed.

Well, everyone except yourself. Tonight you lacked the capacity of falling into a deep slumber.

You were kind of like Scratch. At times Scratch couldn’t sleep, too hyper to even lie down. Halsin calls this zoomies so maybe you had zoomies as well.

You lie in your own tent staring at the roof. Gods how you wish dawn would arrive sooner. You huffed sitting up, you couldn’t lie in this uncomfortable tent for much longer, it was driving you crazy. You carefully peer out from the flaps of your tent. You observed the outside. Everyone was asleep, except for one. Astarion. A warm light illuminated his red tent, outlining his shadow. He lay in his tent, with what you could tell was a heavy book.

Astarion and you shared...well could you even call it a relationship? You slept together once or twice and Astarion enjoyed flirting with you but it didn’t seem like he wanted anything more. Whenever you slept together it seemed like he wasn’t entirely there. The only time he truly took satisfaction in the act is if he was allowed a bite from your neck. You it saddened you, to say the least. You really liked Astarion, not just for his stunning look but for his charming character as a whole. However, if all he wanted was to have a fling then so be it. That wouldn’t stop you from being his good friend though.

You slowly crawled from your tent and then tiptoed over to Astarion’s tent. You weren’t hoping to surprise Astarion; his heightened senses wouldn’t allow you the luxury. Your quietness was in favor of Shadowheart and Lae’zel, two people who would stir awake at the slightest snore. Astarion had his eyes on you already, waiting for you to call out to him first.

“Astarion,” you whisper, “It’s me.”

“I could tell.” He states matter of factly, turing the page of his novel. “Whatever is the matter?”

You lower yourself to the tent opening, pushing a flap aside. “I can’t sleep, could I hang out with you?” Astarion stares at you with an unimpressed look. “Please?” you pester.

“I guess so, besides who am I to deny you the pleasure.” Astarion sighs like a bothered mother giving in to her child’s request. You grin and immediately crawl inside. You sit beside him with a silly smile on your lips. There's a silence for a moment, you trying to gain the courage to ask him questions while he read to himself.

“Whatever you want to ask go ahead, the more eager you grow to ask, the more it’ll bother me.” Astarion lowers his novel. The slightly bothered expression he wears provokes an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You shyly mess with your nails. “Oh, well, I was just wondering what you were reading.”

“A novel about a boy venturing into vampire territory and what he has learned about my species. His assumptions are quite laughable.” Astarion’s pale pink lips quirk into a brief smile and a small laugh falls from them. “Here he states,” Astarion changes his voice into a mocking one, “One of the known weaknesses to a Vampire is garlic. Garlic will frighten a vampire, so always wear some on your neck to scare them away.”

You giggle too, “I’ve heard that one before. To be honest, I assumed you’d be scared of garlic as well because all the other tales of vampire’s weaknesses were debunked as true by you.”

Astarion shakes his head, “No, darling. It is simply the scent. Truly odorous. And if garlic were truly a weakness of vampires then Gale’s breath after dinner would be my demise.”

You both share a laugh then the silence returns.

“...Could you read to me?” you ask out of the blue. After the moment shared between the two of you before, you had hoped the question wouldn’t be answered too harshly. “-I mean, I like stories too but my mind often drifts from the pages. I prefer being read to than reading it myself and you have the perfect voice.”

Astarion contemplates for a second, observing you as he does. He taps his bed, “Fine.” You do as instructed, tugging the blanket until you’re all warm and cozy. Once you’re settled in Astarion starts on the page he stopped on. His voice is soft and relaxing. As the night goes on you finally fall into a deep slumber.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Cat-Tastrophe

Gale/gn!Tav

SFW, no warnings

Tav lay in their combined bedroll in Gale’s tent, clutching their stomach while Gale rubbed small circles on their back. A wave of nausea ripped through Tav, which caused them to reach out to the makeshift vomit bowl to dry heave.

“Perhaps my love, you should stay in camp.” Gale spoke softly. Tav groans and turns to face Gale.

“Ugh, but who’s going to lead the group? The quest and party have already been planned.” Gale reaches forward to place a finger under Tav’s chin to make them look at him. Gale leans forward and places a soft kiss on their sweaty, feverish forehead. He pulls back, eyes brimming with love, adoration, and mild concern for Tav’s current state.

“I’ll carry that burden for you darling. You stay here and rest.”

“Are you sure? You know how Astarion can get when you try to take the lead.”

“My love, anything I can do for you, consider it most enthusiastically done. Let me handle it and all of Astarions… quirks.” Gale huffed out a chuckle while he looked down lovingly at Tav. Tav thought about it for a few minutes, and then another wave of nausea hit.

“Okay.” They said once the impulse to vomit subsided. Gale leaned forward and kissed Tav’s forehead again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Be safe out there.”

“I will. Now get some rest and stay hydrated.” With a wave of Gales hand, Tav’s flask filled with water. With a kiss to the top of Tav’s hand, Gale exited the shared tent.

*

Tav dipped in and out of sleep. The setting sun now poured its rays into the tent. Tav cracked their eyes and blinked at the cloth roofing over their head. Overall, they felt much better, but now their body was exhausted from the short-lived stomach bug they had acquired. Turning over in their bedroll, they were met with a view of a long-haired brown and grey tabby curled up sleeping next to their pillow.

“Oh… hello.” Tav uttered. The cats eyes opened and it began purring loudly. Tav sat up and the cat followed suit, leaving the side of the pillow and stretched its way over. The friendly feline approached Tav and rubbed against their side and back.

“Well, aren’t you friendly?” Tav reached out and offered their hand to the cat. The cat leaned forward, licked the side of their finger, and then rubbed the side of its face against Tav’s hand. Tav scratched the cats cheeks and under its chin, while the cat purred loudly, its tail flitting back and forth quickly. Tav gave a few pats to the top of the cats head and then stood up from the bedroll. They opened the tent flap and they heard a long, drawn-out meow. Looking back, they saw the brown and grey tabby cat sitting peacefully a few feet behind them, its eyes slow blinking up at them. Looking around, Tav saw a white, short-haired cat standing in front of them. This cat appeared to be trying to get Tav’s attention.

“Hello to you too.” Tav chuckled as they reached down and offered their hand for an introduction. The white-haired cat hisses and swats at Tav’s hand. Tav pulled back their hand quickly to prevent getting scratched.

“Ah! Naughty little…” Tav quickly stood up as they watched the white-haired cats eyes narrow, it looked like it was about to pounce at Tav. Tav took a sidestep and saw a large ginger tabby cat come trotting up to them, chattering. The new cat rubbed against Tav’s legs, wrapping its tail against them and meowed. Every time the ginger tabby passed in front of the white-haired cat, the white-haired cat would swat and hiss at the ginger tabby. Tav looked behind them and saw that the brown- and grey-haired tabby was now out of the tent, tail curled up next to its side still slow blinking. Then, Tav saw another large, red long-haired cat trotting up,

‘What’s with all the cats?’ Tav asked themselves. It was as if they spoke the question aloud, because Lae’Zel approached and said,

“It appears they’ve been morphed into cats.”

“They?” Lae’Zel rolled her eyes.

“Our companions.” Tav looked at the four cats in front of them. Tav turned their attention to the brown- and grey-haired tabby and asked incredulously,

“Gale?” The cat stepped forward, trilled, and curled its tail in greeting. Tav sighed heavily, placing one hand on their hips and the other on the bridge of their nose.

‘Well, I needed more Speak With Animals potions anyway…’

*This is my first time writing a story where the reader is gender-neutral. I am open to suggestions to allow my writing to be more inclusive but please be respectful. Thank you!*

[stupidfuckingwindow]

highkey wondering if you’d do any kind of smut where ken is actually a cowboy? 🤠

Campfire // Ken

Notes: Thanks, RDR2, for giving me slight help w the setting. I read too much Arthur Morgan porn. I loved writing this, thank you for requesting it.

Content/warnings: Technically public. Ken jerks off in the woods and has no idea you're watching.

Word count: 833

The morning of December 18th, 1899 was particularly freezing. Snow packed on top of roofs, so tightly pressed together that it became hard; almost so like ice. But the nights and mornings got harder and worse in the north- Way up in the mountains and stuck in some dead little abandoned mining town near a frozen-over lake. Run up here by the law for a robbery turned out to be a set-up was something you had regretted deeply, cold long having seeped past your skin, and powdery snow falling through small cracks in your wooden shelter. The move had brought chaos- Separated you from your gang until you were lost.

The only solace brought to you is the man who'd stumbled upon your camp. Neatly combed blond hair and a pretty, shaved face was Ken- Some little outlaw from some ways east, wanted alive for a few meager thefts and no gang of his own (or, so he'd told you, anyway). You'd seen a couple posters warning folk, his bounty a good 30ish dollars across one to two states. Ken is suspiciously too sweet and naive for an outlaw- Taking everything you told him as gospel. You force your worry down your throat and run with his all too trusting attitude, noting the gun on his hip. But if push comes to shove, you suppose you and Ken will shoot each other and bleed out in the cold if you have to.

He insisted on following you back to your gang in the following days, when the law's frenzy was beginning to die down and before bounty hunters would start prowling the roads in search of their next payload.

Ken is surprisingly quiet, as his horse trails a little ways back from yours. His curious nature draws his attention to every noise, focus darting all over the place between what few creatures are out and about. He doesn't ask you anything about all the new little things- Ken lets his eyes do all the prying and studying. He watches as the trees change along the way, forests going from the cold-resistant pines to leafless willows and oaks. He gets especially excited when the two of you pass any wild horses, and only then does he ramble on about all the pretty colors and different kinds of species. About how his favorite kinds of horse are the fast race horse species, so he can travel better and see everything.

Over the course of three days, you and Ken are forced to camp together. While you make the fire, Ken sets up the tent with practiced ease, like he'd done this a thousand times over. And he probably has, you think. The heavy storm clouds have you and he anxious, huddling in his small tent together with the heat of the campfire warming the both of you.

He gains confidence once the clouds roll past without rain, climbing out of the tent to better sit by the fire. He sticks a sliver of some big game animal's meat on the end of his knife, holding it close to the flames in order to cook it. Ken offers you a piece, and you take it. Still, despite his kindness, you're suspicious. Worried he might hurt you, and cautious he'll try if you sleep in the same tent as him. You don't say a word to Ken as you lay on your side, back facing him and revolver close by.

But your attention is caught and you're startled awake hours later, in the depths of midnight.

Ken's climbed out of his own sleeping bag, gone. Panic strikes you, seeing as his boots are gone from the tent entrance. Your worry is dampened only slightly by the sight of his horse still being here, but there are still worse dangers in these woods for him to just be alone. As you clamber out of the small sleeping space, you spot tracks in the dirt- Undeniably Ken's trail. The longer you follow his tracks, the more you hear it.

Groans that he probably thinks are quiet. Whines and moans that were probably supposed to be muted or muffled but aren't. And when you finally see him, he's lit by the soft golden glow of his lantern, eyes shut tightly and erection in hand. Ken's mouth hangs open, quietly panting. His strokes are slow and sweet- Methodical as his long fingers squeeze gently at his cock. Ken's bangs fall over his eyes as he hunches over himself. When his eyes do flutter open again, they're fixated on the way his hand moves.

His hips buck against his hand ever so often, palm curling further around his cock. His thumb rubs at the sensitive tip, swiping a bead of pre-cum from the slit to use it as lube. Again, he whines at the feeling. A shuttering breath leaves him, head falling back and hitting the tree he's propped himself up against.

You can't look him in the eye in the morning.

[distantlaughter]

"We both want a home win"

originally posted 12 July 2012 for Auto Bild Motorsport (x)

Sebastian Vettel and Nico Rosberg are the top drivers of the 2012 F1 season, but they have never won their home race at Hockenheim. AUTO BILD MOTORSPORT met them for a double interview.

AUTO BILD MOTORSPORT: Mr. Vettel, Mr. Rosberg, camping is a must at the German Grand Prix: when was the last time you went camping?

Nico Rosberg (27): That wasn't so long ago. I was on the road with some friends in the south of France, in a jeep. We pitched a tent in the middle of the wilderness - among wild boars. That was quite funny.

Sebastian Vettel (25): It was a while ago. At the race track back then, we camped a lot. In Monaco this year, my parents were on the road again with the camper van. I often visited them there in the evenings. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough time for a barbecue because I had to go to bed. But one or two jokes were made at the regulars' table.

Mr Rosberg, have you ever camped with your parents?

Rosberg: Once with my father. We went to the mountains together, pitched the tent and had a barbecue.

Could you imagine the two of you going camping together one day?

Vettel: We get on quite well, but would it be enough to share a tent?

Rosberg: Sebastian once said in a survey that he thought I was quite good-looking. That's why I'd have to be careful. Together with him in a tent, that could get dicey … (Vettel feels caught and has to smile.)

When did you two meet for the first time in the first place?

Rosberg: I know. It was at the A1 Ring during a Formula BMW test. I didn't get on well at all that day and my engineer kept telling me: "Look, Vettel, he drives curve one like this, curve two like this, you have to do that too!"

Vettel: I'd already seen Nico go karting. I knew him, but he didn't know me. Everyone knew him back then - because of his last name.

Were there prejudices against Nico Rosberg? Along the lines of: Here comes the son of the world champion?

Vettel: Of course there were prejudices about his father at the beginning. But if Nico's performance hadn't been right, he wouldn't have made it this far. Today, the name no longer plays a role.

The other way around, Mr. Rosberg: Wouldn't you rather have had a "normal" father who didn't know how to drive corners…?

Rosberg: No. As a child, it was great to see my father racing. I saw him in the DTM, drove through the Motodrom on the roof of his car at his last race in Hockenheim. That's when my passion for this sport blossomed. My father always helped me a lot, gave me great tips in the beginning. I'm very grateful to him for that.

Mr. Vettel, Nico once told us about an encounter with you at a BMW Christmas party. Do you remember when a 15-year-old boy with braces asked 17-year-old Nico Rosberg about his first Formula 1 test?

Vettel: Yes. I wanted to know everything from him. We'd heard so much about Formula 1 driving. That after a few laps your neck muscles go limp and you do everything you can not to let anything show. It was the same with my first time. I stepped on the gas and got a shock. I got another one the first time I braked.

