#i get why there are circumstances in which that can feel hollow — usually if it’s coming from a corporation that could actually do something

[demigodofhoolemere]

Me through most of Boom: Wow, this is a really solid dramatic episode.

Me when Moffat needlessly sprinkles in anti-faith sentiments without specifying that it’s blind faith in bad things that the Doctor doesn’t like, which makes it come off like the Doctor is just against religion generally:

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-sixteen

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: Please listen to Eyelids by PVRIS during this chapter. Thank you very much.

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake @bngurngheart @shilohrosechicken @emzandthevoid

READER

With the notebook in my lap, as I sat cross-legged on my bed with Salem curled up next to me, purring away, I watched intently my laptop screen. My heart pounded so hard in my chest it made it hard to breathe. Noah and Jolly were currently performing a live stream on Veeps and from the moment I clicked on the video, I couldn’t stop staring; with his long hair cascading down his face in perfect waves. His face stone with concentration but yet soft with the features I loved.

“Do you think he’ll mess up like the last stream he did?” I asked Salem while scratching his belly.

Noah’s voice was something extremely distinctive, not just anyone could hold a tune or lit a candle to how he sounded. The way he effortlessly went through every emotion in his body. I looked at Noah as he was pretty still, with thick hair and soft eyes, and he swayed so gracefully that it almost seemed as though he was gliding. I’ve seen beautiful men before; men who caught my eye, but to my mind, they usually lacked the traits I found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits I aspired to myself, all the traits he had.

I hung off the cliff for Noah for a long time until recently, when I fell to the depths below.

It sparked something in me as I watched Jolly and Noah’s performance. I wanted to do something like this too; to showcase my real voice. I was better without Trey; the band was better. Trey wasn’t the end-all, and I wanted to prove it further. I understood the fans; I knew their positions; I understood their inner turmoil and their panic. Change is actually horrific under some circumstances, not all, but surely a few. This one was big.

Hollow Souls was never supposed to be a 3 piece. Hell, we didn’t even have a guitar player and our tech had to fill in when we recorded My House. Which is why I was learning how to play guitar so I could take Trey’s place. A lot of change within a few months and while it was scary, it was also exciting. But that didn’t stop me from questioning once again if we needed another person. What if I wasn’t strong enough to do this alone? Just the three of us? 

What the hell were you worried about, angel?

I was thinking so heavily about what Noah texted me. He was proud of me. Of me! And my friends. That woke me up, he always could. I wanted to grab my phone to call him, and ask him for more reassurance. Our 2:30 conversations were slim and in between and I was struggling with that. I didn’t want to push my luck; he had Bailey.

Bailey.

Bailey.

I rolled my eyes, at the memories of the party. Ridiculous. I was tiptoeing around Noah; I knew if I called him I’d so desperately try to stay on the line. But what if she showed? It was killing me.

Therefore, I was hesitant to perform Eyelids; I was worried Noah’s reaction would warrant further frustration, considering he was in the arms of someone else. I couldn’t handle it because it fucking hurt seeing him with her. I wanted Noah to myself, as selfish as that sounded. I could only hope that in the discovery of my lyrics, he’ll at least know I meant everything we did and said that whole tour, meeting him changed my life for the better; before I hurt him.

I miss him and I only wished I was in his arms.

As the livestream ended, I smiled warmly as Noah and Jolly waved goodbye at the camera and then tried to focus my attention on the paper in my lap.

Amongst the idea of our own live stream, I couldn’t help but want more out of me. It was small; it was something just dying to purge out. However, the more I looked at the lyrics on paper, the more it didn’t fit; it wasn’t me. It was as if these lyrics were meant for someone else.

Letting out a deep breath, I sang a harmony I thought would fit with the lyrics. “Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask.”

The more I read it, over and over. It was good; I’ll say that. But, surely it didn’t belong to me. I could feel that. But I didn’t give up yet. I wrote another verse, hoping this one would speak more of me.

“I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself and tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.”

Fuck, even singing these lyrics didn’t feel right. My heart knew that this didn’t belong to me, it was meant for someone else.

Making a rash decision, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the name I needed help from.

“Hello?”

I perked up at the accent immediately. “Jolly! Hey, it's me. Y/N.”

A light chuckle echoed in my ear. “I know who it is, doll, I have caller ID.”

“Ok don’t be smart,” I teased.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

I bit my lip, wondering how he would take my idea. It sounded rash in my head but if anyone were to listen to my idea; it was Jolly.

“I have something to run by you. Well, actually a few things.”

NOAH

My knee bounced as I sat in my chair, phone gripped tightly in my hand, as I glanced at the clock on my computer.

2:28.

It has been almost a week now since our last 2:30 call and the last one was short as she was running around Japan with her dad. Things were awkward to say the least at the party the other night and I wanted to make sure that things between us were still good.

Good? What’s considered good anymore? You’re dating someone else, dumbass.

Ignoring the voice in my mind, I let out a deep breath before clicking on Y/N’s name; the ringing echoing loudly in my quiet room. It rang and rang and rang. It went on like this for a few more times until, eventually; I hung up the call with a groan. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet and I typed out a quick message to Malcolm.

ME: Is Y/N around? I tried calling her.

Malcolm: Yeah, she’s been in the shower. Has been in there for a while- too long, maybe shaving or some shit. I’ll have her call you.

An audible, deep groan, fell from my lips as I leaned my head back against the headrest of my chair when the thought of Y/N in the shower.

Naked, water, and soap ran down every inch of her unholy skin.

“Shit,” I cursed when my dick twitched in my sweats.

“Noah.”

Y/N’s voice rang in my ear as my eyes fluttered shut, hands in fists on my thighs. My vision was so vivid as if I was in the shower with her, our wet skin ablaze as I wrapped my arms around her from behind to bury my face into the crook of her neck.

“Angel,” I breathed while my palm pressed against my hard cock in my sweats.

My hips raised from the chair as a moan crawled out of my throat, my hand now all but ripping out my dripping cock from my pants. It was red and thick with the mere thought of Y/N in the shower. Gripping it between my fingers, I slowly pumped up and down, thumb grazing over the pre-cum that leaked out from the slit and circled it around the head of my cock.

“Noah, I need you.”

Her name fell from my lips as a prayer while I leaned farther back into my chair as my hand worked faster, the grip around myself tightened as the orgasm buzzed in my lower stomach. The burn felt so good but it wasn’t enough; I needed something else to help me over the edge.

I pulled the extra skin down tight, cock standing straight up in my hand, as I let out a strangled breath. My orgasm was right there, but I wanted to edge myself longer; I didn’t want this vision to end.

Y/N rubbed the soap over every inch of her skin, her fingers teasing over her nipples as he head fell back, water spraying into her mouth.

But after that vision, another one came to mind which made my hand work in faster strokes. Y/N on top of me with her hands gripping my braids as her mouth fell slack with ecstasy. I consistently became a time traveler of that night, the night she rode me into oblivion. A night I’ll surely never forget. Even in these moments, my mind goes there.

“Fuck. Shit.” I cursed as a shock shot from the base of my spine to the top when my body went stiff, orgasm so close to destroying me.

I jerked when my phone buzzed against the computer desk so I stopped my actions but kept my grip tight on my aching cock to realize Bailey was calling me.

Ignore.

With my phone still in my hand, I quickly went to my photos and clicked on one of my favorite pictures of Y/N; from the day we spent on the beach. She was staring straight out into the water, a small smile playing on her sweet, plump lips.

Fuck, I wished those lips were strangled around my cock.

Once the phone was set up directly in front of me, I leaned back into my chair again and worked my hand in fast short strokes, the orgasm once again burning low in my belly.

“Noah.” Y/N’s voice echoed in my mind again.

“Shit, angel. I’m gonna-fuck,” I groaned low, the noise barely audible as it crawled out of my throat when my release finally washed over me.

Cum shot all over my hand and onto my pants but none of that mattered; my dark eyes were stuck on the picture on the screen. Until a different picture appeared which had me cursing and wiping my cum covered hand on my pants before tucking myself back into my pants. Just a simple phone call from her had my dick aching again.

With a few steady breaths, I ran my clean hand through my hair before answering the FaceTime call; Y/N’s bright smile warming my heart.

“Hi Mochi! I didn’t mean to miss your call. I was in the shower.”

She was sitting on her bed, water still dripping from her wet hair, and internally I groaned when the same thoughts as earlier came creeping back into my mind.

“Oh yeah? You-uh-feeling clean?” I flushed while shifting in my chair.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckled. “That’s what a shower is. Water, soap.”

Naked, I know the drill.

I cleared my throat. “Right. Anyway, can you talk or is this a bad time?”

“Actually, I was going to send this in the group chat but since I have you on the phone, I figured now would be the best time.”

I raised a brow as my heart pounded widely in my chest, wondering what she was going to say.

“Veeps offered Hollow Souls to do a stream as well! So I wanted to make sure you were free to watch it, maybe? Totally fine if you can’t, I know you might be busy with-.”

“I’ll watch it,” I rushed out, not missing a beat. “What time?”

“Oh, in about 2 hours?” She bit her lip, hopeful I’d say yes.

My dick throbbed as memories of moments before her phone call replayed in my mind. “I’ll have the tv on standby downstairs, angel. We wouldn’t miss that shit for anything.”

Y/N smiled brightly as she brought Salem into view of her phone, his green eyes staring directly into my soul. “Salem thanks you for the support.”

“I miss him, we really bonded while you were gone,” I smiled a bit.

“Well, you can come by anytime to hang out with him; or me,” Y/N added the last bit slyly.

“Count me in, angel.”

READER

Once dressed, almost ready for the live stream, I was rummaging through my sock drawer to find a pair of socks when my fingers brushed against something soft. My brow raised as I pulled out two small velvet boxes, my mind immediately going back to my birthday.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I opened the box, and a gasp left my lips as the silver necklace and matching bracelet shined under the light of the room. It wasn't anything over the top and there were no diamonds but that didn't matter to me. I wasn't one for over-the-top jewelry, this simple chain and bracelet were enough.

With wet eyes, I gazed up at Noah, who had a nervous look on his face as he fiddled with his wooden rosary. "Do you like it?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into my embrace, burying my face into his neck. "I love it, Noah. Thank you so much."

With the haste of break up, the end of the tour, the move, and everything that happened between Noah and me, I almost forgot about the jewelry. I've stared at this bracelet and this fucking necklace for a while now. To think I had almost forgotten it, I shook my head at the thought. I couldn’t, things that were meant for us to find their way back. Well; at least that’s what I told myself. I yearned for him, his comfort, his gaze. I didn’t plan on falling in love with him. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. I gasped when I realized what that burning feeling in my heart took over my entire existence each time I thought of him or saw him.

I love Noah.

I nearly stumbled on my feet as a breath fell from my lips again. “It’s too late now.”

With shaky hands, I opened the box, my heart skipping a beat. It still took my breath away as I opened the box, clasping on the necklace first then the bracelet.

“I have to admit, Salem” I turned towards the mirror in my room so I could stare at my reflection while the cat sat on my vanity. “Noah did pretty well.”

There was a knock on my open door, and I gave a small smile towards Jolly. “Hey.”

“Almost ready?” He asked.

“Yep.”

He then taped a finger to his neckline twice. “That’s a nice necklace. Who gave you that?”

“It was a birthday gift,” I shrugged nonchalantly.

The corner of Jolly’s mouth turned up in a grin. “That’s not what I asked.”

Ignoring his comment, I slid into my slippers and led him out of my room down to the dining room where we set up earlier.

Jolly first arrived a few hours ago for our daily lessons before helping me set up the stream. After I watched theirs almost a week ago, I asked Jolly if he could come over to help me with my stream. I couldn’t play guitar but we could practice the two songs I wanted to perform.

Chase and Malcolm asked if I needed them for this but I could tell they already had plans. Even though this was a Hollow Souls set, it was more of an acoustic version so Chase on drums and Malcolm on bass wasn’t needed; hence why I asked Jolly to help. First off, who else was better to teach me how to play guitar than him? I knew the basics, but he was helping me hone in on my skills. Second, I needed to talk to him about something important.

As I finished making things were in order, Jolly sat on his chair to strum the first few notes of If I’m There on his guitar.

“Feel comfortable enough?” He wondered.

I nodded while looking at the laptop to make sure the stream was ready; all I had to do was hit the live button.

“Yep. We’ve been practicing every day. It helps I have a great teacher,” I beamed at him. “Thanks for this, Jolly. I didn’t know who else to ask and I know you’re Noah’s friend first.”

Jolly shrugged. “You’re my friend as well, doll. I help my friends and that’s something Noah knows and understands.”

Silence fell between us for a long moment until he hesitated.

“How did you feel about our new single, honestly?”

My shoulders went rigid for a second before I shrugged. “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y/N don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t be that dense. You know it was about you, right?” Jolly asked.

“I-,” The words died in my throat.

Jolly raised a brow. “Yeah, so tell me. How do you feel about it?”

“Are you my shrink now?” I crossed my arms over my chest, one last ditch effort at shielding myself from admitting the truth.

“No, a friend,” he sighed while setting down the guitar.

Defeated, I fell into the chair with a groan. “I-I feel sad. Noah must fucking hate me.”

“I assure you, he doesn’t,” Jolly said.

“How can you be so sure, Jolly? He went and found someone else. He’s clearly writing how he feels too. I hate feeling like this.” I sat with my hands folded in my lap as I chipped away at the nail polish.

“So talk to him, because I can tell you right now, Noah’s not head over heels for this girl. I think you know deep down what he’s trying to do.”

I refused to meet his gaze as I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean. I can’t-he seems happy.”

“Y/N,” Jolly sighed. “He’s not happy unless he’s with you.”

“Then he needs to tell me that,” my eyes snapped up towards him. “I was going to express some things I’ve discovered but-.”

Jolly raised his brows. “Discovered what?”

For a split second, I thought about telling him but decided against it. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t mess anything up for him. I need Noah to need me. It works both ways, Jolly.”

“Y/N you’re not understanding you’ve got it all wrong-.”

“Can we move on, please? It hurts enough to think about him with someone else the last fucking thing I want to do is talk about them,” I let out a shaky breath as my bottom lip wobbled.

Jolly gave me a weak smile. “Sure thing, doll. Did you want to go live?”

“Actually,” I bit my lip before reaching over to the table to grab a piece of paper. “There’s something I want to run by you.”

When he nodded, I handed Jolly the paper. “I wrote it about Trey but the thought of recording it scares me. It’s deeper than what I typically write and it's not me. I thought about selling it but that didn’t feel right.”

I watched intently as Jolly read the lyrics, his eyes taking in every inch of the page, the smile on his lips growing with each pass.

“Doll, this is,” he shook his head. “Amazing. Are you sure?”

Our eyes locked as I nodded. “It’s not a Hollow Souls song. But Bad Omens on the other hand, I know you guys can give it the justice it deserves.”

NOAH

“SHUT UP!” I bellowed while tossing a pillow towards Jesse, who was talking extensively to Orie about some shit that didn’t matter. “The live stream is about to start.”

Jesse caught the pillow mid-throw and smirked. “Excited, are we?”

Flipping him off, I sat on the couch with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other, sending another text to Jolly. He’d been M.I. A all day, and we were wondering if he was going to join.

“Has anyone heard from Jolly?” I asked.

Orie shrugged. “I thought he was in his room.”

“We went to lunch earlier,” Michael said while walking into the living room, bowl full of random snacks in his hands before he set them on the coffee table. “But he said he had some things to take care of afterward.”

Just then the stream began and Y/N’s soft voice echoed through the speakers.

“Shit, are we live? Wait, I probably shouldn’t swear on this.”

We all shared a laugh until we saw who was sitting next to her.

“Hi everyone! It’s Y/N from Hollow Souls. You might have noticed that I have a friend here with me today,” Y/N adjusted the headphones before she motioned to Jolly who sat on her left. “Jolly from Bad Omens.”

Jolly waved to the camera. “Hi.”

“I guess that’s what his errand was,” Jesse said while throwing some popcorn in his mouth.

Ignoring him, I wondered why Jolly was with Y/N right now. I wasn’t jealous he was with her. I was jealous that I wasn’t there instead. She looked breathtaking with her long hair pulled back in a tight bun to showcase the sharp features of her face, her plump lips glistening with the lip gloss she must have applied before the stream started. Her bright eyes shined with the excitement of what she was about to perform which in turn made me sit up straighter in my spot on the couch, a proud smile on my face.

“So, the reason Malcolm and Chase aren’t here is because this set is more of an acoustic one. I recently saw some friends of mine do something like this and wanted to try it,” she smiled over to Jolly.

“I’m here for moral support,” Jolly said.

“He’s actually been teaching me guitar the last week because I wanted to do more for this band since we kicked Trey out,” Y/N revealed.

At the mention of his name, I felt my face twitch but kept it as stone as I could, not wanting to give anything away to the rest of the guys. They were the only three of the entire group that didn’t know the truth about Y/N’s relationship with Trey.

“Did you know Jolly was teaching her guitar?” Jesse asked me.

I shook my head while running a hand through my hair. “I had no idea she wanted to learn. I mean, I knew they had to figure out a guitarist moving forward but didn’t know she wanted to play.”

“She didn’t ask you?” Orie wondered.

I shrugged, wondering the same but did my best not to dwell on it as I went back to watching the feed.

“So, I’m going to sing two songs for you guys today. The first one is a cover, and the second is something new. It’s nowhere near ready for release but it’s been weighing heavy on my heart the last few weeks since I wrote it.”

Y/N adjusted her headphones before glancing over to her laptop. “Woah, the chat is going crazy you’re here, Jolly.”

He hummed in amusement while tuning the guitar. “What are they saying?”

“Where’s Noah? When is the collab with Bad Omens coming?”

Y/N snickered before looking back at the camera, giving a wink. “I don’t know. Noah has my number.”

Quickly pulling out my phone, I pulled up the stream to add something to the chat.

“Oh, look who joined the chat. Jolly, Noah is wondering if you could bring pizza home,” Y/N laughed as she read my comment.

I chuckled to myself as we saw Jolly roll his eyes. Then Y/N read my next comment, her cheeks flushing red; something others might not have noticed. But I did. I watched and analyzed everything she did with a careful eye.

The comment I sent in the chat was something simple; something only a few of us would understand.

We can talk about the collab during our next phone call.

She shifted in her chair, a hint of a smile on her face. “Well, my first song might sound familiar to a lot of you. It’s my first time performing it but unlike Noah did last week, I won’t mess up the words.”

Jolly broke out in laughter before playing the opening notes of the song; one I recognized immediately even though I knew which one she meant before Jolly played the first few notes of the song. There was only one song I messed up on a livestream recently. If I’m There.

Her beautiful voice stung deep into my veins as I fell back on the couch.

“Oh. Shit,” Orie spoke. “No offense, man, but Y/N kills your lyrics.”

I nodded, numbly as I agreed with him. It was as if my lyrics were made for her voice, the sultry tone of it sending chills all over my body. She gripped the microphone with a soft touch and my cock twitched as I remembered earlier up in my bedroom.

As she got to the verse I messed up on my own livestream, Y/N’s eyes opened to throw a quick wink and smirk toward the camera when she sang it perfectly; almost annoyingly perfect.

I felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of my head and briefly tearing my gaze away from the television; I shot Jesse a look.

“What?”

He pursed his lips while shaking his head. “You haven’t stopped smiling since she came on the screen. You look like a kid that was given free rein in a candy store.”

Rolling my eyes, I focused back to Y/N just in time as she sang the last two lines of the song.

“And if you're there to catch me when I fall then maybe Hell ain't so bad after all,” she breathed before pushing away the microphone from her a tad.

Shit.

This was different than Hollow Souls. The softness of the song was fucking made for Y/N and something she needed to do more of.

“Fuck yes,” she beamed but then smacked a hand over her face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to swear. I’ll add it to the jar Malcolm has on top of the fridge.”

“He doesn’t?” Michael chucked.

I nodded while taking a long drink of my beer. “He does. I saw it when I was there taking care of Salem. Thing is empty but fuck is in their everyday vocabulary so you know they’re not adding to that shit.”

Noticing she was reading the comments once again, I quickly typed out one.

Great job, Y/N! Feel free to cover any of our songs. I’d always watch it with a proud smile.

Even though she didn’t say she read it, I knew she did with the way the corner of her lip raised and the way her eyes crinkled at the sides.

“Alright, the last song is a new one. We do plan on having it on the next record but it will sound different from what you’ll hear right now. My friends, thank you for watching. This one is called Eyelids.”

This had me sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, as excitement filled me.

“I'll face my fear of the evening once I get used to this feeling. I can't sleep. That's when you're torn away from me. While I'm dreaming I feel you leaving.”

My jaw fell slack, hearing the rawness in her voice with the pure emotion being poured out of her soul.

"I'll face my fear of the sunrise when I wake up with your hand inside mine. It's hard to say good morning when it's followed with goodbye. Just wanted to say good night.”

Something glinted on the screen, which immediately took my gaze away from her face down to her neck, my heart and breath catching in my throat. I remained silent as my body leaned closer to the television.

“What are you doing, man? Did you forget your glasses?” Michael joked.

His voice was a white noise as I moved from my spot on the couch to the coffee table, now sitting directly in front of the screen.

What the fuck?

Is that?

I inched closer and closer to that television, I couldn’t hear what was being said to me as I scrunched my face up and began squinting.

No, it can’t be.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

It hung almost a little well above her cleavage, that beautiful silky neck- my eyes moved quickly to her wrists.

“Let me see,” I muttered under my breath.

I made an inaudible sound from my throat, mouth peering a little open.

She was wearing them; both of them. My heart raced even further, longer, more rapidly.

I was feeling a lot of things at once; I didn’t quite know how to place them. I needed a beer. I needed to talk to my shrink. That’s what I should do, because the panic was setting in, this ache was almost unbearable.

Why, why would she want to wear them after everything? Even now?

I’m hurting her right back, aren’t I?

Everything has become a puddle of mud, a mess of my volition now. I did this. All I could think while seeing the jewelry I gifted her, all I could hear while listening to her voice was “Maybe, just maybe I’ll come back to you.”

She was occupied by her own complicated thoughts - you could tell from the way she was squinting and moving her mouth.

Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe until-.

“I'll face my fear of the cold nights when you leave me behind. I felt your hands in my hair. I felt your breath on my neck. Yeah, I need to feel you again. Just wanted to say good night.”

My body went still, all the air taken from my lungs, as I watched her lips move. Her own personal conflict was clear in the way the muscles in her jaw tightened and her eyes screwed shut.

No, it couldn’t be.

She didn’t.

Did she?

Was this about us?

No, I’m overthinking this.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Orie smack Jesse on the shoulder and motioned to the stillness of me; still unmoving.

“Our eyes fighting the light. But I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

I could see Jolly vibing along to the lyrics next to Y/N but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered more than this moment right here as I watched her pour every feeling about that night into this one song. My heart fell deep into the pits of my stomach when I saw her grip the necklace, playing with it between two fingers.

These eyes are closed again for yet another night I wake up and I can feel you by my side. But I can't find you in the dark when you're so far. Yeah, that's the hardest part. Here comes the hardest part.

My eyes dropped slightly in tangent with my shoulders.