Rosberg: I can confirm that. For me, it was also pure madness. I could have driven faster, but my body didn't allow it. At some point in the fast third corner in Barcelona, I was pushed into the cockpit because I could no longer resist the incredible forces acting on me. I couldn't really see where I was going anymore. My head was hanging between my legs.

Is that how you described it to Seb?

Rosberg: I was probably showing off, playing it cool and saying, "It wasn't all that bad!"

Vettel: I remember trying to brake late. It pushed me forward so much that I could only see the seat belts.

Mr. Rosberg, were you ever jealous of Sebastian? You were the youngest driver ever to drive a Formula 1 in an official test drive. That makes you predestined to become the youngest race winner and youngest world champion. And then a boy from Heppenheim comes along and becomes everything you had planned. Didn't that give you the willies?

Rosberg: No, zero, never. I analyzed my situation very soberly, learned to be patient and was always convinced that my time would come. That means that at some point I, too, will have the car with which you can win. Sebastian had that a little earlier and also put in hammer performances. That's why he deserves everything. But I never compared myself with him. There was no envy at all.

Mr. Vettel, do you actually have a poster of Nico hanging in your room now? (Vettel looks puzzled.) Well, as a child you had posters of Michael Schumacher. And Nico has pretty much run circles around your childhood idol in the last two years.

Rosberg: An honest answer, please!

Vettel: I haven't had those posters for a long time. I grew up with Michael as a child. He wasn't just my hero, but the hero of almost all young German kart drivers.

How do you rate Nico's performance compared to Michael's?

Vettel: First of all, Michael or even Kimi, who hasn't been in Formula 1 for two years, haven't forgotten anything. In Michael's case, his package was certainly not the best in the first two years of his comeback. But the comparison with his teammate is fair. Nico drives around with the same box and is eight times faster on average out of ten practice sessions. You have to acknowledge that and you can't beat around the bush.

Mr. Vettel, can you understand why Nico turned down an offer from Ferrari last season?

Vettel (looks puzzled): I only ever heard that in passing. Nico, is that true? Honest answer!

Rosberg: What's with the speculation? Now I have a top car in the form of the Silver Arrow.

Vettel: Nico really has a competitive car this year. You can understand the confidence he has in Mercedes.

Who's right now? For you, Mr. Vettel, Ferrari is the team with the biggest myth. But for Nico, it's Mercedes…

Vettel: Both. If you go by Formula 1 history alone, Ferrari has been around the longest. Mercedes in a different way, though. They are the two brands in general. Driving a Silver Arrow and being on a par with legends like Juan-Manuel Fangio is appealing. But it's very similar at Ferrari, as I said. This year, you both have a winning car.

According to your own statements, friendships among Formula 1 drivers are not even possible. Nevertheless, you get along quite well.

Vettel: They're not impossible, but you have to look at it this way: If all 24 Formula 1 drivers lived in the same village, they'd run into each other more often and go out for a drink together more often. But the reality is that we live in all directions and in the paddock everyone stays close to their team. And, just imagine: Someone takes a cell phone picture of our pub crawl and the next day we hit the wall. Then the media would say for two weeks: They don't take their job seriously.

Rosberg: In addition, you deal with a teammate differently because the competitive pressure in your own team is extremely high.

Isn't the competition between you already great because you're both German?

Rosberg: That doesn't matter to me. Sebastian is just as much a competitor for me as anyone else.

You are not only German, but also Hessian.

Rosberg: Yes, that too. Although I speak better Hessian than Sebastian.

Vettel: I don't believe that. I recently had dinner with Timo (Glock). That was very funny, a trip back to the deepest Odenwald. The rest of Germany would have needed subtitles to understand us. (Vettel says something in deepest Hessian. It is absolutely not to understand).

Rosberg: I give up, I understood practically nothing. But my mother also taught me something in Hessian.

Vettel: Let's hear it!

Rosberg: Ey Sina, da kannst net neingehe, da fliege die Zäh, da glaubst, es dät schneie. (Sina, you can't go in there. Teeth fly so fast you'll think it's snowing!) It was about a fight at the disco.

Vettel: I got it. But, Nico, it's not really fluid yet. You can still work on it.

What makes you extremely different is the way you deal with your girlfriends. You, Mr. Rosberg, are open about it: Your girlfriend Vivian is often in the paddock and takes part in your professional life. It's different for you, Mr. Vettel. You hide your girlfriend Hanna as much as possible.

Vettel: Everyone does what they think is right. You can't say that's right or wrong!

Rosberg: Actually, I always want to keep that separate, too, but on the other hand it's also nice when my girlfriend is there.

Nevertheless, do you accept that, as a public figure, you sometimes have to live with people taking an interest in your private life?

Vettel: In a way, yes. We're both extremely lucky that we've been able to turn our great passion into a career. But that's exactly the point: It's also our job. We come to the race track in the morning, have to get our things done, and that goes on late into the evening. Who else brings their wife to the office? And the racetrack is our office in a way.

So who will win at Hockenheim?

Rosberg: Sebastian, have you ever won in Germany?

Vettel: No.

You've just poked a deep wound, Mr. Rosberg.

Vettel: It would be great for the fans and Germany if one of us could make it. But unfortunately it's not that easy - there are 22 others in the race.

Which of you two has the better chance of winning at Hockenheim?

Vettel: I hope I do…

Rosberg: Nah, I think I do. I've got the Mercedes engine in the back and Hockenheim has some long straights.

Vettel: Yes, that's true, unfortunately.

What we notice, Mr. Vettel, Mr. Rosberg: As nice and familiar you are with each other, you could easily drive in a team, couldn't you?

Rosberg: Yes, definitely.

Vettel: Then camping would also work out. In separate tents, of course.

[blueraineshadows]

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️Leander Prewett

Chapter 12 - Tangled

Tags: NSFW / PTSD / Angst / Violence / Blood / Dark Wizards /

Chapter Master List and Ao3

Chapter Twelve: Tangled

MC

When it came to dramatics, Rookwood had the flair for being unfailingly civilised whilst delicately peeling the skin from your back with his icy words. Dressed like a true English gentleman, there was not a speck of dirt on his coat, his top hat carefully balanced atop his head, his hands clean despite the dirty work being attended to. Rookwood had no need to accumulate grime under his fingernails, or risk a stain on his fine waistcoat when he had lackeys all too eager to do the manual labour for him.

The young man on his knees in the middle of the prisoner tent was sobbing. His hair was a mess, filthy and limp, the skin of his hands and feet black with dirt, his clothing rumpled from several days in lock up. Saliva and blood trickled from his mouth, dripping from his chin to stain his trousers as he tried to choke back the croaky sobs. He shook as he tried to keep his head up, but another booted foot slammed into his ribs and sent him sprawling across the packed dirt floor of the tent.

Rookwood grimaced as though disgusted, throwing a look up at the faded cloth of the tent roof and sighing. “It’s such a shame that it must come to this,” he mused, shaking his head, his tone borderline sympathetic as he looked down at the pitiful sight. “I consider myself a fair man. I treat you well here. There is food to eat, whores to rut with, and a place to rest your head, and yet…and yet, you still betray me.”

To the rear of the tent, MC felt herself stiffen as she watched the scene unfold before her, sick to her stomach at how Rookwood truly believed himself to be some kind of saviour to these Ashwinder followers. Most of them came from troubled backgrounds, seeking a place to belong, and following a darker path because there were no other options for them. The few days she had spent in this Ashwinder camp had brought forth memories of long days in the orphanage, the hollow eyes of hungry children in those dark winter months. Little to live for, and yet you fought to hang on to every moment. It was every man for himself despite the appearances of this being some kind of “family”. 

This was no family. 

The man delivering the kicking was the camp Executioner. A man-mountain with a mask covering the lower half of his face, his eyes cold and brutal as they peered above the cloth. His arms were thicker than MC’s legs, his neck solid, and his feet deadly when aimed at one’s ribs. The man on the floor was clutching his side, his breath wheezing dangerously as blood trickled from the side of his mouth. The glitter of eyes above the mask were those of a predator, the scent of fear and blood inside the tent was palpable, and yet it seemed to rile up those present. Aside from her.

Glancing sideways, she caught the eye of Sebastian, his look dark and brooding as he stood with his arms folded. He met her gaze with the merest hint of a headshake, warning her to keep her mouth closed. It was safer that way, he would say, not wanting her to risk any more attention than she already received from the other camp members. Despite their efforts to maintain an outward appearance of distance between them, Sebastian was still the over protective menace he always had been.

Rookwood paced the floor, slow and deliberate, his forefinger and thumb gently caressing the neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard on his chin. “It is not respectful to bite the hand that feeds you, boy,” he said icily, his eyes like flint in the glow of the lamp. “Let this be a lesson learned. One more toe out of line, and I won’t be so gracious next time.”

The young man merely sobbed and wheezed, barely able to nod his agreement as he tried to get back up onto his knees. Even now, his eyes were turned to Rookwood with pleading, trying to gain some ground by almost worshipping at his feet. MC had to turn her head away from it all, fixing her gaze on the entrance of the holding tent, ignoring the chains and table laden with instruments of pain. 

Footsteps approached her, the delicate scent of cologne reaching her nose as fingers  gently took hold of her chin. Resisting the urge to flinch, MC let the hand turn her head back to the room, meeting a pair of cold, blue eyes. Eyes she had thought closed forever by her own hand.

“Come now, sweet one,” Rookwood said, smiling as though this was some kind of social tea party. “That’s enough drama for one evening, wouldn’t you say? Time for us to have that proper chat I’ve been promising you. Shall we?”

He offered out his arm, the very image of genteel behaviour, whilst his eyes sent shards of ice down her spine. MC swallowed hard and kept her chin lifted, maintaining a cool expression as she nodded. Hating every moment of this, she put her hand into the crook of Rookwood’s elbow, her eyes daring to glance towards Sebastian once more as she was led towards the tent entrance.

A muscle was twitching in Sebastian’s jaw, his eyes ablaze with barely contained aggravation as he had no choice but to watch her being led away. In the brief seconds they had eye contact, she could feel his frustration, and tried to convey her reassurance. It was all part of the plan, it was all game play. She had to be the epitome of willing and pliable in order to fool Rookwood. She could do this.

The cool, night air hit her cheeks, the freshness of it soothing after the stench of the tent. Rookwood led her across the camp, past fires and gang members huddled under thick cloaks, whilst a cold moon looked down upon on them.

“I hope you find your accommodations here with us suitable, MC,” Rookwood said, strolling along with ease. He flashed a suave smile. “Although, I am sure anything beats the comforts of Azkaban. Our humble tents must feel like palaces in comparison.”

A pallet on the floor of a tent shared with a female Ashwinder who snored louder than a Graphorn could hardly be described as luxury, but she managed a smile in return nonetheless. “I manage just fine, thank you.”

“No trouble from other campmates?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. “I call us a family, however I am not so much of a fool to believe that bad behaviour won’t take place. The disappointing scene in the tent just now merely proves my point.”

“I can handle myself,” she said firmly, her face hardening.

Rookwood’s smile dripped with cold delight. “Oh, I know, sweet one. I know. I also know that despite your murdering little hands wiping out his uncle, Sallow seems rather taken with ensuring your safety. He was most keen to have you out of Azkaban, and assured me that I would be in need of his assistance should you choose to resist joining my crew. It’s a curious little set up we have here. It makes one wonder where loyalties truly lie.”

Arriving outside the larger, and far more elaborate tent that Rookwood used, MC fought the tight feeling in her chest as she maintained her careful indifference. 

“I’m loyal to myself,” she said, the words falling from her mouth with surprising ease. When she met his cold, enquiring eyes, she didn’t flinch. “When you spend years alone in a prison cell, you have plenty of opportunity to think. I’ve been let down all my life, and I’m not about to expect anything different any time soon. Sallow is one of those who let me down. If he wants my loyalty, he will need to earn it, just like everyone else.”

Rookwood narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “You are a cold little thing, aren’t you?”

MC shrugged and took her hand from his arm, stepping away from him, and her face remained hard. “Can you blame me? Even you need to prove that this is worth my time. You know better than anyone how easily I could wipe you off the very ground you stand upon. I could have this camp ablaze in seconds, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I’m here because I choose to be. Now, what’s it worth?”

His smile was slow, the greed in his eyes shining brighter than the moon above their heads. His chuckle was low and dark as he lifted the tent flap and gestured for her to enter. “You are delightful. Please, do come in. We have things to discuss.”

Enchanted to be a most luxurious and stately residence, Rookwood’s tent was like a home from home with all the comforts one could wish for. He strolled in and gestured towards a chair decorated with lovely wooden scrollwork, the cushioned seat plush and inviting. MC sat, her back straight, her hands placed loosely on her lap where they were in close proximity to the wand strapped on one thigh, and a silver dagger on the other.

“You know, I remember you when you were a slip of a girl in her Hogwarts robes, sipping butterbeers in Sirona’s bar. It was quite the wholesome little scene,” Rookwood said, casually fetching a wooden chest from a sideboard and carrying it towards the table where she sat. “You are still a slip of a girl, but not so much of the wholesome anymore, hmm? A cold blooded murderer, and an ex-convict. I wonder if those charming townsfolk would still be so quick to jump to your aid these days.”

His eyes were knowing as he brushed back her hair to reveal the prisoner number tattoo on her neck. A shiver swept over her and she glared at him. Did she not shove those very fears deep inside of herself every day? 

“I knew nothing about the power I had back then. Things are different now. I can take care of myself.” In trying to maintain control, her words sounded brittle to her own ears, her mouth tight and almost grim. 

“Indeed,” he smiled, opening the chest on the table with a flick of his wand. He reached in and pulled out some scrolls, the parchment yellowed and faded. “This ancient power you possess is quite remarkable. After seeing it first hand, I was rather intrigued to say the least. After everything with Ranrok, I decided to keep things much closer to home this time around. Doing dirty work for goblins can leave a rather sour taste in the mouth, however, there are benefits to be reaped if you know where to look.”