Our eyes fight the light. But I'm not ready to say good night oh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. To say good night.

As the last lyric faded into the air, there was a hushed recording playing some words in the background; another small thing I picked up on.

“I mean in what world do I go to sleep after you and wake up before you? I don't even know how it happens. Well, I hope you're having sweet dreams. And you call me when you wake up.”

Fuck.

My bottom lip trembled when I recognized that voice. It was Y/N’s, and it wasn’t just any kind of recording. No, it was a voicemail she left me while she was in Japan. It was right after I missed one of our 2:30 calls. I was asleep but once I noticed she called me less than an hour later; I listened to the voicemail before quickly calling her back.

“Okay, that deserves a curse,” Jolly said. “You fucking killed that, Y/N.”

She was beaming with pride. “Holy shit, guys. You don’t understand how long I’ve had this festering inside of me. It feels so good to get out.”

Y/N clicked on the laptop to read through some of the comments, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“Oh my god. Are you and Trey getting back together?! You were so perfect. No, we’re not getting back together. I grew up since the breakup; I became a savage. But not everything is about fucking Trey. This is just a song about a really awesome guy. That’s it.”

I was still, like a statue, unmoving and unnerving as Joly and Y/N said their goodbyes before the stream ended; a black screen mirror back to me.

Jesse leaned forward in his chair. “Noah-.”

Hearing my name broke me out of the trance and without saying another word, I jumped up from my spot on the coffee table and took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps thundering throughout the house before I slammed myself into my bedroom.

Tears threatened to spill, burning at the corners of my eyes, but I held them in with a choked sob as I ran a shaky hand over my face.

I didn’t know what to make of anything anymore. Maybe just romantics would call this a twisted, toxic beginning to a love story while the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind, it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I’ve chosen to follow and that I- I love her.

Ripping the drawer of my desk open, I rummaged through the useless crap, already knowing what I was looking for. I tossed the velvet boxes to the side and cradled the jewelry, my large hands encased them. I pressed them on my forehead and let the tears finally spill to the floor as I fell to my knees, resting my back up against my bed.

I cried; actually fucking cried.

The necklace and bracelet shook in my hands as the sobs wrecked through me. I haven’t cried like this in a long time mostly because I hated being this open and vulnerable. It made me sick, knowing that I wasn’t able to protect myself from these feelings right now. I spent my entire life protecting myself from these feelings only for Y/N to sink her claws into me in the best way possible.

“I love her,” I choked out through sobs, realizing what I felt earlier. “I fucking love her.”

NOAH

I wasn’t sure how long I kneeled on the floor, jewelry grasped deep in my palms as it dug into my skin. But it wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that pulled me from the despair. Red, puffy, bloodshot eyes glanced up at Jolly, whose shoulders fell as he took in my state; tears dried to my face and hair a mess from running my hands through it.

“Noah,” he muttered.

“Please leave me alone right now.” I whimpered lowly, refusing to meet his gaze again.

“No. Jesse said watching her perform Eyelids fucked you up. What’s going on?” Jolly kneeled in front of me.

“I can’t-,” I choked on a sob. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

Jolly rubbed his jaw. “Was it the song or the jewelry?”

My eyes snapped up to him. “How did you know about the jewelry?”

“You used the band card to charge it, goof. I see everything,” Jolly gave me a small smile.

“Fuck. Sorry,” I sighed.

“It’s okay man, it’s okay,” he reassured me with a strong grip on my shoulder.

“No, no, it’s not. I’m tired of feeling. I want to disappear, just disappear.”

Jolly now gripped both of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "No, you don’t. Don’t say that shit.” 

“I just mean I wish it wasn’t this. Y/N’s been giving me mixed signals.” I mumbled.

“Have you thought you’re doing the same? You’re literally hanging out with another woman out of spite,” He raised a questioning brow.

I leaned my head against the side of my mattress. “She won’t tell me how she feels, I’m trying to show her. I’ve always tried to show her.”

“There’s a saying.” Jolly paused, trying to think of the right words to say. “We are defined by what we do, not just nice words. However, I think you’ve shown enough, Noah. It’s time you use your words.” 

“I don’t know how,” I admitted with a shaky breath after a long beat of silence.

“If you’re not comfortable talking about it with us, Noah. Talk to your therapist about it- but this has to stop. It’s draining you.”

I saw the way Jolly’s mouth twitched, his own emotions close to slipping through his own mask, but he held it stronger than me.

“Once you’re in a better place, come to the studio. I have something to show you.”

I nodded. “Sure, yeah. Might be good for me to write something.”

Jolly gave one last squeeze to my shoulder. “Love you, man.”

“You too. Thank you.” I smiled.

NOAH

An hour and a long shower later, I walked down the hallway toward our studio with a new tune in my head. The lyrics were loud in my mind as I played with the new bracelet on my wrist, twisting it between two fingers.

“There’s not another way don’t let me go, don’t dig another grave today,” I sang under my breath as I walked through the door.

Jolly was sitting on the couch in the room, guitar on his lap and notebook on the floor at his feet. He looked up as I walked in and had a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey, you better?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah. What’s this?”

As I sat on the couch next to him, I went to reach for the notepad before he placed a foot over it, blocking me from retrieving it.

“Y/N gave me something earlier. I really like it but wanted to run it by you, if you were comfortable,” Jolly said hesitantly.

I tensed, not knowing how to feel. I wasn’t comfortable with whatever Jolly needed to show me but knowing it was from Y/N eventually made me agree.

He removed his foot so I could grab the notebook, eyes immediately scanning over the lyrics on the page.

Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I licked my lips. “Wow, that’s impressive. When did you find the time to write this? Usually, that's my wheelhouse.”

“Noah cut the shit. You know this isn’t my work. I just told you, it’s Y/N’s,” Jolly sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m just being a dick.” I snorted a laugh while bumping his shoulder with mine.

“Yeah, you are. Now what do you think? We can use this, no? As inspiration, maybe?”

Suddenly the lyrics I sang a moment before walking into the room played in my mind again; I hummed them under my breath, adding it to the lyrics Y/N wrote.

“One second,” I muttered while pulling out my phone.

ME: You sure you want us to have your lyrics?

Y/N’s response was immediate.

Angel 🪽: Nobody could do it better than you guys. You’ll give those lyrics the justice it deserve.

Leaving the message on read, Jolly and I worked tirelessly to rework the lyrics together and when I felt we were in a good position with them, I reached for my phone again. There was still a lingering feeling festering deep inside of me, that I wanted to make sure Y/N was fine with.

ME: I’m taking creative liberty for this, are you good with that?

Angel 🪽: What's mine is yours, Noah. 

Yeah, not everything.

[rewrittenmha]

Hero Killer Stain Arc

As far as arcs in MHA go, this is the only one I would call almost perfect.

This was the arc that (should have) set the tone for the rest of the series. It was dark enough to show us the severity of being a hero, laid out the flaws of hero society, and tells us why Izuku (our main character) is different and has the power to change things.

I hesitate to change much about it.

I think there's something to be said about Izuku's reaction to Stain. As far as people who call out society, Stain is the only one who gets through Izuku's ideals if only a little bit. No one else- not even Lady Nagant, who had the most valid argument- made him stop and think.

I do have to wonder if this was because of Stain's admiration for All Might. And that... isn't a great look for Izuku in all honesty.

So instead, I want Stain's words to really affect Izuku. I want him- as someone who's studied heroes all his life- to really think on the things he's seen. Thing he might have justified in his head at the time. I want him to reflect on what Todoroki told him about Endeavor and Quirk Marriages. I want his idealization of heroes and the societies heroes protect to be challenged.

This will be the start in deconstructing not only Izuku's blind hero worship, but also the circumstances in which he grew up in. What allowed Bakugou to torment him all those years? What was it that decided that he wasn't equal to his peers?

I mentioned this before on my main, but the one thing I always thought would benefit the Stain arc was also breaking Tenya's idolization of Tensei.

Stain brings up great points in canon, but they're undercut by the fact that Tensei- as far as we know- is a good hero. So Stain targeting him really undermines his actions and goals. Sure, you can make the argument that it's all heroes other than All Might that he sees as the problem, but it just makes Stain look like a hypocrite because we have no proof of that either.

So, Tensei won't be as innocent here.

It happened when he was just starting out as a hero. Tensei Iida had just graduated from UA and became the hero Ingenium. He was dedicated to upholding his family's ideals: noble, honest, and good.

But as a rookie, he came across something he wasn't supposed to see. He was investigating an underground drug ring where he witnessed Lady Nagant- one of the top 10 heroes at the time- kill another hero, albeit one a lot less known.

Tensei panicked and demanded to know what she was doing. But her eyes were so haunted and empty that he couldn't bring himself to move. When she answered him, her voice was hollow. She told him that this was the society they were tasked with upholding as heroes. And that if he had a problem with it, he could take it up with the HPSC. And then she left, like nothing had happened.

She was arrested just a few months later.

Tensei never said a word about it. And the guilt has been haunting him ever since.

He confesses all of this to Tenya after Tenya's confrontation with Stain. Tenya is confused and upset; all his life he has been taught that standing up for what's right is the foundation of the Iida family. He doesn't know how to feel about this information...

But then he remembers how Izuku had rushed in to help him without hesitation. How he always stood up for others, no matter what. How he never gave up.

Izuku... inspired him. Izuku made him want to be a better hero. A hero who always did the right thing, regardless of if it followed all the rules or not.

Shoto has never had friends before. He was never allowed to. He was told he was better than everyone else, including his brothers and sister. But being there for Izuku and Tenya felt... good. Like others relied on him, and he could rely on them too.

He's been sheltered all his life so outside of Endeavor he doesn't really understand what Stain is talking about. Heroes are usually good, like All Might, right?

But what if... more of them were like his father than he had previously believed?

Meanwhile, Yaoyorozu- upon learning that Uraraka is interning with Gunhead- decides to take the invitation from him that was also offered to her. She wants to know how Uraraka held off so well against Tokoyami when she couldn't. Uraraka thrives under Gunhead's tutelage, but Yaoyorozu struggles. She, no matter how hard she tries, can't seem to learn how to think on her feet.

Yaoyorozu comes off as cold at first which intimidates Uraraka, but then she realizes "Oh, this rich kid has never had a normal social interaction in her life." She makes the effort to be kind to Yaoyorozu, who has never had a real friend in her life and doesn't know how to respond to this compassion.

Uraraka helps her to stop overthinking. Tells her to stop thinking about what her opponent will do so much and look at what they're actually doing. It improves Yaoyorozu's already decent combat ability, which she's grateful for. She sincerely thanks Uraraka and confides in how she felt like she failed at the Sports Festival. Uraraka sympathizes; it's hard to be overlooked and cast aside when you know you're capable of doing so much more. For the first time in her life, Yaoyorozu feels understood

(They're besties, your honor)

Notes:

This one's more of a summary because there really aren't many changes to this arc other than Tensei's flashback. I was thinking of making him an HPSC assassin too, but a) I thought it would be more meaningful if he just happened to be in a place where he made the wrong choice and b) I like to think that the Iida family is descended from some of the first heroes. I feel like the HPSC couldn't sink their claws in them

The "main trio" as of the moment will be Izuku, Tenya, and Shoto as was (presumably) intended. I loved their chemistry in this arc and I feel like the three of them balance each other out really well

I almost forgot to take Momo out of that terrible internship. Having her work with Gunhead along with Uraraka was a great opportunity for Momo to actually connect with another girl. I feel like Horikoshi had all the girls like each other and get along for no other reason than they're all girls. Even MomoJirou and TsuChako are like that to an extent

To add to that, I also felt like Horikoshi focused way too much on Momo becoming an even better planner instead of being able to think on her feet. Her and Izuku are kind of opposites that way and it would have made for some great parallels between them

Do you guys think Best Jeanist would still take an interest in Bakugou? He lost pretty early and didn't have the chance to throw his tantrum at the awards ceremony. He definitely wouldn't get nearly as many offers in canon. I feel like him being mentored by Jeanist or not is an indication of whether or not he'll be redeemed idk it just feels that way

[tears0fsatan]

                ♰          ・        𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓!