He held up the scrolls and proceeded to open one with a flourish. 

“These I acquired from a ruined dwelling in Feldcroft, sacking the place for Ranrok in his search for those repositories. It was quite the adventure at the time, the locals having that same annoying wholesomeness as those in Hogsmeade. They came to try and stop us, but as you know, I’m not one to let people stand in my way.”

MC narrowed her eyes. As much as she felt deep bitterness towards Anne Sallow, it was still a terrible thing that happened to her. “I have heard the stories. Even cursing children doesn’t seem to be too much of a bother for you, just so long as you get your way. Children should be seen and not heard, right?”

“Absolutely,” he said, the flash of teeth sinister as he grinned. He leant to spread the parchment on the table top, a frown appearing on his brow. “I had to teach a rather annoying brat a lesson when I got my hands on these, actually. Quite the feisty thing, babbling on about taking things that didn’t belong. She tried to stop me, even dared to raise her wand at me, but I put a stop to that.”

MC stared at him, trying to picture a healthy and furious Anne and realised it wasn’t too hard to imagine. Like Sebastian, she had fight and stubbornness. MC had to be careful with her words here. Revealing that she knew the child he had cursed would open up questions she couldn’t answer. Not just because of the pact she had made with Sebastian, but for their own safety within the gang. After years of earning Rookwood’s trust, she couldn’t blow Sebastian’s cover for being here.

“How does one teach a child a lesson exactly?” She asked, tilting her head as though curious. In all honesty, she was curious. If she knew what Rookwood had done, it could help Sebastian find a cure. “Did you kill the child?”

“Not exactly,” he said, a smug smirk twisting his lips as he glanced at her. “A rather handy curse of my own design. No instant death for that little brat. No, a slow and painful one for her. I wonder if she is still suffering? Perhaps she thinks twice before crossing someone she shouldn’t these days.”

He had the audacity to laugh as he pondered these thoughts and MC felt her stomach twist with nausea, wondering how a man could so casually cause such trauma towards a child when he had a daughter of his own. Anne had not learnt her lesson, though, happily throwing MC into Azkaban to serve her own selfishness. It would appear she had not learned a lesson despite her pain, and MC found she could not hold on to her sympathy for long, her own blood crackling with vengeful desire.

“No cure for such a curse, then?” She asked, her gaze dropping to the parchment on the table. 

Rookwood gave her another sinister smile. “No cure. That’s the beauty of it. A curse of my own making, all those I have chosen to bear it will suffer until their death, or mine, and I have no plans to leave this mortal realm just yet.”

“You are quite the villain, aren’t you?” She said, and not in an impressed kind of way.

He laughed, loud and heartily. “Why, thank you.”

Of course, he took it as a compliment. Hardening her resolve even further, she gestured towards the parchment on the table. “So, what’s next in your twisted little games? I’m going to assume you need my help with it. Why else would you want me here?”

“Straight to the point. I like it,” he said, satisfaction gleaming in his smile. “This scroll belonged to Isadora Morganach. You and I both know the significance of this particular witch, so there will be no need for any pretending here. We also both know that Isadora spent a considerable amount of time researching your ancient magic, and this is what appeals to me. My family was involved with this power once, and I intend to continue that tradition. That’s where you come in, sweet one.”

MC knew this would be coming, Sebastian had warned her, and Rookwood had shown his hand all those years ago when he had snatched her from the street outside Ollivander’s. Swallowing tightly, MC leaned over to take a look at the parchment, recognising the inked hand of Isadora. It was, indeed, a part of her research, outlining the deposits of ancient magic that seemed to store themselves in locations scattered across the land. MC felt a sinking sensation as she read, anticipating where this was headed.

“You are interested in locating more deposits,” she said flatly, looking up at him.

So smug. The greed was sickening as he smiled at her. “You catch on quick, sweet one,” he nodded. “You’re the only one who can see these deposits, and once absorbed, they will increase your capabilities. Imagine the power you could possess, the deeds you could achieve.”

“I am fully aware of these deposits and what it could mean, Rookwood,” she said, shrugging. “I have come across them before around the Highlands. I fail to see how this benefits you, though.”

His eyes narrowed. “With your power, and my connections, imagine the team we could be. Greatness, MC. Who could stand against us?”

“Us? You want me to work for you?” She needed to hear him spell it out, let him spill his lies whilst he aimed to collect her like one of his relics.

“With me, MC. I wish for us to work together,” he said smoothly, placing his hand against his chest as though this was heartfelt. It sickened her stomach. “Together, we could build something truly remarkable. I would fulfil a birthright, standing beside you, a pillar of strength that would see you reach your full potential, and therefore, claiming your own birthright. Do you not wish to finish what Isadora began? Together, we could finish her research, delve even deeper into what this magic could mean, push the boundaries out and achieve greatness. Does that not sound like something that could fulfil you? Claim back what you deserve, MC. After the darkness of Azkaban, this could be your light.”

The silence of the tent seemed to press in upon her, heavy with the weight of his words that were spoken with only his own selfish intent in mind, and yet the temptation of what he implied was undeniably tangible. It almost brought tears to her eyes how he was cleverly appealing to what she truly did desire, her own redemption in a way, a path to walk that would finally give her the sense of belonging she craved.

The gut punch of it all came when faced with the darker agenda he had planned, to build her up only to tear it all away from her and claim it as his own. A truly twisted game that he had every intention of winning. But, he couldn’t win. She wouldn’t let him. She had to play the game harder and slicker than him, draw on everything she had learned in order to survive, and she wouldn’t do it alone. 

Knowing that she had Sebastian standing at her side helped to keep the steel in her spine as she stared at Rookwood, even if Sebastian, too, had his own selfish reasons to help her, she knew he would have her back, just as he always had. There was also the knowledge that she had the British Auror Office in the wings, her very own Auror waiting for her in London who had already proved just how far he would go to help her. Despite feeling like she didn’t deserve it, she was grateful to have Leander in her life. She only hoped she could pay his loyalty back and pull this off.

“You paint a pretty picture, Rookwood,” she said, tilting her head, considering him. “I won’t deny the appeal of it. But, I’m not so foolish as to trust you. You have form, something you don’t even deny.”

He gave a nod, a pretty image of respect that didn’t do anything to make her think he meant it. His showmanship was a smoke screen she saw through well enough. “Is it not enough that you would hold all the power? As you so rightly said, you could end it all with one flick of your wand, and I would be useless against such a display. I merely intend to be at your side, a guiding hand if you will. My Ashwinders will be of assistance whilst you seek out these deposits and uncover your potential. Your guardian army, you might say.”

He was a dreamer, a man who aimed high, and believed he could get there by using any means necessary. Not to take anything away from his cunning, and his clear skill at leading people, but MC suspected there was a weakness in there to press on. His greed and desire for greatness could be his undoing, his ego something to be stroked. Her barriers were firmly in place, but her mouth smiled at him as she touched her hand to Isadora’s research paper.

“Then I guess I have some reading to do,” she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral. “I don’t see the harm in seeing where this could lead. I might have some requests, though.”

“What do you need?” He asked, holding out his arms as though he could grant her any wish. 

“If we are going to hunt down these deposits, then Sallow comes with me. He aided me as a girl, we work well together, and he has experience in helping me with my magic.”

“Is that so?” Rookwood’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you think he can be trusted with this?”

She summoned every scrap of determination she could muster as she made her voice cold and seemingly uncaring, whilst her blood burned to utter such words. “He knows if he betrays me I could wipe him from existence, just as I did his uncle. He will help me. He is almost as enamoured by my magic as you are, he won’t be able to resist it.”

Rookwood’s look was calculating as he studied her, his fingers stroking at his beard. “Imagine how different life could have been if you had taken this opportunity when I had offered it to you outside Ollivander’s that day, the deaths that could have been avoided, a prison sentence not served, the greatness you could have achieved already.”

His words hit like blows to the gut, and she fought the urge to cower against the breathtaking twist of grief that slammed into her chest as she thought of Professor Fig fading in her arms under the school. Guilt was cold and cruel, no forgiveness great enough to appease the horror of that moment, something she struggled with day by day. She fixed her gaze on the parchment, the words blurring through the haze that descended over her eyes as she fought to keep control of her emotions. The wounded dark of her heart threatened to spill forth, but she choked it back, blinking furiously as she focused on each breath, in and out, clinging to calm.

Her choices had been her own, and she had tried to avoid the temptation of darkness, but the fear that a piece of it lingered within scraped tempting claws through her soul. It whispered to her, weaving the spell of temptation and calling her home. It was in her blood. It was her birthright, was it not? 

No. There was always a choice. Ominis was her proof of that and she held it tight, close to her chest. She had the power to make her own choices.

Stiffening her spine, she turned hard eyes towards Rookwood. “I guess it all comes down to timing. That, or, everything happens precisely when it means to, regardless of how dark things may be.”

“You believe in fate?”

“We live in a world of magic,” she said, lifting her eyebrows at him. “I’ve learned to accept that anything is possible. Now, let’s see if we can’t find a starting point for our search, shall we?”

….*….

The night held a chill that seeped into your bones, the camp mostly quiet, guards posted at the borders keeping watch for any sign of trouble as the rest of the Ashwinders sought rest or sustenance. MC sat huddled on her straw pallet, a cloak wrapped around her despite the casting of a warming charm, her tent companion snoring loudly beside her. Surrounded by people, the loneliness held a stealthy position at her shoulder, the weariness of having to mask her truth bearing down upon her.

Agreeing to walk willingly into Rookwood’s trap had set a course she needed to hold despite every instinct telling her to run. It was a dangerous game, but it held promise. Rookwood had been right about one thing. Her truth, her power, it was all connected to Isadora, and any evidence gathered was another step towards discovering who she was. MC had to snatch every opportunity that came her way, even if that meant dancing with the devil for a time.

Feeling the pinch of the lonesome darkness, she retrieved her secret parchment and laid it flat against a book, tapping her wand to the blank paper but revealing no new words. Swallowing down the disappointment, she felt that warmth she had shared with Leander slipping further into the shadows. His contact had been brief and polite for the last few days, words seemingly professional and distant, a mere touching base that covered her required check in with Aurors and nothing more. The wrench of missing him cut a fresh scar in that soft part of her she hid away, and even though it was for the best, she couldn’t help but grieve for what she was allowing to slip through her fingers. She, too, had been withdrawing away from him, and it had proved harder than she had expected. 

The urge to see him swelled to the point that she was reaching for her quill, summoning the words to send off to him, a craving to see the warmth of his honey brown eyes making her bite her lip as she began to write. Whilst keeping her words as professional as he had set the tone for, she suggested a face to face report, an opportunity to look upon him once more before setting off in search of ancient magic deposits. Tapping her wand to the page, she watched the ink fade and vanish, knowing he was unlikely to see it until tomorrow. She imagined him safe and sleeping in his bed at his flat, drawing comfort from the image, a soft smile curving her lips. She couldn’t help but cling to the life line he had thrown her way after pulling her out of the frigid dark.

Putting her quill and parchment away, MC eyed the lumpy pillow and shifted on her hard mattress, missing the soft warmth of Leander’s bed. Perhaps it was a step up from the stone ledge of prison, but the snoring beast of her companion took away the peace and privacy, and she doubted sleep would deign to visit her tonight. Sighing, she clambered up and out of the tent, pulling her cloak around herself as she stepped out under a star sprinkled sky. Looking up she breathed in the crisp night air, filling her lungs with mountain breeze, camp fires and woodland. The promise of freedom lingered in that scent, but she was just as chained as ever, bound to a fate that could have been laid out before she had even entered this world. 

Putting one foot in front of the other, she focused on the promise of being able to make her own choices, lost in her own head as she came across a dark figure in the shadows. Halting immediately, her hand hovering near her wand holster, she remained poised as Rosier stepped towards her. He was so very handsome, his smile designed to lure in unsuspecting souls for sure. She relaxed her hand, but left it hanging loose near her thigh, nodding in greeting.

“If it isn’t our chosen one,” he said softly. “Where are you slipping off to at this time of night?”

“The usual,” she shrugged. “Always assume I’m up to no good, it avoids disappointment.”

He chuckled and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Want some company whilst you raise mischief and mayhem?”

“A tempting offer, but one I must decline,” she said, pouting her lips in an image of regret.

“Of course,” he smirked, slipping his hands into his pockets and nodding towards a tent at the other end of camp. “He’s alone in there. I will be gone for a few hours. Make the most of it, darling. Go make mischief.”

Pulling her gaze from the tent Rosier shared with Sebastian, MC stared at him, the knowing glint in his eyes making her stiffen slightly. “Make the most of what, may I ask?”

He smirked and moved to step away. “When eyes speak as yours do, there is no need for words. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Sebastian is a good man, one of the best in this shit hole. He has been good to me. I won’t betray him.”

MC stared at him, keeping her silence as she shivered under her cloak. What did her eyes reveal? Had her mask slipped enough for others to see her truth, too? Turning her gaze back to Sebastian’s tent, the danger that hung over their heads felt like strings pulling them in every direction with no escape. So much for that freedom.

Rosier paused, turning back to her, his hand touching lightly to her elbow and making her face him once more. “Oh, and be careful,” he murmured in a low tone. “Luella. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating her. Don’t turn your back for a moment. Understand?”

MC nodded, her throat tightening as he brushed the pad of his thumb across her arm, that alluring smile soft on his face as he turned and walked away from her, vanishing into the night as though he had never even been there at all.

Of course, her feet led her to Sebastian’s tent, no matter how many times she told herself that she needed more time, that he needed to prove that he was worth the wait, she returned to him regardless. Lingering at the entrance, she debated the wisdom of going inside. Ever since they had slept in the cottage at Feldcroft, she had kept a reasonable distance between them, offering up the illusion that they were acquainted before the other camp dwellers and nothing more, whilst in reality their blood sung for each other in a way only they could understand. It led her here to his presence, answering a call that appeared primal and basic in its instincts.