✦ ⊹ ˚˖ warnings... suggestive! below sixteen, ageless blogs and fem aligned do not interact, dead dove do not eat, implied m!reader, vampire!asmodeus, gore, cannibalism question mark (he's a vampire does it really count as cannibalism), blood, mild dub con

 :¨·.·¨ ♥︎  a.n... welcome to the start of my horror mini series! kicking it off with something that has had me gripping the bars of my enclosure like the animal i am! i loveee unsettling asmo and cannibalism as a metaphor for devotion and so why not combine the two am i right (can u believe that all the dialogue in this actually came from the game.. they should make asmo deranged more often)

 #﹏𖣠  ㅤ HEART SHAPED HICKIES MASTERLIST ㅤ. . . ㅤ !! ( ☠️ )

the moments leading up to the cute, pink-haired vampire making himself comfortable on your lap while your body remained frozen still were a blur. all you could remember was a soft, coquettish mumble asking for your help before a dizzying embrace and the current predicament you found yourself in.

"hehe," asmodeus giggled breathlessly, looking up at you with wet puppy eyes you never realised looked so sinister up until that very moment, "i need you to help me satiate my hunger." time felt as though it came to a halt, the haunting words ringing in your head as your mind ran wild.

perhaps asmodeus could see the fear swimming in your eyes for he let out another sweet giggle which, under different circumstances, you would've found charming, but all it did now was send a shiver down your spine. a strange shine flashed in his eyes, the kind of gleam he usually got whenever he got excited over a new plaything, only in this instance, you had become his new object of interest.

"i want your blood so bad i can't stand it! you're the only one who can do anything about that!" the vampire whined, putting on that faux, innocent tone you had grown used to. "your skin is so tender, so fragile… like this spot here," his fingers brushed against the crook of your neck, the feather light touch leaving goosebumps in their wake, "it's so soft and supple." the words came out in the form of a whisper, masking the horrifying meaning behind an intimate and gentle front.

"if i were to sink my teeth into it, i wonder what sort of noises you'd make…?" there was a heavy implication beneath the teasing question, though whether asmodeus was hinting towards something obscene or something dangerous was unknown to you.

"hehe, if I get overexcited and take so much of your blood that it kills you, sorry in advance, okay?" he giggled before bending forward with practiced grace to bite into the junction of your neck and shoulder, accurately landing directly on your jugular vein. the hollow words offered you no comfort, much less the teasing hilt the sentence ended on.

then before you knew it, he was there, nestled on your lap with his pouty lips attached to your neck where he ate his fill, hands gripping your shoulders like they were a vice and the only thing keeping him grounded with you. the only noise in the room that could be heard was the loud slurping from the vampire, fervently suckling on your neck like a starved man, not letting even a single drop of your blood slip past.

you tasted so sweet, better than any other prey he had caught before and he craved more. asmodeus's eyes often wandered to your chest, staring intently at the flesh that came between him and your beating heart. he wondered how your heart would taste, freshly ripped out from your warm body, if the lump of muscle would continue to beat even when harshly taken out of it's home. he daydreamed about how the thick, warm, saccharine blood would feel sliding down his throat, sucking you dry of every ounce of life.

the blood that very heart of yours produced had been the most addictive thing he'd ever tried, and the vampire had been alive long enough to try out all sorts of things. from the very moment he walked by you and caught a whiff of your heavenly scent, he knew he had found his new plaything for the meantime. there was something different about you, something that set you apart from the other humans he had hunted and consumed.

he couldn't get enough of you, pliant in his hold and yet the heat in your gaze slowly shifting from fear to defiance. it was all so adorable to the vampire, no matter how hard you tried to fight against his magic, it was inevitable. it was refreshing so see someone attempt to fight against his magic rather than accept their fate. the thought of that alone was enough to have asmodeus shuddering in response, his hips subconsciously rolled against your thigh. hell, he wanted nothing more than to rip you apart, to savour the taste of your flesh on his tongue like you were the main course at some lavish restaurant, made and served all for him.

he wanted to scavenge through your organs, find out which part of you tasted the best and what tasted the worst, if it were possible. asmodeus was thoroughly convinced no part of you could taste bad, be it finger or liver.

he detached himself from your neck with a loud 'pop!' and sat up to face you, shifting his hips backwards ever so slightly so he could get a better look at your face. though he did his best to not let any blood slip by, he was unable to stop the blood from coating the lower half of his face.

an unsettling grin took over his face, his bloody mouth on full display for you to see. a couple small drops of blood trickled down from his fangs, the rest of his teeth coated in a light sheen of blood, which only served to make asmodeus look all the more unnerving. the vampire usually emitted a radiating beauty that often left people speechless and questioning whether he was really a human or not, had it not been for his pupils that turned into slits and his irises that had a faint glow, reminding you all too well that the person sitting on your lap was far from human.

a groan escaped your mouth as your surroundings began to spin, the sound of your heart pumping excessively to replenish the blood you had forcibly stolen for you echoed in your ears and only served to make you feel dizzier. it took all your strength to keep your eyes open, to watch his long tongue flicked out of his mouth to lap up the surrounding blood. it was far more erotic than it should've been, the flush covering his face, the satisfied smirk on his lips, the half lidded eyes watching your every movement as though he was bewitched by you, it all didn't help the growing problem in your nether regions.

it was shameful really, how you felt turned on from the very monster who feasted on you like you were nothing more than an insignificant being. what was even more shameful and concerning was the fact that you didn't care as much as you should have.

© 2023 TEARS0FSATAN. please don’t translate, modify, repost or plagiarise my works anywhere.

[catchyhuh]

(gif of guy pointing at himself and mouthing "me?" here)

WELL! WE ALREADY DID HOW OFTEN *THEY* SAY I LOVE YOU AND NOW VICE VERSA! how do they REACT when someone says i love you and do they even fucking believe it? more at 10

lupin:

yeah he loves you too! conversation continues like nothing changed

he believes them. like he does think they mean it. he just can’t imagine it bearing a lot of weight since, as discussed, he doesn’t usually say it with a lot of weight

if it were truly a serious circumstance and the person reiterated, no, this means something, i love you, then he might react a bit more genuinely

by. not saying it back

lupin says “i love you” when he wants and when he feels it’s right. not out of obligation. if anything it feels lame saying it back because you’re just copying the first person. so he just smiles a bit more sincerely. 

he enjoys it. it’s nice.

jigen:

uh huh. sure. HE’S NOT BELIEVING AAANYBODY ABOUT THIS MAN HE’S NOT BELIEVING ANYBODY

he’s not believing HIMSELF. even coming from people he knows he just takes it as a lighthearted statement every single time. living with lupin for decades probably doesn’t help his case

at best he’d take it to mean “you mean a lot to me” which is… technically true, i guess, but there’s something missing there. and even then, he still doesn’t totally believe even THAT coming from most people

if somebody really did get the closest they could to convincing him, he’d be less prickly for a while, maybe a bit more quiet. but for the most part he’s reacting internally, and once he gets past the confusion and mistrust, it… does give him a small warm feeling in his chest. a small one

fujiko:

it’s funny, because she simultaneously believes them and also doesn’t

taking it in good faith here, does so-and-so THINK they love her? yes. do they think they’re being honest? yes! she knows this. but do they really love her? no!

usually when she hears it it’s almost completely a hollow statement, so she does know through context and actions when someone really is being genuine. it’s just a matter of how much actual fujiko-ing they’ve witnessed that proves whether or not they really mean it

it’s really easy to love the IDEA of fujiko, but as a personnnn?? hmmmmmm

the only time it’s truly easy to make her believe the statement is when it comes from a kid. they’ve got no reason to lie, nothing to gain, and they’re usually pretty good judges of character. 

don’t get it twisted she’s not “maternal” by any means lmao it just feels… the most believable, coming from people who exclusively see it as a big announcement of admiration and friendship and everything. very cute!

goemon:

can i throw out something maybe disagreeable. goemon is the easiest to convince. yes more than zenigata i know you were thinking “hmhmhm obviously zenigata being the sensitive motherfucker he is is going to rank most trusting” nope! it’s this fucking wall of emotion

you can point to at least one ep from each series, like every third tv special, at least once per manga run no MATTER the author, and goemon will truly, honest to god believe he has met his match. he hears the words “i love you” and just… subconsciously projects his own usage of the term onto the other person

and if he’s this much of a sucker for the romantic i love you than you know he’s even more accepting of a platonic one! because WHY EVEN LIE ABOUT THAT

it’s not a matter of him being stupid or naive, of course he knows there are bad people trying to manipulate others, including him, and he KNOWS he has a sign on his back that says “I GET SLIGHTLY EMBARRASSED WHEN SOMEBODY OPENS THE DOOR FOR ME AND SMILES -- EASY TARGET” but. he’s just… very willing to believe that people don’t immediately use love as a stepping stone in a scheme

zenigata:

he wants to believe it the most. he kind of flounders with it for a minute. is it.. a joke? is it a bit? no… okay, is it to catch him off guard and knock him down? not that either. hm. is it some kind of secret coded message he was supposed to know and missed or wh

someone would have to say it at least three times over the span of multiple days for him to even entertain the idea that they could be sincere. AND HE REALLY, REALLY WANTS IT TO BE SINCERE

because if he KNOWS its genuine he can smile really big with a goofy giggle and say the same. it’s just hard working up to that point, is all

deep down he does believe it initially every time, so it stings twice as much if it’s a ruse of some kind even though he DID suspect that. rough

but people don’t usually pull that kind of “build a very solid close friendship/convince this man i’ve fallen in love with him” tactic on zenigata the way they do with the others? so he’s a lot safer from this than he realizes! just. comparatively!

[astrid-sama]

Labyrinth of white roses (Effie trinket x fem oc)

Chapter 1)

The harvest

I wake up with the warmth of the sun's rays caressing my face, it's a rare event, usually if I want to sneak away without anyone seeing me I'm forced to get up when there's still the moon in the sky, at first light dawn in district twelve everyone is already at work; today, however, everyone is exempt from work and people sleep late trying not to think that tonight at least two families will mourn the loss of their children.

Today the annual harvest is held, on this day a boy and a girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be chosen from each district to participate in the Hunger Games, a deadly game from which only one tribute will emerge alive. At school we kids are taught that the Hunger Games are there to ensure that the Dark Days are not repeated, in reality they are just another way for the Capitol City to assert their dominion over us.

I get out of bed, put on my hunting clothes, kiss my brother on the forehead being careful not to wake him and leave the house as quietly as possible. I arrive on the main road and after making sure that there is no one around I head towards the fence; during the journey I feel my stomach growling, it is normal to be hungry here in district twelve and that is why every day I leave the fence to go hunting, putting my life at risk, between dying of hunger together with my brother and being hanged for betrayal by the peacekeepers I choose the second, it is the least painful option. At the fence I find my friends Gale and Katniss waiting for me, we have been hunting together for more than four years now; the fence should be electrified but here in the twelve there is almost never electricity, one at a time we crawl under the fence taking advantage of a point where it is damaged. According to the Capitol, the fences surrounding the districts are there to prevent wild animals from attacking us, but I think they're there to keep us locked up.

We enter the woods, retrieve our bows and hide among the vegetation waiting for prey to hunt. After almost an hour we have captured three rabbits and a squirrel, we go to hide our bows in an old hollow trunk and start looking for fruit and medicinal herbs; when we have finished the sun is higher in the sky and it is probably just before midday. Before leaving the woods, Gale, Katniss and I take a break sitting on a rocky ledge.