Lifting the flap of the tent, MC stepped inside, the interior lit with a single lamp. Two bunks on either side, a chest, and a battered wash stand provided minimal comfort. It was basic and threadbare, but she could feel the warmth of magic lending it a far cosier feel than appearances would suggest. Sprawled on the far bunk, his nose in a book, Sebastian appeared relaxed, his hair a tumbled mess and his shirt open at his throat. Jacket and waistcoat were discarded, and an empty bottle of butterbeer sat on the floor by a stack of books. He glanced up as she entered, sitting up immediately at the sight of her, snapping the book shut with a warm smile.

Oh, how that smile seemed to chase the loneliness that persisted at her shoulder, pushing back the shadows that reached with long arms in their efforts to conceal her.

“Am I disturbing you?” She asked softly, glancing over her shoulder to ensure the tent flap was closed behind her. “I checked nobody was nearby before entering.”

“You’re always welcome,” he said, reaching for his wand. He cast a silencing charm, warding the tent to avoid any eavesdropping before beckoning to her. “Come in, take a seat.”

He patted the bed bunk, smoothing the rumpled blanket as he shifted to make room for her. MC unclipped her cloak, pulling it free from her shoulders as she moved to sit. His eyes never left her as she got comfortable, a softness lingering around his mouth. It wasn’t the look of a violent Ashwinder, just the boy she had once known.

“What were you reading?” She asked, gesturing towards the book he had abandoned.

“Tales of King Arthur and the Round Table,” he said, picking it up and handing it to her. “I wanted to refresh my memory on what Muggles had written about Merlin. They do love to embellish their legends. Their ideas about magic are rather amusing compared to the real thing, however, some of their words hit a little too close to home sometimes.”

MC smoothed her fingers over the book cover, absently following the embossed title. “What prompted the idea to read about Merlin?”

“You, of course,” he smiled. “Or rather, your ancient magic. Do you remember helping that witch, Nora Treadwood? She published her research on Merlin and I read a copy recently, intrigued by the possibility that Merlin could have been a host of ancient magic. Those trials we completed in the Highlands seemed to come naturally to you. I thought it might be worth reading up on it all.”

She couldn’t stop her smile as she looked at him. It hadn’t been a lie to request his presence at her side in order to help her seek out ancient magic deposits. His enquiring mind and ability to maintain vast amounts of knowledge were invaluable. It came easy to admire him for it, and she knew he was wasted here in this camp of criminals. He should be working for the Ministry, or teaching as a Professor somewhere, not thieving and committing acts of brutality.

“Did you learn anything interesting?” She asked, flipping the book open to a rather colourful illustration that caught her eye.

Sebastian leaned closer, peering down at the open pages. “The character Morgana is of particular interest I think. She is presented as an apprentice to Merlin, and then a villain. Some have suggested she was a lover, perhaps, but she is always cunning and powerful. I’d bet a few galleons that she was a Slytherin.”

Their eyes met, that inexplicable tension crackling between them. “Maybe she was. Perhaps she slept in the same dormitory as me. It’s strange to think of it.”

MC looked down at the artwork in the book, the robed drawing of Morgana seemed oddly familiar and she couldn’t place why. She had not seen this book before, she was sure. When she had read the legends of King Arthur, her copy had been a rather battered version she had smuggled into the orphanage, and she didn’t recall any artwork inside. 

“Not that strange,” Sebastian murmured, looking thoughtful. “Some of the greatest witches and wizards of our world walked the halls of Hogwarts. What I would give to be able to sneak into the restricted section of the library one more time. I bet there would be something down there about her worth reading, something hidden from the muggle world.”

MC bit her lip, her finger tracing the artwork of the legend herself in the book. Her next words could potentially start something she might regret, breach a trust that had been placed upon her in order to help her, but it could also further her quest for more information. Looking at Sebastian now, the temptation to utilise that brilliant brain of his was so strong, that she was speaking before she could change her mind.

“What if I told you that I could do one better than the library at Hogwarts?” She said, lifting her eyebrows and fighting back a smile at the spark of interest in his gaze. “What if I told you that I had someone doing a little digging in the Ministry archives on my behalf? I could whisper Morgana’s name in his ear and see what turns up?”

“Who would do that for you? Not Prewett, surely?” 

“No, not Leander,” she shook her head. “But, I’m not going to name who it is and risk him being caught out. He is doing me a huge favour gathering information at the risk of his own neck. I’m not going to unleash the chaos that is Sebastian Sallow on to him for his trouble.”

“I am not chaos,” Sebastian scowled, puffing out his chest indignantly.

She smothered a chuckle, recalling the similar jest Ominis had made at their last meeting, and nudged her shoulder into him. “I beg to differ.”

His lips twitched and he huffed with amusement, his fingers gently encircling her wrist, his thumb tracing a slow circle over her pulse point. “I’ve missed this,” he whispered. His brown eyes lifted to meet her gaze, the warmth in them seemingly boundless and undeniably alluring. “I’ve missed you.”

Her chest swelled with an ache so fierce she had to catch her breath for a moment, staring into his eyes and knowing without doubt that she had missed him too, missed these chats and picking each other's minds about things. Such simplicity, but it meant so much.

“You know, it was moments like this that kept me sane in that place,” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “When the cold and dark felt like it might swallow me whole, I would allow myself to think about times we had spent together, just doing silly things like studying, or walking around the Black Lake at the weekends. Thinking of you chased back the darkness for a moment, but then I would have to suppress all thought of you, hide you away in my most secret, put away heart so that the Dementors couldn’t steal all trace of you from my mind. They were drawn to any happy thought, and I think I might have died if they had taken you from me.”

Fighting back her own tears, it made her stomach twist to see his eyes burn with his own sadness, the devastated look on his face painful to witness. He cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer so that their foreheads touched. “I can never repay the debt that I owe you,” he said, his voice pained. “You should never have been sent to Azkaban in the first place, and I will never forgive myself for it. Hearing what you had to endure in there…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to finish his sentence, his grip on her neck tightening. “I’m so sorry.”

They were words she needed to hear, and she did believe him. She had seen him at his most vulnerable, held him at his lowest points, and she did not imagine for one moment that this was anything but genuine regret. It might not make up for what she had lost, or take away any of the horror that she had suffered, but it did ease some of the ache in her chest to hear him say it. Lifting a hand to his cheek, she soothed him with a gentle caress, trying to show him that she appreciated what he was saying to her because words would not come past the tightness in her throat.

He opened his eyes, his head still leaning against her as he stared, gaining some control over his emotions. “I thought about what you said,” he began, his fingers trailing down her neck and back up again. “You said the pact that we made held you just as captive as your cell did, and you were right. I never intended to trap you with it. I just wanted us to never feel lonely again, to always know that we had each other no matter what. I hate that it only managed to keep us apart for so long, trapped by its bond, you were forced to remain in darkness or die. That’s not what I wanted, not at all.”

“I was angry when I said that,” she said, stroking back his hair. “Yes, I was bound by it, but I also clung to that bond whilst I was in there. It was my only link to the outside world. Knowing we were bonded meant that I wouldn’t be forgotten, although I did used to wonder if you had moved on with your life without me. I could only hope that you would be waiting on the day of my release. It’s what made finding out about Luella so gut wrenching.”

“I never moved on,” he said vehemently, holding her head so that she was angled perfectly to look at him, his eyes ablaze with emotion. “I could never move on. I was always waiting for you to come back to me. I held on to that bond, too.”

He shifted, digging into his pocket to pull out the amulet, the delicate silver charm encasing the blood red stone of their spell. He held it up between them, the lamp light catching the stone and making it shimmer to life. 

“I would look at this every night, terrified that I would forget your face,” he said, smoothing his thumb over the stone. “This means something, MC. It will always mean something. I am yours, and you are mine.”

Slowly, MC touched her fingers to the stone, remembering vividly the way their blood had entwined and solidified to create it in the flickering candlelight of the Undercroft. Too young for marriage, they had turned to darker magic to pledge themselves to each other. Their youth had perhaps impacted on their choice of words, rendering them so bound to each other that it had trapped them. In another way, they had perhaps not linked themselves deep enough. Despite this pact, they had both taken another lover, given themselves to someone else when that shouldn’t have been possible. When you’re young, you don’t even consider the consequences, or anticipate extreme circumstances, you just rush headlong in with passion and the strength of will that comes with youth.

“I am yours, and you are mine,” she repeated softly, testing the feel of those words on her tongue.

A hopeful smile curved Sebastian’s mouth as their fingers touched around the stone. “Turn around,” he said softly. She gave him a curious frown, but he merely let his smile widen as he motioned with a finger for her to do as he asked, holding up the amulet. 

She shifted on the bed, turning so that she had her back to him. Gently he gathered up her hair, and she helped him hold it up, shivering as he leant around her. His breath was warm as it fanned across her neck, his fingers fiddling with the amulet as he arranged it so that it lay over her collar bone. Closing her eyes, she felt the delicate brush of his fingers as he fastened the silver chain that held it, a soft sigh leaving her mouth as she felt the warmth of his lips at the back of her neck in a lingering kiss.

“I’ve been the sole guardian of our pact for too long,” he said, his mouth so dangerously close to her tingling flesh. “It’s your turn to take care of it now. Wear it, and remember how much you mean to me. Feel it against your skin, a reminder and a promise.”

“What kind of promise?” She asked, tilting her head as she held the amulet in her hand.

“My promise to you that I will never stop fighting for you,” he said, resting his face against the back of her neck, his breath hot and his lips teasing as he spoke. “You said you needed time, and you shall have it, but I will be here waiting for you. It will always be you, MC. Always.”

Her heart seemed to skip a beat, thudding hard against her ribs and stealing her breath. Turning to him, she met with his addictive gaze and he was unflinching, constant and set on his course. She let the amulet rest against her chest and his gaze dropped to it, his finger gently curling under the slender chain and dragging along the sensitive skin of her collar bone, making her breath catch in her throat.

“It looks good on you,” he whispered, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

“Thank you,” she murmured, still touching the amulet, the blood red stone warm under her fingertips. All too aware of how dangerously close they were, the scene intimate and loaded with tension, she wondered if perhaps it was too much, too soon. “It’s late. I should get back to my own tent, I suppose. You can get back to your reading.”

“Stay,” he said, a finger caressing under her chin. “You can make yourself comfortable while I read, just like we used to years ago. No pressure, no expectation. Just you and me.”

Once again, she found herself unable to say no, reluctant to return to that cold, uncomfortable tent and her snoring companion. With him settled back with his book, she curled up beside him, their bodies snuggled close on the narrow bunk, her head on his chest where the steady rhythm of his heart both soothed and comforted so close to her ear. He was warm and solid, his arm naturally draping about her waist as he began to read. 

Tomorrow loomed, and all the tomorrows that would come after, but for now she felt safe, the tension gradually easing from her chest as she lay there. They had lain together like this so many times, quite content in each other’s silence, and it was perhaps no surprise how easily they had resumed this closeness. Nothing was ever that simple, though, not really. But, she would take it, her hand curling into the fabric of his shirt as her eyelids grew heavy. Sleep had come to claim her after all, her mind embracing the darkness whilst she lay safe in the arms of a guardian. 

Leander

Pale sunlight filtered through the kitchen window and illuminated the parchment placed neatly on the table top. Delicate swirls of steam curled upwards from a freshly brewed tea, and the distant crash of Atlantic ocean waves stole the silence of the morning. Leander had arrived at Shell Cottage early, checking the property and taking the time to stroll the coast path to breathe in the clearer air. It was always good to escape the oppressive smog of London and refresh one's head. Everything here was as it should be, and yet the sense that things were all out of kilter clung annoyingly along his nerves.

There was a flutter of anticipation in his tummy as Leander allowed his gaze to lift once again to the ticking clock on the mantel. It kept good time, and mere minutes had passed since he had last checked, but the seconds appeared to drag on endlessly as he waited. It had been a few days since MC had left to seek out the Ashwinders, and whilst he had tortured himself with possible scenarios of what she could be doing in her absence, the bottom line remained the same. He missed her. 

In the short time they had spent in each other’s company, she had embedded herself so thoroughly into his life that it seemed a struggle to traverse the path of his days without her. No soft humming from the other room, the floral scent of her perfume was fading from his flat, and his bed had never felt so large and empty. There couldn’t be a clean break from her either, not unless he handed her case over to another Auror, and there was no chance of him wanting to do such a thing. It had become personal, no matter how many times he told himself that it couldn’t be. He had to continue, and the new information that Larson had managed to pull up were missing pieces in the history of what made MC such a unique witch. 

His long, freckled fingers touched to the file on the table beside him, handed to him only yesterday by Andrew. He had kept it tucked safely in his robe away from prying eyes. It exhausted him trying to be this double agent, working diligently to assist his fellow Aurors on the team, and yet keep secrets from them to help MC. Whilst dreams as a boy of thrilling adventures had seemed like the ideal way to live, actually having to experience such things was another matter entirely. 

But, would he stop?

Absolutely not. There was more to this, he could feel it. His instincts told him not to give up. Not on MC, and not on the case. 

The only other snag in the works was his enthusiastic partner, Ivy Montgomery. The new recruit had been accompanying him on all investigative outings, her sharp eye and quick thinking proving to be quite the asset. But, this meant that she would be astute enough to pick up on any details concerning MC should she be given the chance to get too close. Details that were far beyond the necessary realms of the case. Not only that, but after McKinnon’s betrayal, the wariness to trust again lingered.

Touching his fingers to his tie, he straightened it and swallowed, remembering how awkwardly he had to rebuff Montgomery's eager anticipation when she realised he would be meeting with MC today. She had looked up at him, her bright eyes keen, her cheeks pink from hurrying to catch up with him as he had left the office last night. It was out of the question to bring her to Shell Cottage, and he had put her off the meeting, suggesting she attend the next one instead. Her deflation had made him want to squirm, and he had sent her off to enquire after a lead on the missing Boleyn necklace today. A chance for her to work on something alone to appease the denial of meeting MC face to face.

He could understand the fascination, of course, the lure of the exceptional, the chance to sink her teeth into the heart of this case as a newly fledged Auror. Leander had taken the responsibility of MC’s covert role into his hands, and now felt a reluctance to let anyone else interfere. The mantra that this had nothing to do with the emotional attachment he felt towards MC seemed like a waste of energy, and yet he still foolishly told himself that it was the case. 

Had he not told MC that this was more than just a job? They had been his exact words. He carried the secret parchment they shared messages on within his pocket, and checked it regularly for any word from her. He was just being careful, of course. Her mission was a dangerous one, placing herself in the company of some of the most notorious people in the country. It would be remiss of him to not be vigilant. It was his responsibility to ensure her safety, and know of her whereabouts after all. These were the words he comforted himself with when he lay awake at night thinking about the softness of her lips, the way her eyes darkened in the candlelight…

Tapping fingers nervously on the table top, his leg bouncing under the table, he tried not to let his anxiousness take over. Fighting back his affections for her, he had tried to maintain a professional manner, his written communications with MC presented as polite and focused on the Ashwinders. Behind that, he ached to hear her voice, have her close, despite knowing it was futile to dwell on any dreams of more. It meant he would likely say something foolish, and the little time he had with MC couldn't be wasted on such things. 

Even so, when the crack of Apparation sounded from the living room, he was on his feet in an instant, the chair scraping back across the floor as he hurried towards the door. She turned towards him, her face pale and tired, her hair braided and her clothing dark. In one piece, and with no sign of injury, he felt some of the tension ease from his muscles. 

“Hello, Lee,” she smiled, her eyes captivating in the light flooding through the window. 

Where was his professionalism now? What use were his manners? Her smile, her warm gaze, her hands reaching out towards him, and he was across that room in a few strides. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close until he could feel every inch of her, the scent of clear air, wood smoke, and something else he couldn’t quite place, filling his nose. 

“MC. It is a relief to see you safe,” he said, his hand finding its way to cup the back of her neck. “How has it been, really? Are they treating you as well as we can hope?” 

“I am alright,” she replied, giving him a most welcome squeeze before slowly withdrawing. She placed her hands on his arms as she looked up at him. Such bravery she held firm on her face, that stoic way she had of keeping everything else tucked away. “The time spent within Ashwinder territory is useful despite the company I must keep. We knew it wouldn't be luxury, but I can manage. You should not worry about me.”

“I would find it easier to stop breathing, I am sure,” he said, his eyes drinking in the sight of her knowing time was short. 

“I would rather you remained breathing,” she said softly, her hands gripping his arm. A shadow passed across her pale face. “I don't ever wish to place you in danger. You must know that. It is regrettable that Sebastian knows that I lay with you, but when confronted with him, I am afraid that feelings and tempers got the better of us.”

“You fought with him over us?” Leander felt his chest tighten, trying to imagine how that would play out. Sebastian would not have taken that news well.

She glanced down at her left hand, fingertips touching her scar. How he detested that mark on her skin. “In a way, yes,” she said, making a fist. “Let's just say it was messy and ugly, but done now.” 

“What does that mean?” He frowned.

Her face became resolute, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. “In order to move forward, to get this done, I need to face the reality that my fate and Sebastian’s are tangled up in ways I cannot begin to explain. I have to find peace with it, or lose my mind trying to fight it. It's complicated, but however things play out, I am bound to him, and him to me.” 

Leander dropped his gaze, that tight, sickening feeling beginning to swirl in his stomach as her words sunk in. It would always be Sebastian. No matter what. 

“But, I will not allow him to hurt you,” she said, her countenance softening as she touched a hand to his cheek. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and found that warmth he had always craved from her. “He is angry, and jealous, but if he dares to cast at you, I will take whatever punishment the bond will throw at me to stop him.”

”There is no need for you to do that. Not for me. I can look after myself. I have been fighting against Sebastian for years.”

”I know,” she said, sighing. She shook her head, and winced. “I fear I may have made things worse between you both.”

“It was mutual consent, MC. It took the both of us to become intimate, and on more than one occasion,” he reminded her, his mouth curving in remembrance. His fingers had found their way to her jaw, caressing upwards to the softness of her cheek. “Don’t regret it, for I could never. Not with you, no matter the consequence.”

”Lee,” she whispered, her eyes turning glassy. She shook her head, her face shadowed as she caught hold of his wrist. He could see it in her eyes, she was withdrawing from the affection, throwing up her barriers. “You shouldn’t be saying such things.”

”Do you regret it?” His brow creased, that cold anxiousness clinging to him. Perhaps he was pushing her too hard, and perhaps he shouldn’t be saying such things, but his mouth always had a habit of speaking before thinking.

“No,” she replied immediately, shaking her head. Her gaze was resolute. “I don’t regret it.”

He waited, sensing the inevitable ‘but’ hanging between them. The haunted look she gave him ripped his heart a little, and he knew it would tear further with words she would speak. “I know,” he nodded sadly. His thumb ghosted her jaw, desperately trying to pretend to himself that this didn’t hurt. “It was never intended to be forever.”

Her lips parted as though to speak, but he couldn’t bring himself to hear the words. “No, don’t say it,” he begged. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to those pretty lips, allowing himself the luxury of lingering there, filled with the familiar, aching longing, before withdrawing. 

“Lee, I’m sorry…” 

“It’s alright,” he said, cutting off her plea by touching his fingers to her mouth. He managed a smile as he stepped back away from her, that little tear in his chest pulling sharply at the sadness in her eyes. It would never be alright. 

“Come, I’ve made a pot of tea. I’m sure there is time for a cup as we talk. You can tell me about your meeting with Rookwood, and I have some information from Andrew about ancient magic. It probably throws up more questions than answers, but perhaps it will mean something to you.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, they turned the conversation towards the Ashwinders. He noticed her careful avoidance of mentioning Sebastian too often, but his shadow loomed over it all nonetheless. Hearing the plan to uncover deposits of ancient magic, Leander felt his concerns crowding in, his gaze taking in her small frame. She was stronger than she looked, but absorbing more power only for Rookwood to try and take it made him uneasy. 

“This is a trap, MC,” he said, resisting the urge to place his hand over hers. “There are so many things that could go wrong with this plan.” 

“It’s the best path we have right now,” she shrugged. “Plus, I really could learn more. If Rookwood has more of Isadora’s research, then I need to get my hands on it. Sebastian says that Rookwood is a collector, and he has stores of valuable artefacts and books. If I can discover where he hides this stuff, it would be like discovering a gold mine.” 

“You truly believe Rookwood will ever let you get that close?” He lifted an intrigued eyebrow.

She smiled. “I don’t really have much of a choice but to believe it. He is greedy, and he covets what I am. I let him think he can collect me, take what I want, and then we break him.” 

Her coldness sent a shiver down his spine. Her gaze turned towards the window, her jaw tightening as the shadow of her thoughts passed through her eyes. It still gave him pause to think of the horror she could be capable of, but he refused to accept that the hardness was all she could be. The Auror Office and the Daily Prophet painted her in such a cruel light, but he clung to his faith in that soft part of her she kept so carefully hidden away. He had seen it, he had slept beside it, had felt the flow of what her heart could offer. He just wished she would open herself up to what life could give her. What he could give her.

“Here, maybe this will help in your quest for answers.” He slid Andrew’s file towards her. “The Ministry archives are patchy when it comes to ancient magic. It would seem they either don't understand it fully, or they are covering a lot of it up. Andrew suspects that the Department of Mysteries has a hand in this, but he has no access to their files, and they would definitely refuse permission to look. Unspeakables are a unique breed. Professor Hecat being a prime example.” 

Leander couldn’t help the slight frown that creased his brow. Whilst Hecate was a capable and forthright tutor, he always thought she had a particular dislike for him. 

“I quite liked Professor Hecate,” MC said, her smile turning wistful for a moment, and chasing away that cold mask. “A conversation with her usually proved rather interesting.” 

“Teacher’s pet,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his tea.

MC smirked and picked up the file. “Thank Andrew for me, I know he takes risks to find this information,” she said. “If he hasn’t already, suggest that he look into Merlin regarding ancient magic. He had an apprentice named Morgana who might prove fruitful, too.”

Leander lifted his brows with interest. “Like in the tales of King Arthur? What made you think of that?”

A slight flush of pink coloured her cheeks, and her eyes dipped away. “Actually, it was Sebastian who brought it up.” 

“Of course it was.” His muttered words sounded bitter to his own ears. Getting to his feet, he collected their cups and placed them in the old sink, pulling out his wand to set them to wash. His jealousy threatened to overspill, and so resorting back to cool professionalism seemed the best option in order to maintain some control. “So, when do you want to make the next report? Will you manage to travel by Apparating, or would you prefer Floo points?”

He heard her get to her feet, but kept his back to the room, staring out towards the wide expanse of ocean through the window above the sink. If he looked at her he might crumble again, and that would only prolong the ache that lay heavy in his chest. He had to remain in control. He had to let it go.

“I will remain in constant touch with the parchment,” she said, her footsteps coming closer across the flagstone floor. “I know the terms stated a daily meeting, and I can manage it if you so wish, but I don’t want to make Rookwood suspicious should he be watching me. He already suspects something after I requested that Seb come along to help me search for deposits. He helped me back in our school days, and he has a wealth of knowledge I can make use of. Could we meet in a few days?”

He nodded, his face tight knowing that Sebastian would be a constant at her side. “Of course. Just send word via the parchment when you are ready, and I will meet you. Oh, and I should mention, it’s likely I won’t be alone. I have a new Auror with me for a while. She took McKinnon’s position, and I am showing her the ropes as they say.” 

“She? What’s her name?” Her tone was sharper, almost as though she disapproved.

Leander turned from the sink, moving the now clean cups to the draining board, pondering that thought. “Auror Montgomery. She is astute and bright, so I suggest we keep things strictly professional in her presence. I would rather she didn’t pick up on any over familiarity between us.”

The coolness of his words felt stiff and awkward on his lips. He hated this sense of detachment. It was a breaking, a chasm opening up between them, but his fingers couldn’t bear to loosen their grip. Unable to fully look at her, he moved back towards the table to gather up his notes and straighten his chair, careful to avoid brushing past her where she stood. His foot bumped the table leg clumsily, and he dropped a piece of parchment in his anxiousness, eager to tidy before leaving. 

“If you are that concerned, why can’t we continue to meet alone?” She asked. 

His fingers clenched around the handle of the tea pot, his gaze remaining averted as he turned to place it near the stove. He could feel the burn on his cheeks and knew he must appear flushed. “I’m not sure if that will be appropriate moving forward,” he said, swallowing hard. “You did warn me not to get too close, MC. That will be easier if we maintain a professional stance on things.”

“I really am sorry you know,” she said, her voice low and laced with regret. “I meant it when I said that I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

He couldn’t stand the idea of her pitying him, his teeth clenching at the bitter urge to cry. He really was a pathetic fool. Taking a steadying breath, he blinked a few times. 

“Like you said. You are bound to things in ways you can't explain,” he said, his words tight and weighed down with the weight of his loss. He looked at her at last. “I just hope he is worth this unfailing loyalty you hold for him, MC.”

She stared, her eyes wary as he turned to fully face her, stepping closer so that she needed to look up at him. The unspoken shadow of Sebastian cast over them constantly, and speaking of it was always risky. She bore the weight of Sallow as much as she bore the weight of her own trauma, and all the time that she did, there would never be room for anything else. It consumed, darkened any light he tried to bathe her in, and as much as he wanted her to accept it, she constantly held him at bay. He would have to be the one to break this thread that held them, but he didn’t have confidence in his ability to do it. How could he? His heart had other plans.

“You should know, that if you were to allow it, I would love you until the very end of existence,” he continued, his throat raw with the truth of it. “I would give you everything within my power to make you smile. I got you out of that dark cell where you were fading away. I couldn't bear seeing you in there, trapped in that gods forsaken place for something you didn't even do.”

Her face paled, her eyes darkening with a cold fear. She shook her head, and even took a step back. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don't say anything that's going to hurt you,” he said, shaking his head and grabbing her left wrist. He held up her hand, that vivid red slash on her palm so obnoxious against the paleness of her flesh. “Don't say a damned word to defend him, but I know, MC. The fear on your face at spilling the truth in that interrogation spoke louder than anything you could have said to me. This binding blood pact you made to him, it just sticks in my throat how much you defend Sebastian when he did absolutely nothing for you in return. Do you want to know what I think? I think he killed his own uncle, not you. Sallow always was a self-serving prick, as was his sister, and you would rather run back to him than take a chance to be happy for yourself.”

“Stop it,” she gasped, attempting to pull her arm free from his grip. She had gone deathly pale, the ghosts of her secrets stark in her eyes. It pained him to see it, but it ripped him up inside to know she would never love him like she loved him. “You don't understand.” 

“Oh, I think I do, MC,” he said, letting her wrist go. “I just hope you know what you're doing.” 

“You make it sound so black and white, but it’s not,” she insisted, backing up away from him. The paleness of her face contrasted against the darkness that lingered in her eyes. It made him think of dark angels, tragic souls doomed to sorrow, and he immediately regretted saying anything. Her lips trembled, but he watched her stiffen, slamming up those walls she hid behind. “You think it’s easy, a simple matter of choosing between you and him. You think you want me in your life, but trust me, that is the last thing I would wish for you. I would destroy it. I would bring darkness down upon your head, and then you would end up hating me. I couldn’t bear it. Don’t ask me to risk it. I can’t…” 

“I could never hate you,” he denied, clenching his hands in frustration.

She held up her hands, shaking her head, still backing up. “It would be easier if you did,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “Perhaps you are right. We need to take a step back.”

In defiance of her words and his own insistence that they should do just that, Leander took a step towards her. The thread was stretched to breaking point, she was before him, but it felt like she was slipping away, an apparition that would dissipate into the air and leave him with nothing. 

“Where will you go?” He felt the bite of his fingernails against his palms as he clung to the last shred of his self control. 

“Scotland first,” she replied. “After that, I am not sure, but I will send you updates. I won’t let you down.” 

“Be safe,” he said softly.

The look she gave him tore the crack in his heart until he thought he wouldn’t be able to draw another breath. Her eyes had always held this magical power that hit levels high above anything he had ever known. Just to lock gazes with her could render him speechless, in awe of her, his whole soul belonging to the myriad of flecks and shadows that shone in those blue orbs. Perhaps she had bewitched him, and for a short time, he had held her. She had almost been his.