-Girls look what I have here- Gale takes a loaf of bread out of his bag, it seems warm and fragrant, few people can afford such bread.

-But this is real bread! Gale where did you find him?- Katniss said as she grabs the loaf of bread.

-The baker gave it to me in exchange for a squirrel-

-Just a squirrel?!-

I can't help but wonder, the baker is a good person but usually a squirrel isn't enough for a loaf like that.

-Today is harvest day, we are all better-

Gale divides the loaf between the three of us, we eat in silence until Katniss asks a question.

-How many nominations do you have?-

-Thirtyfive-

-Twentyone-

Under normal circumstances a seventeen year old like me should only have five nominations, I have so many because I was forced to trade them for food; my father became ill when I was twelve and died when I was fourteen, but my mother died soon after my brother was born so I found myself having to support both myself and my brother and was forced to apply several times in exchange for food, Gale and Katniss are in the same situation as me.

A few minutes later we set off to return to the enclosure; once we return to the district we go to the black market to barter: we exchange strawberries with the mayor in exchange for a bag of legumes, we exchange the squirrel for matches. After leaving the black market, Katniss, Gale, and I wish each other good luck and part ways.

When I arrive home I find my brother waiting for me, he is dressed in a pair of green jeans and a white shirt, his long black hair is tied in a braid and his green eyes shine with happiness when he sees me.

-Welcome back big sister, how do I look?-

-Elia you are handsome, I bet you will make everyone fall in love with you-

Elia blushes and looks away.

-Big sister it's almost time for the harvest, you should go and change-

I nod, I go to the bathroom and quickly wash both my body and my hair, after drying my hair with a towel I put on my best dress, a light green dress with small white flowers and finally I put on some old brown boots. Elia insists on tying my black hair in a braid like his, when he's finished we go to the square to take part in the grape harvest.

As soon as we arrived we immediately separated, I joined the seventeen year old girls while my brother joined the fourteen year old boys. After all boys and girls eligible to participate have been registered, the harvest ceremony begins; first of all (like every year) the mayor goes on stage and begins to read a long speech in which he explains how the Hunger Games are our just punishment for having rebelled against the Capitol seventy-three years ago; after what seems like hours the mayor finally concludes his speech and gives way on the stage to the Capitol emissary who has the task of escorting the tributes of district twelve to Capitol City Effie Trinket.

-Welcome to the seventy-third edition of the Hunger Games, may luck always be in your favor-

Effie walks very enthusiastically towards the glass bowl containing the pieces of paper with the girls' names written on them.

-As always ladies first-

Effie slowly dips her hand into the glass bowl, pulls out a piece of paper, and returns to the center of the stage; in the seconds preceding the reading of the name of the tribute there is absolute silence.

-The female tribute from district twelve is.... Selene Davidson-

All the girls turn to look at me, some look at me with pity, others with relief. My hands are shaking, my body seems to have turned to marble and even though I know I should go on stage I can't move.

-Darling come here-

Effie Trinket smiles at me and calls me to the stage. I force myself to move and slowly advance towards the stage; I'm trying to hold back the tears, I can't seem weak. Capitol City is watching me.

-And now the male tribute-

I watch Effie take the piece of paper with the name of the male tribute and hope that the name is neither Elia nor Gale.

-The male tribute from District Twelve is... Alexander Morgan-

Alexander is a fifteen year old boy with curly red hair and a weak physique, you can clearly see how terrified he is; once he gets on stage he starts sobbing.

-Now a big round of applause for our tributes-

Nobody claps their hands, silence is the only act of protest allowed. After the harvest we are taken into the courthouse and given some time to say goodbye to our friends and family. I'm sitting on a velvet sofa when the door opens and Elia comes in, hugs me and starts sobbing with his head resting on my shoulder. For a while we remain hugged without saying anything, then Elia dries his tears and begins to speak.

-Win big sister and come back to me, I know you can do it-

-Elia I-

-No Selene don't say you can't win, you are an expert hunter you know how to use a bow and knives perfectly and you also know both edible and medicinal plants-

-You're right, I promise I will do everything to come back-

I try to sound confident but in reality I don't think I have much chance of returning home, after all what can a weak little girl from district twelve with a bow (if there is a bow) do against a volunteer from district one who weighs twice as much as she. A short time later, peacekeepers arrive and take Elia away and let Gale and Katniss in in his place. We hug each other, resigned to the idea that this will be our last meeting.

-Guys remember the promise we made to each other, don't let Elia die of hunger! Take him with you into the woods, teach him to hunt, please don't abandon him-

Some time ago the three of us had made a pact, if ever one of us was chosen as a tribute the others would be taken care of by his family.

-Don't worry, we'll take care of Elia, you think about winning-

-Certain-

A short time later the peacekeepers took Katniss and Gale away, I was escorted out of the courthouse and taken to the train that would take me to the Capitol City.

This is the first chapter of my fanfiction "Labyrinth of white roses", I will publish all the chapters of the fanfiction on Ao3 with the name "Labyrinth of white roses".

These are my fanfiction characters created with artificial intelligence:

Selene

Elia

Alexander

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Pygmalion (VI)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) MC // Idia/MC (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: Ey sorry this took so long lol. Been a bit busy lately, scrambling to get my life together and all that‒ grad apps are the most stressful thing to exist in this goddamn universe besides job applications. Also been a bit busy writing Lasting Spring which you can read here:

Tumblr link

AO3 Link

It’s a Vil fic, with a reader based on the Orpheus myth, with a childhood friends to lovers dynamic‒ lots of pining and yearning (as usual lmao)

Enjoy~

CW: none

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 / Part 6 (Here)

Masterlist.

——————————————————

Rook feels it when you leave.

Not just with the magic he cast on his jacket before he took off to fetch the headmage‒ but he feels a part of him being hooked, threaded, and ripped from his heart into somewhere so distant not even a glimmer of a fragment can be seen. Though he knows the distance of your physical presence with the enchantment that coursed through his blood‒ he feels that your essence, your soul had cindered to dust, hollowing his body, his heart in its absence. "Knowing and feeling are two different things." You were right.

That heartbeat that had hammered and raced from your touch rang empty in his flesh, a cavernous elegy that ate away at his bones. The floor under him slowed, wavered, opening its jaws to swallow him whole‒ the earth as if witness to the rising desire inside of him‒ for the world to swallow the parts of himself which you could not lovingly devour before your departure. The picture of clarity crumbles into a speck of dust, that fruit tree looming with its festering makings once more. Things were so bright‒ why did you leave?

"Pardon?"

He finds himself asking to clarify the pointed look from both Shroud brothers and Dire Crowley, failing to absorb any of the words before it. The usual lucidity of his sight was softened, blurred and muddled from your absence, the vacant ballad of his heartbeat spinning him under its lashing strikes.

Crowley folds his arms. ”Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Before Rook can respond or nod his head despondently, the headmage opens his mouth again. “No matter, the infirmary and other facilities are at your disposal‒ I have more pressing matters to address since this seems like yet another S.T.Y.X related incident.” The man gives a weary sigh, before pointing a cane towards his students. “Do not do anything rash. I expect you to keep yourselves busy, unlike the circumstances last time this occurred, understood?” His students nod their heads. “Alright. Stay. Put.”

The remaining three watch Crowley’s back as he disappears down the winding Ignihyde halls, back to the otherside of the mirror. Idia narrows his eyes at Rook, for what, he does not know, spun from the thickness mulling at his temples.

“Whatever, can you pay attention? Basically the love of your life was just kidnapped in front of us. Did (Name) tell you anything before they left? Anything that will help Ortho triangulate a location?”

With no restraint, he grasps Idia’s shoulders with his hands, tingling with the rising feeling in his chest. Joy? Hope? Whatever it was, he would trail it like a starving dog if it meant leading to you. "Roi de Ta Chambre‒ my friend, my chevalier‒ you are willing to do this? To save Maître d’Ivoire?”

The older Shroud brother plucks Rook's hands off his shoulders, grimacing at the feverish look in his eyes. "I mean yeah. They're my friend too or whatever." He mumbles.

The younger Shroud speaks up. "What my brother means to say is of course we're going to retrieve them! But we need a more precise way to locate them before we jump into anything.”

As soon as Idia plucks the huntsman's grip off his shoulders, they snap back with full force, clambering around the Shroud brothers.

"Sacré bleu‒ I must be blessed by the great seven‒ merci, merci, my friends!" Though he sings those words in a heightened octave, drenched in a melodramatic tune‒ the tears that seep from his eyes are quite real. Idia lets out a “oof” while stiffly standing against his grasp, while Ortho pats Rook’s shoulder with a sympathetic expression.

“Okay…that’s enough of that.” Idia somehow worms out of his tight embrace, keeping an arms length from him. “Also, are you listening? You haven’t even answered my question. My best guess would be Island of Woe but Ortho and I just checked the databases‒ Krios has been erased from all of our security systems so it would be nearly impossible to enter S.T.Y.X or Jupiter Enterprises without triggering any of the security protocols in place, I can personally see to that since I revised the code to most of the security systems at S.T.Y.X.”

“You are aware of my unique magic, yes?” The brothers nod their heads. “Bien‒ then grab your brooms. I will lead the way.”

——————————————————

The lashes of your eyes stuck together with the blur of tears when you opened them, a sudden jostle of the carriage jolting you awake. Your body is tightly wound in a cold embrace, the familiar scent of bleach and decay stinging your nose. The breath in your throat shakes when you confirm it is Krios that has his hands twisted around you like dense, choking vines, enveloping you in a fragrance of winter and decay. The flesh in his throat is grayed, brown as he speaks.

“We’re here.” The way he thumbs your cheek makes you retch silently, but you don’t pull away‒ the weight of your weary bones submerging you in a languid prostration. You think he puts you under some enchantment‒ your body never felt this heavy and spent since your youth at the atelier, running around day and night under your master’s rigorous apprenticeship. Since you were human, you guess. When you exit the carriage, the wind is merciless against your lassitude, cold and lashing against your tear slurred face. You hear it roaring, wailing‒ but this earthly force is not nearly enough to strain the lament from your flesh. Alone on this jagged, rocky island, shaven of any life floating atop of the deathless, whipping waves‒ the world would have to conceive some cosmic holocaust to wring a drop of anguish from your petrified heart. The ceaseless stir of the ocean chills you to the bone, so you barely feel Krios pull your body into a small, underground opening, the firelight in cast on his staff bringing no warmth to your cold metal frame.

"This isn't the S.T.Y.X lab."

"Any more profound observations, little lamb?"

"You're no longer under S.T.Y.X?"

"Ohoho‒ no child. They don't appreciate all of the world I've‒ we’ve‒ done for them‒ the progress we could make. Why did you think I took a leave of absence? " His fingers singed as he curled them around your bare neck, inserting a key into a heavy iron door with his other hand. “Think‒ our dream of climbing to the ranks of gods is not a far journey.” He opens the door, revealing a pristine, white lab with various equipment laid out on the metal table at the center, above it, a large glass window embedded in the ceiling that trickles bitter, blue light onto Krios’ body.

“Our dream?” You dive further into the darkness, away from that silver sharp gleam. “I never wanted any of this. It was never a dream‒ it was a remedy, a medicine, a solution. But never a dream. You’re wrong, you have always been‒ I wish I could have seen that, but you knew I couldn’t.” That night you met him was clear now‒ having turned it over and over in your head as your memories were pulled by the threads of Rook’s heart, revealing a striking monument of your lost humanity. “I don’t care if you tear and rip me apart like the jaws of Kronos‒ I’ve felt pain, I’ve felt loss, I’ve been eaten away by death." The heat returns to your tongue, smoldering red in the flesh of your throat, your lungs, your chest behind your clenched teeth‒ the blood runs wild in your veins. “Death to you, to it all. If that means the same for me‒ I do not care. I will die as the centuries built inside me‒ the people, the earth, the happiness, the loss‒ I will die human. Not as some phantom as you are, Krios."