How was he supposed to let that go?

As she vanished with the sharp crack of her magic, he had thought perhaps there had been a tear escaping from her eye, but he couldn’t be sure. He would likely never know. She was gone, and he stood where he had first kissed her, realising it would likely be the last, too. The kitchen was now empty. The roar of the Atlantic still sounded in the background, timeless and relentless, whilst he was left with broken dreams and a torn hole in his chest.

Sebastian

The tension in his shoulders and arms felt like taut ropes pulled to their utmost, his chest rising and falling with each strained breath, as though a weight pressed down upon him. In his mind, his thoughts spun on a carousel of torture, imagining Prewett laying a hand upon her. The very idea of them being alone together made his blood burn with tumultuous, jealous fury.

In what world could he have ever imagined that MC would feel something for that irritating Gryffindor. Denying it was pointless. He had seen it in her eyes when she spoke of him. She had some kind of affection for Prewett, and it was proven further by her adamant refusal to let him go to the meeting with her. She knew he would annihilate him with a few handy hexes for daring to put his hands on her.

Pacing the space inside his tent appeared to not ease any of his tension, and his hand dipped into his pocket, a moment of panic seizing him as his fingers grasped empty fabric. His gaze darted to his bunk, and his mouth dared curve into a slight smile as he remembered last night. The amulet now hung about her neck, placed there by his own hands. The longing that pierced him as he thought about how she had lay down with him, her body relaxing into sleep against his frame as he had continued to read. So many nights he had ached to do just that, and now she had been beside him twice. There had to be many more times like that, the idea of spending another night apart from her unthinkable now that she was here. He rubbed absently against the scar on his palm, and turned to pace once more, ruffling the unruly strands of his hair and waiting for her return.

The tent flap rustled and Rosier appeared, a smug smirk on his lips as he wandered towards his bunk and sat. “I thought you and your little witch might have still been cosied up together in here,” he said, his eyes roaming over Sebastian’s rumpled bedding. “Where is she?” 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, because he didn’t know where MC had gone to meet with Prewett. 

“Maybe she is off somewhere stewing over this,” Rosier smirked, holding up a copy of the Daily Prophet that he’d had tucked under his arm. He waved it under Sebastian’s nose. “We ought to be careful, mate. She isn’t long out of Azkaban, and I wouldn’t put it past Aurors to have eyes on her.”

Sebastian felt the blood freeze in his veins, and he snatched the newspaper from Rosier’s grip, unfolding it to look down at the front page. A moving photograph of MC with her prisoner number board stared up at him, her young face haunted and broken. Pushing down the memory of those days when she had been taken from him, Sebastian scanned the article written about her release, and how she could be a potential danger roaming the country with all that power at her fingertips. Of course, the Ministry have made their assurances that everything is under control, and they wouldn’t have allowed her to be free if they thought her an immediate danger, however, the reporter had laid it on thick about her ancient magic abilities. 

Sebastian glanced at Rosier, an uneasy edge piling on top of his already agitated nerves. “Have any of the others said anything to you about this?” 

“Not yet,” Rosier shrugged, drawing a cigarette box from his coat pocket. “But, how long before Rookwood has his doubts, if he doesn’t have them already? She is a dangerous little thing, your witch. The Auror Office would be foolish not to keep a close eye on her.”

If Rosier were to discover who MC was with right now, this inflammatory article would carry a lot more weight, and it would make the rest of the camp uneasy. Sebastian dropped the newspaper down onto the bunk beside Rosier and began to pace again. 

“If Aurors are watching, then they must be rather bored by now,” he muttered, pushing a hand through his hair. “Once MC and I leave to seek out ancient magic hotspots, the heat will be off the rest of you. I’m sure there is nothing to worry about.” 

“Not even Lulu?” Rosier gave him an enquiring glance, tucking a cigarette between his lips.

Sebastian’s eyes darkened, his mouth tightening as he shook his head. “I haven’t seen her. I will be leaving with MC today, so she shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Never underestimate a woman scorned, mate,” Rosier said, the glow from the tip of his wand illuminating his handsome face as he lit his cigarette. “You dropped her for a more powerful pretty, she isn’t going to just forget about it. Just watch yourself.”

Sebastian frowned, the feeling that Rosier was probably right sliding down the back of his neck. All the more reason to get things moving as soon as possible. He moved towards where he had packed some essentials into a leather bag, checking the contents and glancing around to ensure he remembered everything. MC’s bag sat on the bunk, neatly packed and ready to go.

A sharp crack sounded behind him, and he turned. MC stumbled slightly as she arrived, her face drawn and pale, and she wiped her hand swiftly across her cheek. Her eyes were glassy and he wondered if she had been crying. Gaze darting around the tent, she spotted Rosier and she stiffened, striding towards Sebastian’s bunk with a hard look on her face. 

“Is everything alright?” Sebastian asked warily, exchanging a look with Rosier, who merely shrugged. 

“Fine,” she snapped, grabbing up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder. “Let’s get going. We have already lost precious hours of daylight, and the deposits won’t find themselves.”

Sebastian stared at her, noting the taut way her shoulders were held, the tight line of her mouth. The meeting must not have gone well, and curiosity burned as he wondered what Prewett had said to vex her. “I’m ready when you are,” he said, fastening the strap on his bag. 

“Good luck,” Rosier said, giving him a wry smile.

MC remained tight lipped as she wrapped a warm, woollen cloak about her shoulders and stepped towards him, linking her arm around his. “Are you sure you know where to go?”

Sebastian met her gaze, answering the cold hardness that she used as a shield with a smug smirk. “Of course, sweetheart,” he said, subtly tugging her closer. “We will start at the top of our list and work through it. Hopefully, we will strike it lucky.”

With a nod towards Rosier, Sebastian held her firmly and twisted them through darkness, whisking them both away from the camp and right into a cold, blustery wind that cut right across the west coast of Scotland. They both gasped against the force of it, clinging to each other as her cloak snapped and twisted, a fine mist of rain coating their faces.

The small island of Staffa lay surrounded by the swell and crash of the ocean, bleak and deserted, isolated from the mainland unless one dared to reach it by vessel. With the power of magic, they had arrived at the remote location, a place steeped in myth and legend with the locals. Sebastian glanced around them, the rough grass dropping off the cliff edge towards the rocks and surging waves below. 

“The cave is below us,” he shouted against the wind, still holding on to MC as though the strong gusts might carry her away. “It’s tidal, so let’s hope the sea is on our side.”

She leaned forward, staring at the drop, her face still cold and hard. “And you really think there could be ancient magic here?”

He shrugged. “It’s worth a try. The legend of the giant, Fingal, is a well known Muggle story, but it is based on some truth. If we do find ancient magic here, then it might be worth hopping across to Ireland to investigate the other end of the Causeway for more.” 

“Let’s just get down into the cave and out of this wind to start with,” she shouted, pulling her cloak closer. 

Taking a good look at the rocks below, Sebastian gripped her tight and closed his eyes. The rocks below were slippery and shaped like perfectly cut tiles creating a pattern along the cliff base. Waves surged forwards, coating them in spray, and he felt MC’s fingers bite into the back of his jacket as they picked their way along. Columns of rock in identical neat rows wrapped around the cliff face, giving it the appearance of being man-made, the mouth of the cave yawning dark and foreboding with a channel of ocean flooding into it. A pathway made up of the strangely cut rock looked like a winding slab of honeycomb, coated in green weed rather than golden honey. 

“Easy now, and watch your step,” he urged. “It’s wet and slippery all the way in to the cave.”

They carefully stepped their way along, MC still holding his arm despite remaining tight lipped and tense as they moved further into the gloom. The crash of waves echoed against the rock, the scent of the sea pungent as the darkness began to claim them. Pulling out his wand, he held it up. “Lumos!”

MC paused, as did he, their mouths parted as they gazed around at the cave, the walls continuing in row upon row of rock columns. “It doesn’t make sense,” she murmured, tilting her head right back to look at the patterned roof. “Do you think it’s true that a giant built this? I’ve never seen anything like it before.” 

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his lips, goosebumps spreading swiftly along his arms and his hair standing on end as a haunting sound echoed through the cave. It was like a humming, or a chanting voice, twinned with an ethereal acoustic that sent shivers cascading through him. He looked at MC, and saw the way her eyes widened as she looked deeper into the maw of the cave before meeting his gaze. 

“What is that?” She whispered, some of the hardness slipping from her features in her surprise. “Mermaids?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so…” 

Not impossible, of course, but he had neither heard nor read of any mention of mermaids being seen here. He stared into the blackness, the eerie sound blending with the roar of the ocean behind them. Instinctively, his arm circled MC’s waist, holding her against him protectively. “Do you feel anything? Could there be magic here?”

She remained silent, and he turned his attention away from the rear of the cave to look at her. Her gaze was lifted to the sound, her eyes glassy and full of shadows. There was pain in her expression, something lost and haunted that pulled sharply deep within his chest. 

“MC? What is it?” 

Her throat worked and she gently shook her head, staring up at the stunning rock face. “There is no ancient magic here. Only ghosts.”

When she finally looked at him, he caught a glimpse of her raw and exposed, but then she slammed down her shields, her eyes flicking away from him. As quickly as that, she had hardened her shell and closed him off. Something was wrong. 

“What happened this morning, MC? You’re different. What happened with Prewett?” 

She wouldn’t look at him, and she pulled back from him, placing a distance between them whilst still keeping their arms linked. “Just get us out of here, we are wasting time,” she said, her mouth tightening as she shivered. 

…*…

The Fairy Pools, Loch Ness, and the Standing Stones of Stenness, all locations of myth and legend and yet, they turned up nothing. The pull of each act of Apparation and taking MC with him was beginning to drain Sebastian. He felt weary, and his head was feeling fuzzy. Frustration hung like a tense cloud, hovering over them and feeding on the icy mood that still clung to MC.

Clipped sentences and hard faced, her mood plummeted as the day wore on. These locations were beautiful, steeped in lore and history, and such visits should have been enjoyable, but there was no spark at all. Not one smile graced her mouth, and her eyes remained distant and seeking out horizons that didn’t include him. 

“We should make camp,” he suggested, looking up to the skies. Thunderheads were rolling in, and the air felt thick and heavy, the tops of nearby mountain peaks vanishing into the misty clouds. “Would you prefer to return to the Ashwinder camp, or make our own?”

The rush of a nearby brook babbled and gushed, the scent of wild grasses and old woodlands heavy in the air. The breeze was chill, and MC held her cloak about herself as she stepped through the spongy bog of ground towards the swift moving stream. Taking out her water skin, she crouched to fill it. Sebastian waited, the long silences that followed any time he spoke were starting to grate on his nerves. It felt like she didn’t wish to speak with him at all, that he was a loose part there for travel convenience and nothing more. The closeness he had felt having her asleep in his arms last night was long gone.

“There is something I need to do,” she said finally, replacing the cap to her refilled skin as she stood. The wind pressed the loose strands of hair from her braid across her face as she turned to look at him, her features firm and resolute. Even in this frosty atmosphere she had weaved today, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to the sheer beauty of her. “Do you think we could pay a visit to Ominis?” 

“Ominis?” He frowned. “How can he help with searching out deposits?” 

“This isn’t about the deposits,” she said, her gaze following the stream as it wound down the hillside towards the thick cover of trees. “I want to talk to him about the owl he sent me.” 

“Ominis is sending you owls now?” Sebastian frowned and folded his arms as he studied her. “How very cosy.”

She gave him a look, loaded with antagonism. “Don’t tell me that makes you jealous, now, Sebastian. I know the Gaunt family like sharing their blood, but don’t worry, I’m not in the market for a husband, cousin or otherwise. Besides, Ominis already has a wife, doesn’t he? Were you ever going to tell me that he married your twin, or were you saving that loaded whizz cracker as a big surprise?” 

“I wasn’t saving it for anything,” he muttered, striding towards her, heart in his mouth. “What do you mean by not wanting a husband?” 

“I mean exactly that,” she said, a humourless smirk twisted her face. “Seb, I’ve just got out of Azkaban. I am surrounded, once again, by dark wizards and danger, my mother is alive out there in the world somewhere, and my head is fucked up between all of that and all these feelings trapped in my chest that I cannot even begin to comprehend! The last thing on my mind is fucking marriage, and yet, that is what you took from my words!”

Her voice reached squeaky levels of fury, her cheeks flushing, and her eyes blazing with a temper that flickered white and blue. Turning, she stomped her little booted feet across from the stream, marching with a rigid frame towards the mountain trail that led into the forest. Her angry muttering about selfishness and priorities carried on the breeze, and he felt his own patience begin to split and fail. 

“Hey, where are you going?” He called after her, hurrying to catch up. 

“Anywhere away from you,” she snarled over her shoulder. 

“What the fuck did I do?” He huffed, reaching out to try and catch hold of her arm and missing. “I thought things were okay between us now.”

She whirled to face him, catching him off guard with a sharp intake of breath as his booted feet slid on a patch of mud. Thunder rumbled over the mountain, low and menacing, as she screwed up her face in frustration and thumped her fists against her thighs. 

“That’s just it, isn’t it? Everything seems to be alright, and then I start to doubt myself,” she sputtered, eyes dark with agony. “Sometimes I wish I could just turn it all off, stop all this tangled web of feelings inside of me and just exist without any of it having to be so bloody complicated.” 

“You are preaching to the choir, princess,” he said, shaking his head. He jabbed a finger into his own tight chest. “How many times have I wished for something similar? There is a whole cavern of fucked up shit inside here that torments me every single day. I want to shove my own hands inside my chest and just rip it all out sometimes. Drink doesn’t do anything, only numbs it for a while, and gods forbid I ever try and get a good night’s sleep. No, at night, when the world is quiet, my head is screaming at me, reminding me of all the bad shit I can never run away from. So, I get it. I really do.” 

Shoulders slumping, she put her hands to her head and looked up at the heavy sky, pain etched on her lovely face. An agonised sound tore from her throat. “What do I do, Seb? What should I do? We found nothing today, nothing! Rookwood is going to be wanting progress, and Leander…” 

Her words rasped from her throat, desperate and harsh, but her voice cracked when she mentioned Prewett’s name. She squeezed her eyes closed and turned away from him, still holding her head. 