A hand snaps like a serpent at your neck, bringing your throat close to his sharp teeth. You harden your face. “You should be grateful then, little lamb. You will end as you please soon‒ a human, an animal, a husk‒ it is no matter to me. Your empty vessel will serve as trial for my rightful ascent to godhood."

"Do as you please, doctor. You will bleed your body of its remaining life and will never be filled with anything resembling godhood. The only thing you will be left with is your vanity and the remaining scraps of your idiotic dream." There's an image that descends upon you‒ a reliquary of adoration in the form of images curated from Rook's hands. His camera, petrifying a moment of his love for your hands. You take a fragment of the light kindled by his ghostly touch, bringing vigor to your gaze. Krios scoffs with his usual conceit, but the feeble waiver in his eyes against yours feeds your flame with triumph.

"You were nothing before I found you, you understand? I made you. You owe your body, your everything to me‒ and I will take you apart piece by piece to retrieve what is rightfully mine. Then, you'll see the mark of a god.” He spat. But there is no saliva that forms on his tongue, no blood which vexes his throat pink. There is no sign of life you see within his body, despite the two of you being made of the same ingredients. When he flexes his arm to pull you off the ground from your feet, knocking you to the wall‒ you find that there is no sweat, no creak of his machinery‒ just a soundless sweeping movement. Perhaps some would compare the mystic workings of his synthetic muscles to a god, but you knew it was void of any spirit, any frailty to be considered something as man made as divinity.

There is a familiar rasp in your joints as you begin to stand, dark fluid writhing from your body as it meshes your body back together again. Unable to solidify your body into one piece, you crawl over to Krios who has turned to prepare his tools, who shoots you an repulsed stare, kicking your hands away at his feet.

“Pathetic. Though perhaps it was partially my lapse of judgment, allowing you to keep rotting flesh in that perfect body I made you. No matter. I will fix such miscalculations soon, dear lamb.”

There's a sharp smile that streaks across his face, a glimmering metal that is gripped in his stilled hands. Your memories piece together that it is the Kopis knife from all those centuries ago, still as keen and fluid as a crescent moon, untouched by time. He’s been waiting for a moment like this, there is little surprise in that realization, just a growing resentment which hardens your grasp around his solid ankle, resisting his arm heaving you towards the metal table above you. He finally tears your hand from his ankle with a frustrated growl, hurling your body carelessly onto the table, clashing with the metal tools laid out on the table in haste to begin the process.

As you struggle to quicken your healing process, Krios reaches for his worn staff, waving it to bind you down with a burst of magic. With slow, taunting movements, he reaches for the knife once more, checking the sharpness of the blade in the blue glint of the oceanic glow. He steadies it above your heart, which nearly brushes against your skin as your chest rises and falls. Your ears fill with the serene rhythm of your heart, your vision crystalline to the knife that will gouge your open, bleeding you of your life. Muscles, tightened by struggle, now relax.

“Remember your old name, child. You have fallen far from the Jupiter name, so now I shall reap you of everything you were once worth with these divine hands.”

You do. You remember your family name, your mother's soft face and touch, the worn hands of your master; your sick, dying friend; Idia and Ortho Shroud‒ many faces that come rushing to you like outstretched hands. But nothing quite in those memories clutch and weave against you like the face of Rook, filling you with all of the earth's warmth. You never thought death would be like this, having felt it in the weary palms of your hands in fleeting heartbeats, fading warmth. It was, rather, brimming with what you felt was deathless heat and love like the blazing sun, sprouting your chest to the celestial skies where it consumed itself. Memories, touch, love. Him, him, him. Images of him plunged to your heart, sharper than that knife Krios held that threatened to carve your flesh. Perhaps if there was a god, it was this. In these last moments, you would devote every sense, every thought, all your worship and humanity to it. You were sure your heart would gush with florid blood, ablaze in all of its wild heat if you were to be slain now. It brings you peace in that moment, you lay your palms up towards the heavens, relaxing your body to the somber seaborne light. You remember your name, touched and alive by his voice. His laughter, his tenderness, his hunger, his fire, his adoration‒ your only thought is that you wished you could have loved him again, and again, and again until it felt like you had carved yourself tight against his shape.

Krios raises the knife, swinging down with surgical precision down to the center of your heart.

Red, red, red. May its animal vivacity color your body whole again in this one last, final death.

You hear glass shattering, and it's like the first rainfall you remember as a child, the fragments of sharp glass glimmering like plunging stars dying into the entropy of the cosmos. Time has never been kind enough to slow for you, but in this second it does, offering you a chance when Krios raises his neck towards the sound, forgetting for a moment, to tether you to the table. You know to raise your hand to the stars, reaching high to catch the hand which reaches for you. Instantly it molds against his touch‒ you would know this hand, this warmth, this shape better than any marble you've chiseled in the four hundred centuries you've continued to create. Rook.

He pulls you up on his broom, against his back.

"You're late." There is no certainty in this statement, but you say it with conviction. The speed of which he hauls your bodies upwards towards the entrance he made makes you immediately latch onto his waist for support, digging your head into his back to bask in his warm fragrance once more.

"I'm here now, mon coeur. You know I would dive deep to the corners of the earth, to the fires of hell for you."

Your pressed bodies echo each other's heartbeat into your bodies, saturating your flesh and thought with each other's life. It feels as if your hearts touch, thundering against one another, pacing its speed with the other. The darkened sky beginning to stain with the rising sun is the only thing to bring you into the present moment, coloring your vision the color of blood and flesh. It's a grotesque color, but you revel in the prickling feeling it brings you.

You feel him lower you closer to the ground, where you see Idia conversing with white-suited figures, which you presume were Jupiter Enterprise officials from their uniforms. Maybe this is when it finally ends. Your body is tired, so you gladly take Rook’s hand when he dismounts from the broom. He lets you stay far from Idia for a bit, giving you a moment to gather yourself before you're thrown into an interrogation. Your hands are still intertwined, you don't want to let go. But you have to, in order to clamp your arms around his neck, squeezing your eyes to feel every curve of his body.

"How did you find me?"

He squeezes back, your hearts now face to face with each other, how it was meant to be.

He chuckles. "I only had to follow my heart, of course."

You mirror his joy with a puff from your nose. "Sap. I bet it has something to do with your magic."

"Ah! Deduced already. Secrets are never safe from you."

There is a moment of silence, allowing the two of you to sink in each others touch. Two souls, just simply, being. Moments ago, you had accepted your fate, clinging your remaining fragments of humanity and love to his memory‒ but now here he was‒ you didn't quite know how to shape your hands against his form, to bring him closest as you possibly could to engrave the expanse of your fondness‒ carve your hands so they could better love him. But you did know to squeeze harder, pull yourself closest as flesh allowed to pour the rhythm and heat of your life into his. You mull this sweet peace in your throat, warming it with the terrific fitter of your heart‒ the sensation of the mild sun tingles on your tongue, and you yield to its words like an ardent acolyte. Memories, touch, love. Him, him, him. If there was a god, it was this image, this body sculpt against his.

"Roi de Ta Chambre is likely discussing the steps to discharging that doctor once and for all. He seemed adamant on settling that on our journey here." He wraps his arms around your waist. "What will you do now, Maître d’Ivoire?"

"I suppose thank you, Rook."

He blinks, a boyish smile blooms on his face. You feel it in the heat of his cheeks, growing high against your face with his joy. "No need, mon ami. I simply could not stand being away from you, that is all."

"No. Not just for this." You separated your head from his shoulder, grazing your bare hand onto his cheek, brushing a cold thumb against it. "Thank you. For everything." His cheek is smooth as marble, warmed with your touch as you press your tingling lips against it. It's hot‒ almost burning against your flesh, but you savor its heat with a smile that widens softly against his skin. That smile makes his own widen when you pull back, your image against the blazing sun solidifying that picture of clarity inside him once more.

His hand laces around yours. You'd carve your shape against his as long as time allowed, fitting together as one, sculpt from each other's adoration. It feels like an eternal kiss, breath pouring the rhythm of life into one another. You savor the carnal taste from through his touch, your heart growing vibrant in its warmth. The two of you step forward, hand and hand.

——————————————————

Notes:

Reliquaries most often refer to a container for holy relics or even parts of holy people/saints, etc, and are worshiped as an integral part of a church/cathredral. I wanted to use the imagery of divine sanctuary and devotion so I thought that would be the perfect way to describe it

Ugh I dislike writing plot driven parts like I have to actually decide what happens next?? So much work

Mon coeur means "My heart" 🥺🥺

Sorry it seems like an abrupt ending??? But I feel like Jupiter Enterprises has enough power to imprison Krios of put him on trial for abusing his position as researcher and doctor even with S.T.Y.X's position, since it's a violation of ethical code than anything??? Like his license would definitely be taken away and Jupiter Enterprises will probably investigate into S.T.Y.X's activities, eventually leading them to the evidence of MC's experimentation. Idia and Ortho obviously help with the investigation, probably silenced before by their parents on the matter

Gonna start working on the Azul x Siren fanfic next~ so stay tuned for that

[chancellorxofxtrash]

I managed to figure out why it cannot be Ace who breaks through to Keiwa

Sure, he has protag privileges, so he might be the one who FULLY pulls him back from this current state, but it has to be Michinaga who makes the first crack, even if he fails

A promise of "a world where everyone can be happy" rings hollow to someone whose entire family just died, and who kept wishing a similar thing and had been ridiculed for it, his ideals crushed over and over again (you can go into the differences between their wishes, yes, but this is not the post for that, there are differences, indeed, moving on).

"But G," I can hear you say, "Ace's entire family just died too" and you are absolutely correct! But there are a few key differences which make their different reactions and ways of dealing with it understandable.

First of all: the deaths themselves. Sure, Keiwa's parents died years ago, but he wasn't even there. And he just recently found out the ACTUAL circumstances too. It's a fresher wound. He JUST found it out, not to mention, his sister died in his arms, from a mortal wound, clearly in pain and suffering, and desperately trying to hold on.

Mitsume? She went after actually GETTING CLOSURE alongside Ace. For them, actually finding each other and talking was closure. Mitsume was at peace with what was happening, and even though Ace is grieving her, he is much better at accepting that as long as he can find a way to be happy, his mother's life and death won't be in vain (and to ensure it doesn't happen to anyone else again). Also let's not forget - Ace's quest to find his mother was just as much a quest for ANSWERS as well about his OWN existence - which he GOT.

Second of all: their ages and general circumstances. Keiwa, before the DGP was Just A Guy(tm). A Regular Fucking Dude. A bit aimless but like, dude's still young, early twenties, being aimless isn't the end of the world usually. Ukiyo Ace is anything BUT Just A Guy(tm). He has thousands of years of memories, numerous losses. Losses he had centuries to deal with, to compartmentalize, to move on from. Yeah, Mitsume - but as I said before it was just as much a search for answers and a lack of complete closure. He is much better at grabbing a feeling, putting it aside, focus on the problem ahead (ie: Jitt, saving Tsumuri, clearing out the Jyamato). Keiwa simply doesn't have the same way to do it, and reacts the worst possible way. Which he does. But it really cannot be expected of him to deal with this loss as (seemingly) well as Ace does.

It would ring hollow to him. A world where everyone can be happy - but how can he, with his entire family being dead to fuel wishes? He lost everything, he cannot see anything else. He could potentially work with Ace, try to figure out how HE can use his powers? Does it still work with using misery as fuel when it's him, and not the goddess? He could accept Neon's support, who tried reaching out to him about this. But he simply doesn't see the options he HAS, clinging into the initial ideas. As long as he gets his wish, things can be fixed, he thinks.