“What about Leander?” He asked, taking a slow step forward as the first few drops of rain began to fall from the swollen clouds. “What happened this morning, MC? You can tell me.” 

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. She brushed back loose strands of her hair and looked up at the sky, drops of rain landing on her cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about this morning. We should go. Take us to Ominis before we become swallowed by the storm.” 

He didn’t know why it scared him so much, her reluctance to talk about Leander. The agony on her face, it spoke of strong feelings, and he wondered what torture she meant about the emotions in her chest. Did her affections for Prewett really run that deeply? Fighting the urge to grab her by the arms and demand answers he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear, he stepped up and merely gently took her arm instead, taking the soft approach as though taming a skittish beast. 

“Alright, we will go to Ominis,” he said, keeping his voice level and calm. “Then we will make a plan for tomorrow. We must be missing something, but we will figure it out, just like we always do. We can read over Isadora’s papers again, and think back over the deposits you found before. One day at a time, MC. That’s how we do it, one day at a time.” 

Pressing her lips together, her eyes glassy and dark, she nodded. “Gods, I knew there was a reason I asked for you to come along with me,” she sighed, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “You are a pain in my side, Sebastian, but I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I’m not entirely sure how to take that,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her bowed head. 

“Well, it’s the best you’re going to get today,” she mumbled against his coat. 

Smiling into the soft sweetness of her hair, he held her close. “Oh, I’ve missed you.” 

Leaving a stormy Scotland behind, he whisked them away to a smog filled London, and the warm glow of the hearth in Ominis’ kitchen. The warmth of the fire bathed his damp cheeks, raindrops glistened like beads of glass in MC’s hair, and he could smell a rather delicious meal cooking as he glanced around the room. Ominis stood near the mantelpiece, lifting his wand with a curious expression as Sebastian helped MC steady her feet on the wooden floor. 

“Hello, old friend,” Sebastian greeted, his heart lifting at the sight of Ominis in his neatly pressed shirt and tie. “I have brought a visitor.” 

Ominis smiled, moving forward with his wand aloft. “I was wondering when you would show up.” 

MC left Sebastian’s arms and moved toward Ominis, the first shine of hope in her eyes all day lighting her face. “Ominis, I received your owl. You said you had visited with your parents. What did you discover?” 

A shadow crossed Ominis’ face. “I did indeed, and I am afraid they were rather closed off on the matter of Aunt Elizabeth. Father claims she is a traitor, and they have not seen her for many years.” 

Sebastian bit his lip, seeing the disappointment of another failure darken MC’s face. “They could tell you nothing at all?” He asked. 

“It matters not,” Ominis said, moving toward a briefcase on the table. A tap of his wand made the catches unclip and he reached inside to retrieve an old, leather book. He held it up. “Where my parents are a closed book, I turned to the one person who used to never let me down, and even in death, she is there when I need her. Aunt Noctua kept journals, journals that are kept in her house in Norfolk. A house that now belongs to me. A quick trip there, and I may have managed to find some answers for you. Here.” 

He held out the book and MC took it with trembling hands. Sebastian moved to her shoulder and watched as she opened the pages yellowed with age. 

“I had read some of her journals once I obtained ownership of my aunt’s property, but not all,” Ominis explained. “I knew that she had been close with her sister when they were children. She often spoke fondly of her to me. Of course, Elizabeth was already gone by this time, so I never met her myself. Therefore, I chose some diaries that dated previous to my own birth, and discovered that Elizabeth had confided in Noctua over personal matters. You might find dates during the summer of this journal particularly interesting, MC.” 

“What is this?” Anne’s sharp tone cut through the room like a blade. Sebastian tensed and turned to look at his twin standing in the doorway, her arms folded, and her face set into a look that would have put his mother to shame in its level of disapproval. “Tell me, dear husband, why is she in my kitchen?” 

“Anne!” Ominis frowned, aiming his wand towards her direction, the red tip blinking. “Now, now, my love. There is no need to be rude.”

Sebastian immediately put a protective hand to MC’s back, meeting Anne glare for glare as she marched into the kitchen, her hand dipping into her pocket for her wand. 

“No prizes for guessing who brought her here,” Anne scowled, her eyes flashing towards Sebastian before landing on the journal in MC’s hands. “Is that Noctua’s?” 

MC grasped the journal close to her chest, and Sebastian could feel the tension in the muscles of her back. He was immediately on high alert.

“We didn’t come here looking for trouble,” Sebastian said, holding up his other hand. “You certainly don’t need your wand, Anne.” 

“Then, why are you here?” Anne snapped, stubbornly tilting her chin as she raised her wand even higher.

Ominis sighed and pressed fingers to his brow. “Anne, please. Don’t do this.” 

“You know how I feel about this woman, and now she dares to step foot in my house,” Anne glowered. “Did she not learn her lesson the last time she tried to get her feet under my table? You are not welcome here.” 

Anne aimed her wand towards MC, her mouth a bitter line. Sebastian immediately stepped between them both, hands up, desperate to diffuse the situation. 

Anne’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I won’t hex you to get to her?” 

MC’s breaths were harsh at his back, hissing through gritted teeth as she pulled out her own wand and aimed it around Sebastian, both of his girls squaring up to fight with him in the middle. It was the stuff of nightmares.

“You are not going to hex me,” he warned, daring to place the palm of his hand on top of Anne’s wand and gently lowering it. He then moved his hand towards MC’s wand with a pointed look. “Nobody is going to be hexing anyone.” 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blast you both out of here,” Anne huffed. “The absolute nerve of you to bring her here under my roof.” 

“Hark at you, playing the victim,” MC sneered, aiming her wand straight for Anne. “If anyone is to start throwing hexes around, then that would be me, and I have a very good reason to be here under this roof.” 

“I can think of no reason to welcome you here,” Anne hissed.

“Tell her, Ominis,” Sebastian sighed. “I am assuming she doesn’t know yet.”

Anne’s eyes widened as she looked towards Ominis. “Tell me what?” 

Ominis appeared to brace himself, as always, maintaining that dignified air that made his very presence dominate a room. “No, she doesn’t know. Now, Anne, please try to be reasonable here. It has come to light that MC is, in fact, my relative. Her birth records prove her to be my Aunt Elizabeth’s daughter, and therefore, she is my cousin.” 

Whatever colour had managed to manifest on Anne’s pale face now disappeared, draining from her flesh as she stared aghast. She shook her head, eyes wild as she glanced around at them all. “No,” she breathed. “No, that cannot be. She can’t be a Gaunt… I would know.” 

The last three words tumbled from her lips in a stunned mumble, but Sebastian caught them. His heart jumped, and then stalled in his chest as he seized his twin’s arm in a vice grip. 

“What do you mean, you would know?” His voice was low, dangerous, and his sister turned her big brown eyes up towards his face, all signs of her rage seeping away to be replaced by shock. 

“Indeed, a question I was about to ask myself,” Ominis said, moving slowly forward. He tilted his head, his wand scanning his wife. “Why would you think that you should know this? Because I certainly did not until MC showed me her birth record.” 

Accustomed to usually having the upper hand, Anne floundered for a few seconds, her eyes darting from one to the other. Sebastian savoured her being at a loss. She usually had a quick tongue, which meant that she was searching out a reply, a lie to cover tracks she had not anticipated. He honed in on this vulnerability, his instincts kicking in to delve and uncover. 

“Well, well, it looks like I’m not the only one who has secrets,” Sebastian crooned, poised to pounce. “What have you been hiding, sister dearest? It wouldn’t have anything to do with our parent’s research, would it? You know, the information that you were so desperate to hide away from me.” 

Anne stiffened, her eyes hardening as she stared at him. “It will stay hidden,” she said, nodding as if confirming something to herself. She pulled herself up straight, her eyes sunken into her pale cheeks, a waif of a thing, but capable of being formidable still. “I don’t have to explain myself, especially in front of her. Just as I predicted, it did not take long for her to sink her hooks into you again, and now you are running around like her little errand boy. You think this is love, but it is nothing but a toxic obsession. You are entranced by her power and what she can do, but it blinds you to the danger she is to everyone. I warned you, Uncle Solomon warned you, and now here you are. It will be a cold day in hell before I let her get anywhere close to that research, and wherever you are, she isn’t far behind you. It stays hidden!” 

“I have just as much right to that research as you,” he bit out. “And, what of Ominis? MC is his family. If there is anything in those files concerning her, then it could affect him, too.” 

Anne’s eyes darted towards Ominis and she took a few steps backward, her wand arm shifting in agitated arcs. “How long have you known she was your blood?” 

“A few days,” he admitted. “I needed some time to think it over, and speak with my parents. It was never my intention to keep it from you.” 

“And yet you did,” Anne said bitterly, her rigid facade cracking a little. “Do you agree with Sebastian? Do you think I should let him see the research?” 

Ominis bowed his head in thought, the room stretched taut with tension so thick Sebastian fancied he could smell it. MC was silent beside him, his hand easing up and down her tense back in soothing strokes. 

“What could be in that research that is so terrible, Anne? Would your parents keep it from one of you, but not the other? It hardly seems fair to me.” 

Anne’s face scrunched in fury, a low growl of frustration bursting from her as she clenched her fists. “You do take their side! You agree with them over your wife! None of you understand. I have lost so much already, and yet you push me to risk losing even more. I blame her! I blame that bitch for coming into our lives and ripping out the very beating heart of it, and I will never, ever forgive you for it. Never!” 

Sebastian gaped at his twin, the fury on her wan face was staggering as she jabbed her wand towards MC with a shaking hand. Ominis stepped towards her, his face distressed, but she backed away from him, shaking her head. 

“She had better be gone when I get back,” she spat, her eyes narrow slits as she glared at MC. “I hope never to see you darken my door ever again, and you should stay away from my brother. If there is a shred of decency left in your conscience, then you will do as I ask, before you destroy him.” 

Sebastian could feel MC shaking, but his eyes were fixed on his twin as he tried to process the fury and hate that spilled from her mouth. Could it be the curse making her speak in such a way? His sister had been the other half of his soul his whole life, her hand had always been there to hold, her words a comforting whisper in his ear whenever he would cry as a child. He did not recognise the girl before him now, and he thought perhaps a part of himself was dying right there as she tore at a person who was so important to him. She was cutting him off from his parents and their life work, holding secrets, and acting so ugly that it made his eyes burn with hot tears. 

“Anne, please…” His broken plea came out as a sob, and she met his gaze, a moment of regret quickly shielded as she backed into the doorway, her wand aimed into the room as though they were the enemy. 

“No,” she said through gritted teeth, and then she was gone. A swirl of black and Anne vanished, taking her fury with her like a storm that blew in and out again on the shore. 

Sebastian turned his gaze to Ominis, who held his head in his hands, and then to MC, who met his confused misery with those mesmerising eyes draped in shadow. If she even dared to listen to Anne and abandon him, then hell itself would cower from his rage. How many times could he keep himself upright on his own two feet and watch as someone he loved disappeared? 

His hand gripped the back of MC’s robe as if to keep her there, the fear that she would vanish too made his throat close. Perhaps she sensed his fear, for her hand sought out his and she grasped it in a tight grip, and then she was reaching for Ominis and taking his hand, too. The three of them stood, hands clasped in the ringing silence of the kitchen, as the skies above London burst into a downpour of rain. 

Taglist: @eternalremorse @slytherin-paramour @writing-intheundercroft @marketfreshfics @evaslytherpuff @loving-him-was-red13 @sevprince-91 @lucy-withthediamonds-inthesky

[captain-mj]

First of all, I love your writing and your fics. I love your IWTV au so much. And I'm a fan of your other stuff.

Sooo I have some ideas I'd like to share with you , dear MJ. I was thinking of an isolated Ghost. He almost hides himself from people, some place like Alaska or in the wild. Somewhere cold and out of humans, so he can be all by himself. He doesn't want to be around people because of his past, and he hides himself from people. He lives in a cold forest or somewhere unreachable in winter because of the snow. He lives in a cabin.

And there is Soap, who goes on a camping trip with himself after breaking up with his boyfriend. Thinking that camping would help him get better emotionally. But it starts snowing, and he is not prepared, and he gets lost in the wild. He is desperate and cold. While searching for help and walking for hours. He comes across the cabin where Ghost is staying. Ghost doesn't welcome Soap at first, but because of the heavy snow, they are stuck for about a week or a month. So Ghost helps Soap get better, and they start to get close and hot...

I think I explained it in so much detail, but you can change it however you want. I'm always hungry for your stuff, in any form. And feel free to ignore this if you don't want to write about it. And of course, please don't mind my English; it's not my first language.

Ily,take care.

Very much can do that!! Yes!

Ghost sat in his cabin up the mountains, using his sniper to look down at everyone. He knew that right now there were two different groups of people camping. One further down that seemed to be full of experienced campers and one a bit higher up that set up their spot for their view. They were way too close for comfort.

Neither were particularly good company. No one was.

Ghost hated people. Especially fuckers who came on to the mountain for camping.

He had hoped this secluded place in the middle of nowhere would provide peace. Instead he just dealt with this.

Ghost put his gun away. It was for hunting and he was worried any gunshots would send the campers into a frenzy. He had plenty of food for the winter thanks to Price sending him stuff. Price insisted he just used Ghost's pension for it but he didn't believe him. Old sap probably used his own money.

Ghost went to his cabin and cleaned instead. Not that it really needed it. Besides the fact that he meticulously cleaned most of the time, nothing he did made much of a mess. It was mostly just dusting the books off to make sure they didn't get dry rot.

The snow started. A lot harsher than he had been expecting. It started to pile up on his porch and it made the roof creak a little.

Ghost imagined it caving in and crushing him. Suffocating under the weight of wood and snow.

There were worse deaths.

Further down the mountain, Soap went a little away from the group he came up with. He set up his tent and planned to relax for the next two days.

No cell service which was exactly what he needed. No worrying Mam, no angry ex trying to get him back. Just silence.

Soap was so bored. He supposed it was his fault for expecting anything less. He was not a person that sat still often. Always searching for the next thing. The next adventure.