And then they don't.

Keiwa used to believe Ace's words of "as long as you try, and really put your heart into it, you can make your wish come true" (I actually can't remember now if Ace did this speech TO him any time, or a variation of it, but if he didn't, he WOULD have believed him.) But now he doesn't. He wouldn't. He can't. Because Ace can't promise him that he can fix things, and Keiwa can't redirect his focus to the danger.

You know who was the one who was the other way around? Someone who didn't quite believe Ace's words, or at least didn't think he was sincere about it, but now believes him? Someone who incidentally also lost everything before, making him lash out completely? Michinaga.

Even the inciting incident was similar, as we all often pointed it out when it happened. Tooru desperately clinging to life in Michinaga's arms, leaving him confused and in grief and pain, not knowing what was happening.

So Michinaga gets it. Ace, even if he'd try to help, he wouldn't be able to meet Keiwa on a level he needs to, right now. Ace is focused on saving Tsumuri (RIGHTLY SO), Keiwa just wants to fix things, and they just inevitably crash. Michinaga can meet Keiwa on a level where he GETS IT. He KNOWS what this is like.

Maybe he'll fail ultimately. (I still think it'd be cool if they'd fight Beroba and Kekera together.) But I really think Michinaga has a good chance at making a crack at getting through to Keiwa. Something to make him... start to doubt himself.

To bring in Neon, I could also imagine Neon also making a crack through to Keiwa, through... sympathising through her also missing Sara. Or something. But ultimately she also can't quite meet her on the level Keiwa needs to be met at, and probably it'll be Ace who'll FULLY pull Keiwa back, because Protag Privileges

Anyway excuse my ramblings I just have Many Thoughts

[carnalapples]

hi!!!!!! i have questions!!!!!!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

9. How do you find new fic to read?

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Hello thank you for the ask Rowan!!!!!

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

I’m pretty proud of the different AUs in rivers; I enjoy thinking through all the chain reactions that would have had to occur for a certain set of circumstances to be in place. I’m also really happy with how the world of my Hawke/Sebastian fic is coming together, although I still need to do a lot of work before it gets someplace I’d be happy publishing (and I am impatient). The Free Marches are such a good playground!! I like the idea that Ashna’s sister is Inquisitor in this world, even though it barely comes up lol. She recruits the templars as one major change, and I like the potential mirroring of a dynamic between the Hawkes and the Trevelyans. (The more I look at what I consume and write, I really like strange family dynamics lol!)

While I'm off-topic, wedding ceremonies. Real or fictional, I'll never get tired of learning about them, lol.

9. How do you find new fic to read?

I am a very picky reader at times, haha. I usually have an idea not so much of what specifically I want to read but what kind of mood I want to be in. Sometimes I know I want like a modern AU or a specific trope, or I might have Thoughts about one part of canon and want an AU specifically about that… (ME2 Horizon...) So usually I just go on AO3 to the fandom and filter characters/pairings and explore, sometimes with specific searches. For DA in particular I love the Black Emporium Exchange collections, the rarepairs are so good!

A lot of the fandoms I want to read for are smaller, so I'll just gradually work through everything that looks interesting haha. Really often, I’ll go to authors I enjoy and check out their bookmarks; because of this, I read fandom-blind a lot and have often gotten into fandoms after reading fic, which is always a fun time (This is how I got into Dragon Age, actually! And why I’ve read so much Mad Men fic for someone who has never seen Mad Men LOL)

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

I think I tried to stretch myself with a heart because I'd never written a continuous multi-chapter story before. Really, I took a risk with risky business; I’d never written for Zevran or Josephine before, and I was so nervous because I wanted to do it right and on a deadline. I don't know even now if I matched up to what I wanted, but with the deadline, I had to get it out there no matter what, and I couldn’t back out; that really helped. I think now when I write and I'm going over something over and over or delaying posting, I can ask myself: is it going to get any better with the skills I have, or is posting this and moving on to something else the way to grow?

Also, every time I write sex is pushing my comfort zone lol, I always post and think "oh ok, that's out there." Slowly trying to expand said zone.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I’ve recently been sidetracked from all things Dragon Age, and have been bouncing between that Miranda/Shepard fic and this fic for a Hindi movie I watched a while back. (At this point, I'm getting distracted from distractions 😭) A few lines from the latter:

He thinks that as much as he wants to protect Akira, she is the one protecting him. From getting old and bitter and somehow from dying. Suddenly, he feels a hollowness inside him, the conspicuous lack of something. The lack of her body and her warmth pressed tight up against him. The lack of her voice and her incessant chatter. His life is very quiet without her. Figuratively speaking, which is another thing he doesn’t really do without her. This life is not conducive to metaphor.  Her pants were too big, that’s what he remembers. They lent her the extras they had, and if they were big on Krishnan, of course they’d be big on her. She had to cinch them up, and he hates the way he feels when he thinks about it. 

Thank you again for the ask!!

[dysnomic-absolution]

forgot playlists actually convey emotion. was switching and just generally felt like SHIT for reasons i can’t put into words fully, and then we both (this alter and i) sit down to make a playlist and. lo and behold. i can sort a majority of the many songs in my big main playlist into something that i describe as “ghosting”. it’s depersonalization mixed with missing someone mixed with heavy fatigue mixed with feeling insubstantial physically. makes sense why i can’t put this into words. because it’s fucking complicated and specific. but now i have a grounding tool for when i feel like this. which is more often than i think i’m aware of. it’s not a bad thing to indulge these emotions—because if i feed them enough, they’re satisfied and the parts feeling them are heard and i can stabilize to the point of feeling better. because it’s a convoluted dance of passive influence and alters and triggered shit and all of this fucking CRAP that i need to take fifteen steps around to make sense of.

it also kind of got that heaviness more evenly distributed. i still don’t feel good. my eyes are like hollows in my skull. but that’s okay. i’m allowed to take my time with it—with everything. might make a list or something. usually this helps. also will be good for not forgetting stuff i have to do while i’m out of my fucking skull with dissociation, LMAO.

still not doing well, though. i need to sleep but i also have other tasks. and it’s hard to reconcile both of these realities. i’m so fucking tired. i forgot that this drags itself out—the missing, i mean. ever since i started dating Partner, i’ve been suffering horrible withdrawals. not because of a mental illness thing—though that makes it a lot fucking worse—but just because i only get to see P rarely. and the little contact we do have isn’t during Daylight Hours. so i miss them. and i forgot it was so terrible, because i would’ve been seeing them right around tomorrow if there weren’t circumstances preventing this and prolonging our being apart. which is dumb. i’ve got one of their sweaters. it’s saved for when i’m in dire straights in the coming while, because it smells like them. bundled away. i don’t think either of us are going to do well being unable to touch. or see each other. i hope i’m not like this the whole time. otherwise i really don’t want to do this again—the being apart. i don’t think they will either, whatever happens. it just hurts too much.

also i’m about to do something really new to me and it’s not something i can escape from. i’m in it until it’s done. and that’s a lot of pressure, especially since the dates were mixed up and two days ago i thought i’d be Doing The Thing, but now it’s tomorrow and so all of my plans are mangled. but they’re really not—it’s just. autism. going insane. over everything. but i managed to get things into containers and sorted it all neatly and i’m 90% done with all of the stuff i need to have ready for this Endeavor. i don’t want to leave anything behind and i’m scared to be alone, except alone is rarely the problem. it’s the people that come when you’re alone.

opportunists.

but if everything’s charged (two earbud cases charging) and i have all of my docs and books and i’m ready. i’m actually ready. crazy how that works. i’m just so fucking sleepy. probably because i took a 6:30am shift at 12am. from a panicked coworker. who i love very much and and hold no ill will towards. but oh my god. i got to bed at one or TWO AM. probably. and then was up at 5am. to leave by 6am. and so this is alan’s sleep dep driving my dark chariot, so to speak.

my cat is being very cute, though. so very adorable and sweet.

hard to be so fucking depressed when she’s here. tail flapping as she’s flopped down next to me.

i drew today. that’s weird. don’t do that often. but i’d like to do it more.

anyway essay over i’m switching again and i need to Do Stuff.

[demonologue]

Tavuary weekly prompt 2: Amour

Title: Whom Gods Destroy Characters: The Emperor, Tav, Astarion (mention only) Rating: M Summary: There is ONE man Tav has those feelings for. But he’s just a dream. (Spoiler warning for the reveal and the in-game scene I jumped off of for this) Cross-posted from ao3 with visual aids!

So you found the seat of the Absolute’s power, and what a power it is.

You hear his voice before you see him: your guardian, the dream visitor. And suddenly you’re back in the mystical landscape that exists inside the relic. Glancing around, you try to take in your surroundings this time. Is this a real place, or merely an illusion made of memory? And are the memories yours or his? They do look familiar, somehow. 

Then he steps from behind a pillar into view, and you find yourself unable to look at anything else. Your mouth gapes like a fish out of water. He is wearing…nothing; a gauzy half-robe that leaves his muscular chest, toned arms, and long legs almost completely exposed. 

Where is his armor? As intimate a presence as his voice inside your head has become–someone who is deeply known and trusted, anticipated–you have always thought of him formally. Your guardian is regal. Commanding. Yet you know he feels deeply, for when he reads your mind, his thoughts are not completely hidden from you. 

This has been the sum of your relationship. And you have never, would never have thought of him like this. So what is happening? And why? Perhaps this is just a dream after all, and no actual visitation. You could ask the others in the morning…if you manage get up the courage to describe…this. You can hear Astarion’s mocking laughter already. No thank you. 

Your guardian pauses and looks down at you as you sit up from your bedroll. The look on his face is that seldom-seen one; the one you usually catch only as a micro-expression, if you see it at all. It is a predatory look; dangerous, but with just a hint of amusement. You are mine, it says. And I am pleased.  

That should trouble you now. But it doesn’t. You are still stunned to see so much of his body. The twisting gold which adorns his arms serves more to highlight than hide. And then he says:

I don’t know how much longer I can resist it.

And you think gods, I am not made for this.

It’s as if your libido echoes his sentiment. And as he proceeds to speak of the dire circumstances at hand, you fall into a mindless reverie of his body. In a way you would never have dreamed of before tonight…and yet here it is, so you must be doing it. 

Your guardian sits down beside you, and your heart leaps into your mouth, beating like that of frightened prey. Settling next to you, so close your skin is growing hotter by the moment–surely he will notice– he bends one knee to rest his arm on it. 

He continues to speak in that urgent yet soothing tone you’ve come to know so well, about how perilous your joint circumstance is, how crucial your mission. Something something Ketheric Thorm. 

You try to listen, but there’s a ringing in your ears. His inner thigh. Why did he just bare his inner thigh to you…and do it so casually? There is a disconnect between the proximity of his mostly-nude form to yours and the dire import of his words. Your brain cannot reconcile it.

Worse, you cannot stop staring. You force your gaze forward. Listen! You chide yourself. The lives of many depend on you. But you find yourself stealing glances at the figure beside you. You wonder what his skin would taste like. 

No! Listen! Look at literally anything else. Oh gods. He’s saying something about waves now. And your distracted brain thinks of the beach. The two of you sitting together as the waves gently caress the sand. How it would feel to bury your face in the hollow of his thigh…

You may be having a stroke, because your brain is not processing any of his important words. You bend forward and pretend to be listening. You pull your new shirt down to disguise your body’s reaction to him. To this.

Stop, eyes! Stop caressing his bare skin; he didn’t give permission. This is wrong. Your dreaming has transported you here to a demiplane that shouldn’t exist. More than a few things here are wrong, but nothing more so than the way your body is betraying you right now. Listen! You tell yourself. This is important! 