This did not feel like an adventure. It felt stale.

Soap noticed the snow so he only walked within the vicinity of his tent. He followed the protocol, but it took one stumble for him to fall out of bounds. Quickly, Soap scrambled back up and glanced at his tent. Still right there, just slightly farther than before.

Maybe some sleep would do him some good.

Soap settled into his tent, ignoring the snow piling on top of it. It just kept coming. Covering him in a freezing cold blanket of water.

The tent had a hole in it. He had just bought it, he had no idea what he did to cause it. Although small, it was definitely messing up the whole insulation part of this. It also let snow in which started to melt, getting him and his clothes wet.

Frustration started to bubble over. He wasn't experienced at camping but he wasn't an idiot. This wouldn't work. He'd have to either fix it or leave and he wasn't sure how he could even leave.

Thanks to the water, his arm was soaked, cold digging in so hard it felt like actual needles. He tried to dry himself off but the whole situation wasn't working.

Reluctantly, he ignored that he was still slightly wet and got dressed. He'd just go out for help.

The people he came with weren't there. Or at least, they weren't where he thought they were. He didn't want to believe the guide they came would be so stupid as to not count the people before evacuating if they did, but he also said he wanted seclusion and lied about being experienced.

Maybe they assumed he already left?

Soap panicked for a moment. He allowed himself that. Before he straightened up and started thinking. There was no way he was the only person on the mountain. While he couldn't make it all the way down on his own, he was sure someone had to be there. It was mid morning, he had time before it got dark and cold.

Ghost sat on his porch close to twilight. He smoked silently, watching the trees.

The man had been walking around his property for a few minutes and Ghost was trying to figure out if he was a real person or not.

He sighed and whistled, watching him yank his head around painfully to stare at him.

"You okay?" Ghost called out.

Soap stepped a bit closer, no longer shivering. He was also holding his shoulder. "Are you God?"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Sure. I'm God. Where are your things?"

"I took them."

"Why are you jacketless in the middle of the snow?"

"It had gotten wet. Was trying to dry it out but it didn't really work..."

Ghost sighed. "Come closer."

Soap stumbled to the steps. His pants up to his knees were soaked and his face had pale skin with rosy patches.

Ghost sighed in frustration and opened the door. "Come on." He'd get the guy warm and then send him on his way. The snow wasn't too bad yet. Neither of them had a radio to know that it was predicted to get much worse.

So Ghost accepted him in and had him sit in front of the fire. He found a dry blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "You okay?"

Soap started to shiver.

"Guess not."

"Got a drink?" Soap rasped out.

Ghost poured him a nip of bourbon and handed him.

"Don't suppose you got Scotch?" Soap said softly before knocking back the drink. He grimaced and Ghost was sure he heard a mutter under his breath about British people having shit taste.

Ghost watched the way the alcohol raced through him. Color almost immediately back in his face. "Thanks. Name's Soap by the way."

"...Ghost. The fuck you doing up there?" Ghost went by his callsign since there was no way someone would name their kid Soap. He thought of asking him about his shoulder but decided against it.

Soap sighed. "Trying to clear my head." He flinched when Ghost laughed at him.

"Piss poor job of preparing."

"Aye. Suppose I thought myself a survivalist." Soap laughed softly before averting his eyes. He looked embarrassed.

Good.

Ghost put the bottle of bourbon next to him. "Drink as much as you want." He knew he'd barely make a dent on the bottle.

Soap only took what he had to. He managed to get himself warm.

Ghost looked out at the sky. Too dark to send him anywhere.

"In the morning, I'll show you the way down the mountain."

"Yes, sir." Soap looked at him. He seemed almost indignant. Like Ghost was being bossy.

Ghost bit his tongue. "fuck off. Go to bed near the fire. You'll need to stay warm all night."

Soap nodded and laid down. "Don't have to tell me twice."

Ghost went to his bedroom, brandishing a knife. He stayed there and watched the door all night. Just in case. Just in case.

Soap stayed in the living room and he tried to Keep warm. Ghost would come in like clockwork to put more wood on the fire.

During the night, the snow came down harder. Before long, it was at the door, covering the entire porch.

Ghost groaned as he watched it. While yes, he may be able to go down by himself, he'd never be able to get Soap down the mountain as well. As much as he hated it, he also likely wouldn't be able to make it back.

Soap stirred and groaned, holding his shoulder. He saw the outside and before long came to the same realization that Ghost did. "So we bunking together?" It sounded sheepish, like there was a risk that Ghost would throw him out into the cold.

Ghost sighed. "Yeah we are. I have a guest room that i haven't used in ages. I'll get it set up."

"And I had to sleep on the floor... why?"

"Be closer to the fire." Ghost left him alone to brush the dust off of everything. He had planned to turn it into a gym or something equally useful, but never did. The stupid room came with the house.

Once it was livable, Ghost came back out. "You can go in. I'll make breakfast. We'll be up here a while. It's still snowing so it's hard to tell."

"You have a vehicle or anything?"

"Nope. We'll be walking."

Soap cursed in a funny language and stretched, back popping. "How long you guessing?"

"A week. Minimum."

Soap winced. "Sorry for the... everything."

Ghost stared at him for a moment before just going in. He cooked breakfast silently and Soap sat nearby. Occasionally, he'd start talking, but Ghost didn't respond to any of it.

"Oh come on. You're going to be stuck with me for a week. Might as talk to me. What are you doing up here so isolated?"

Ghost put a plate of eggs, bacon and hashbrowns in front of him. He sat across from him and yanked his mask up just enough to start eating.

His scars had the effect he hoped. Soap winced at the harsh smile cut into Ghost's face. "Aye. I see."

"Good." Ghost answered, shoveling food down. He mentally counted through his supplies. He had enough for a few months, so with two people, it should be fine. This bastard was getting none of his ice cream though.

Soap ate quietly before swallowing. "Gang?"

"Military." Ghost admitted begrudgingly.

"Aye. I see. I'm a sergeant right now."

"Retired." Ghost drank some of his tea.

Soap nodded. "Look, I'm not trying to be an ass here. Really. You don't have to talk to me. But. Do you have any coffee?"

Ghost stared at him for a minute before getting up and checking. "I got instant and regular."

"Got a coffee pot?"

"French press. It was a gift."

Soap's eyebrows scrunched together. "You know how to use it?"

"...No."

"Fuck."

They put their heads together and worked with the French Press until they managed to get a cup of coffee brewing. Ghost watched the stuff bubble and huffed. "Tea is easier to make."

"Coffee tastes better."

"Yeah, right." Ghost continued drinking his tea.

"Since we got it figured out, do you at least wanna cup to try your gift?"

Ghost sighed. "Yeah, why not."

Black coffee was just as dreadful as he remembered. He added some sugar, ignoring Soap's mildly judgmental gaze.

The first day was spent with Ghost trying to do his normal routine of reading or working out and Soap being incredibly bored. Ghost felt too uncomfortable to do most of his workout routine with him around and decided to give up.

"Do you have internet? Or anything? Most of my stuff was left in my tent."

Ghost sighed. "No. How far away was your tent?"

Soap hummed. "No clue honestly. I don't think it was that far, but there should be a trail of my clothing. I have no idea why I started taking it off."

"Hypothermia makes you feel warm after a while. It's some psychological thing. It's why some people who are frozen to death are found naked."

Soap grimaced at him. "That's horrifying."

Ghost shrugged and showed him the guest room. It was pretty nice, if a bit plain. Soap fell on the bed and groaned. "Firm. I like that."

Ghost hit his boots. "I'll try to find your tent tomorrow. Get some sleep."

The second day he found himself being trailed by Soap despite the asshole clearly should be staying at home. He kept touching and rubbing at his shoulder. Ghost was trying not to ask, but he'd need to eventually. If he got infected, that would make everything a lot harder.

They found his tent and Soap went searching for his phone. Unfortunately it was dead and when they got home, they found that his charger had too much water damage to help. Soap sighed and rubbed his face. "I knew I shouldn't have come out here."

"Why did you?"

Soap thought about it for a second before turning towards him. "My ex." He was careful not to include man or woman. This guy could be homophobic for all he knew.

Ghost nodded. "Got it. Their fault or yours?"

Soap blinked. "What?"

"You cheat on them and up here hiding from it? Lot of guys do. Or did you come up here because they're a right prick?"

They. Not she. They. Soap picked up on the pronouns and took a deep breath. "They asked me to leave the military. I said no. They said stuff."

Ghost tilted his head. "I see. Well. They can't exactly find you up here."

"Aye. Guess they can't." Soap smiled.

On the third day. Ghost went searching and found his dvd player and old tv. He showed Soap his dvd collection.

Soap hummed. "More romance movies than I'd expect."

"I inherited my mum's collection." Ghost lied.

"Uh huh." Soap picked a movie and put it on, happy to have something else to do besides sit there. How Ghost did it was beyond him.

On the fourth day, Soap even managed to convince Ghost to sit with him through one of the movies. It was a romance movie that Ghost had memorized. It was a film where she had to travel across Ireland and stayed with a nice Irish man throughout the journey.

Soap drank some more of the coffee and it seemed to calm him down a little.

After a bit of hesitation, Ghost looked at him. "You smoke weed?"

"No." Soap glanced at him.

"You wanna start?"

Soap took a deep breath. "Fuck it. Sure."

Ghost pulled out a joint and lit it. He took the first hit and then gave it to Soap.

Soap coughed and Ghost laughed at him. "It's a little different than a cigarette."

"Yeah, a little bit, sir." Soap smiled at him and they passed it back and forth for a bit.

Ghost felt the pretty much permanent ache throughout his body disappear. It seemed to do the same for Soap's shoulder.

They both relaxed for a bit and Soap looked over at him. "You're a cool guy, Ghost."

"Thank you." Ghost smiled at him and kept smoking. They put on another movie and relaxed for a while. It took the edge off.

Soap swallowed. "Why are you up here?"

"It sucks down there."

"Does it get lonely?"

"Sometimes." Ghost mumbled, his head falling against the couch. Around people he was usually always wide awake. Too scared. But Soap made him feel weirdly safe.

Soap fell asleep against his shoulder and Ghost followed soon after.

When they wake up, the fire had been out for hours and the house was freezing.

"Fucking hell." Ghost got up and tried to start a new fire but it wasn't sparking.

Soap shivered. "Well, that's not great. Anything i can do to help?"

Ghost checked the wood. It was fucking damp for some reason. He couldn't figure out why but that would be better for morning when he had more light. "My bedroom has the least amount of windows."

Soap's eyes gleamed as they shacked up in there. Ghost covered his windows with curtains and grabbed some more blankets as he turned on the lights.

His room was far better decorated than any other part of the house. His bed was covered in quilts and high quality soft pillows. A cabinet in the corner had tons of photos from Ghost in his time in the military. Most of them had Ghost's own face covered with marker.

"You know Captain Price?"

"Yeah, I know John." Ghost rearranged a few things and started to strip off his jacket.

Soap paused to stare, admiring the muscles that were revealed when the shirt followed right after. His pants unfortunately did not come off too. "Take off your shirt."

Soap nodded and followed the order. Was this happening? Were they about to fuck right here and right now? The worst part was he was going to let it happen.

Ghost pulled him into bed and shifted so he was fucking spooning him. "Fucking hell I was cold." He settled into the warmth and promptly closed his eyes, pretending nothing was happening.

Soap was in heaven. Or maybe hell. Either way he was getting hard and that was not great.

Ghost fell back to sleep. Soap was ridiculously hard, pressed against a beautifully muscled chest. He could feel each of Ghost's breaths with the rise and fall of it. In a desperate attempt to calm down, he thought of war. His ex. The fact that his ex was probably trying to blow up his very dead phone.

Soap thought of his ex and felt a strange lump in his throat. God he didn't want to go home. He really didn't want to. His ex would be at his heels like a baying fucking dog to nip at his fucking heels.

Soap let out a sharp noise, a bit like a sob, and quickly bit his lip to shut up.

Ghost pulled him closer. "Soap?"

"My name is Johnny."

Ghost's thumb rubbed circles in his chest. "Johnny." Oh that beautiful voice. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Simon. You okay?"

"My ex tried to hurt me. I'm military, don't know why he thought it was a smart idea. But when I defended myself, he was just... so cruel. Called me shit I never wanted to hear again. Accidentally made myself upset over it."

"I'm sorry, Johnny."

"S'okay. Nothing to do with you. You're the first person that hasn't made me feel worse honestly."

"Not worse. I'll take it." Ghost sounded a tiny bit amused. He squeezed him. "Do you feel warmer?"

"Yes. Feels nice in this bed with you." Soap didn't mean to sound quite as suggestive as he did, but Ghost noticed. His grip loosened briefly before tightening again, tangling their legs together. "Simon."

Ghost turned him onto his back and kissed him, having pulled up his mask at some point. His scars tickled a little. It was pretty nice honestly.

Soap's fingers ran down his chest to his pant's button and undid it for him. "Is this okay?"

"Should be asking you that." Ghost gruffed. "Don't have to do too much tonight, but you're hard."

"So are you. Can feel you through your jeans." Soap smiled at him. He slowly unzipped his pants and touched over Ghost's cock.

Ghost let out a small whine. "Fuck, it's been so long." He quickly unzipped Soap's pants and pulled him out, having no shame about it. His hand fit around both of them and his thumb easily ran over Soap's head.

"Me too. Won't judge you if you don't last long." Soap teased, pulling him back to kiss him again. He groaned as he thrust up. "Nice and easy, yeah?"

Ghost rutted into him and moved his hand in time. They kept kissing as his hand found a decadent rhythm, truly stretching the pleasure out for both of them.

Soap moaned and his back arched trying to press himself even closer. "Simon."

Ghost bit his lip hard and paid more attention to Soap's cock, trying to get him closer and closer. He felt him start to pant into his mouth and licked into his mouth happily.

Simon buried his face into his throat and came over his chest. Despite this, he managed to keep his hand moving so Soap followed after a moment later.

Johnny kissed him softly. "Later, if you have lube, I'll let you fuck me."

Simon wondered briefly if he was a rebound and then decided he didn't particularly care. "Okay."