I almost dare not rest.

Oh no. The situation is even worse than you’d thought, and you’ve hardly heard a word. He glances over at you and you immediately wish you could dive head-first into the Abyss. You would do it now, if the opportunity presented itself. Without a second thought. 

But his expression remains how you see it most often: exhausted, hurt, yet determined. There is a steel will behind those blue-green eyes. A brief pause comes as he looks at you, and then one pierced eyebrow quirks. 

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, please keep talking. Mission. Important. That giant shipment of tadpoles heading for Baldur’s Gate you and the others just found. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you blurt out. A distraction. Please, gods. Anything. 

But it’s true; you don’t like to think about him fighting this war alone, unable to rest. He’s so beautiful brave and so very close dedicated. He deserves whatever help you’re able to give. 

You realize in this moment that you would die for him, eagerly and gladly, and it’s an ugly realization. One you should really hold at arm’s length and examine. But you can’t now. You don’t want to. 

You’re here, and he’s here, and you are together in this sacred space, alone. Like when he called you to the beckoning cave in the astral plane. The metaphor hits you now like ice down your back, shivering, too much. He wanted you. He demanded to see you alone.

He’s taking too long to answer your question. Oh gods, please let him say anything that’s not addressing what’s happening here. Your guardian has always been the picture of courtliness and formality--well, except for the part where he speaks into your mind, unbidden, at any time that suits him, and seems to be eavesdropping on everything you do. But surely he won’t draw attention to the fact your body has suddenly and utterly betrayed you with the enthusiasm of an adolescent boy. 

I’m afraid this burden is one I have to carry alone.

Oh, thank gods. Thank gods. Back to serious conversation. Hero talk, yes. Just a few more minutes of that, and your hormones should start to calm down. 

But…

No!

I feel I must apologize to you.

No no no no–what?

I must confess. I noticed when you were here, physically in my sanctuary… He actually glances away then, releases a breath. For a moment, he looks almost…demure?

What did he notice then? You wrack your brain, trying to remember any possible misstep. But no. You were overwhelmed to finally meet him in the flesh, but you didn’t…do anything…did you? Perhaps you blushed. That’s very likely. Your indigo skin was on fire and your heart had been beating out of your chest. 

But that could have been attributed to any number of things. You’d just been fighting for your life in the creche, after all. 

He’s still not looking at you. You seemed to find this form…pleasing. He glances up at you and then away, lightning quick.

Was that…shyness? Your regal, confident dream guardian is shy?! No. No, that’s not possible. 

So…I thought to show you more of it. He turns his head, looking 180 degrees away from you. And the only thing you can think of is the way his ponytail is just a little messy at the very back of his top bun. It’s endearing. A mortal imperfection in an otherwise perfect form. But now I see I may have gone too far. I never meant for it to be a distraction to you. 

Oh god, oh god, please don’t say it!

And for that, I must apologize. But when he turns to meet your gaze, it’s no longer the shy youth he pantomimed moments ago looking back at you. It’s something ancient. Predatory. Testing you. Wearing a sexy smirk that is daring you to react, and makes your hackles rise.

It’s…a lot. You’re not sure how to take it; or even how he means it. But you are a druid, and you know when another animal is trying to dominate you. It’s time to set some boundaries. Just like you did with Astarion that first night. 

“It’s true,” you begin, willing yourself to hold that alien, alpha gaze. “I would be lying if I said you…your appearance today wasn’t distracting. I’m not sure why you chose to reveal…so much of your body to me now, but I do know this: what’s happening outside this place is too important for distractions. 

“So…and please forgive me. It’s not that I–”

You swallow your words. The shame your visceral longing for him engenders in you. How desperately you want to climb on top of him and hold him down, devour every inch of him until that sonorous voice begs you for release.

You breathe in through your nostrils, exhale through your mouth. Count your heartbeats to ten.  

“Please don’t take this as an insult, because I swear to all the gods, it is nothing of the kind.” With that, you slip off your new silk shirt and hold it open, offering it to him. 

It has not escaped your notice: he’s never touched you. In all the intimate conversations you’ve had, the time you’ve spent together in dreams and in reality, he has never so much as hinted at a desire to do so. That’s as it should be. He is a general giving you, a mere soldier, orders. 

And yet. There is a mewling, pitiful part of you that you’ve pushed deep down; one that is desperate to touch him. To be touched by him. You're far too old for an infatuation like that. And you cannot, will not acknowledge it now.

He hasn’t touched you. Somehow, you just know: he won’t touch you. And so you hold the shirt out to him, for him to choose if he will take it or not. 

Your visitor does take it, graciously lifting it from your hands in a way that is careful to avoid physical contact. When he slips it on, the hem is almost longer than the toga he’s wearing, and you want to laugh, but you still can’t stop staring at his legs. 

Gods help you. You’d offer him your pants, but then you’d be the naked one. 

As he pulls the shirt on, he looks at you from the corner of his eye. It’s not to gauge your reaction; this time he’s looking at you. For just a moment, you can feel his white hot gaze on your body.

Now his chest is covered, you can concentrate on his face while he’s talking. Your mind can finally listen, but your body knows, if you glance down just so much, you can still see his bare thighs. It reacts to this knowledge, violently, and you fold your hands strategically in your lap, pretend to cough. There is nothing else to be done about…that now, so you ignore it. 

Thank you. He nods, the noble tactician once more. And you nod back. 

In any case, the Absolute knows you carry me with you now. It wants to retrieve me.

Your whole being bristles at this. Ketheric Thorm can’t have your dream visitor. You’ll die before a single cultist lays a finger on the prism. 

Bad enough you have to share him with the others–for you learned weeks ago, on nights when he visits, the dream is the same for all of you. The same visitor, the same words, just different visages. They are your found family, and the guardian’s chosen. You are connected, and so you bear it. But Ketheric Thorm? He is just another necromancer with delusions of grandeur, and he will fall by your hand. 

You ask why Thorm wants him, but you already know. Your visitor is special. Powerful. Unique in all the worlds.

I am the only one who can resist the Absolute’s influence.

That steel will you can only admire. Petty despots always seek to stamp out resistance. He explains what the enemy wants, and what you must do next. So many depend on you. It should be intimidating, but your body is humming: do it for him. I want to do it for him. This should concern you, but the sheer force of your desire is painful right now; it repels thought. 

Now I must rest, and you must carry on. Do not let my efforts be in vain.

“Never,” you promise, sounding like the most smitten fool. You’d hate yourself for it, but his eyes are still on you, and you have to soak up every last drop of his attention. You find yourself physically unable to break eye contact with him, and you have no desire to do so anyway. 

Finally, he releases you, and you begin to fall back into a dreamless sleep. Or so you thought. 

Friend. 

The way he says it draws you back.  

Soon. 

You give him a questioning look.

I can feel that which you desire…your wish to touch me. And I…I, too, wish for it. But you are not yet ready. 

You have a certain appendage that is physical proof to the contrary, but it’s an odd turn of phrase, and so you just listen. “When?” you find yourself asking, your breath become shallow with possibility.

Soon. Bear with me just a little longer. Please.

He reaches toward you, as if to caress your cheek, but he stands meters away. A conciliatory gesture only. But in his eyes there is an ache that mirrors your own. And it haunts you.

[erigold13261]

I’m a bit afraid to ask but… what’s your thoughts on JJK S2 + the movie so far?

Already said this, but why the FUCK can Maki hear curses and why does she look at them when she doesn't have glasses on!? And Mei Mei is wonderfully animated (though I talked more with a coworker about her and I fucking hate that the series turns her into... THAT.)

But I'm liking it so far! I kept saying in my head that the reasoning that Satoru used to get Yuta to join JJK was fucking stupid. He's been lonely his whole fucking life (or at least the last 6 years) why the fuck does Satoru saying "wouldn't that be lonely?" or whatever change Yuta's mind to WANT to join JJK?

The kid literally tried to kill himself seriously enough that Rika had to stop the knife! He had full intention to end himself but just saying he could be lonely gets him to change his mind of 6 years of loneliness and trauma? I just thought that part was a bit dumb/rushed.

LOVED the design for cursed Rika though! Absolutely amazing design right there! Like her a lot more before the eye became a part of the design though.

OH! YEAH! Why the fuck is Yuta still alive!? The pact was for Rika AND him to die! That is how the curse was broken! It was a PACT! No matter if Rika wanted him to live, he should have died with her! >:(

Anyway, the movie was really good. Satoru is a fucking baby who could have stopped everything from going to shit if blue just killed Suguru at the end of the movie (obviously there would be no story but dude, come on. You know he's a threat).

Oh! Also love how Rika was animated when Yuta walked into the classroom for the first time. That was really well done!

And Maki is a bitch. Like way more of a bitch than she needs to be. I get her being upset with herself because she can't see curses or use cursed energy (and this was before more of her character development later in her life), but she still felt so much ruder to Yuta than she needed to be.

There is a difference between being blunt and being mean, and I feel like she was just being mean. Or at least projecting onto him (or I guess doing that tsundere thing because apparently she liked him and he liked her? Don't know why but kinda wish Rika and her's dynamic got fleshed out a bit more or something idk.).

For the Hidden Arc, I wish we got to see more young Kento and Yu. Like obviously I wasn't expecting much, but WHY bring them to Okinawa at all if those two weren't going to actually help Riko? (loved the annoyed fave Kento did when he heard Satoru and Suguru were staying an extra night though. That made me laugh hehe).

Speaking of Riko, I was NOT expecting that ending at all... I did not like her attitude in the beginning, but I was giving her grace because of the circumstance she was in. Which is why I warmed up to her really quickly by the end of the arc.

Talked with a coworker to ask if we get more information about Heavenly Pacts because those sound interesting, but looks like we only get scraps and tidbits throughout the series so far. Which sucks because hearing Toji's story really got me interested in them.

Toji was also really cool! Kinda annoying with how he acted, BUT it actually worked in favor for his character I think! He is really fucking smart but just has this I don't care attitude that usually annoys me, yet it works with him because he seems consistent? I don't know how to explain it, but he's fun and not totally annoying in how he acts.

Also, can he actually see curses? Because he has NO cursed energy, does the Heavenly Pact allow him to do that? That's what I am assuming, but I don't know shit about Heavenly Pacts yet.

Oh yea! When he got his with hollow purple I think the animators should draw organs! Him and Satoru should have been showing some guts from their wounds! Would have been better to me lol.

Speaking of gutting, does Suguru get to just keep using curses that were destroyed/exorcised? I swear that rainbow dragon got killed like 2-3 times and he kept using it, but Megumi's shadow puppets die and can never be used again? That sucks (maybe I am misremembering the curses Suguru uses, it's not like he can unsummon them like Megumi can).

That scissor/am I pretty curse that Suguru uses is so fucking cool! I want to see that one more!

I am just rambling now honestly. They were all really good. Almost all my problems with it so far are very nitpicky and technical. But I'm enjoying the show still up to this point!

(Still not looking forward to Hanami's death. Was also told Mechamaru dies later to Mahito and I hope it looks cool. Like if you are gonna kill a cool character let them die in a cool way! From what I was told Hanami dies in a dumb way and I want her to be dead in a cool way!

I think we also don't get to see her domain!!! NOOOOO! Please tell me we do! I hope my coworker just didn't remember it and we get to see it! We already saw Volcano Heads, Cuttle Fish, and Mahito's domains! Don't fucking tease us for Hanami's! She was about to use it before Satoru decided to be a bitch and shoot her! >:0)

Okay yea, lol. I'm done. Good shit so far!

[seawater-aurelia-writing]

The Break

Pairing(s): Fem!MC/Yuu/Reader x TBD

Summary: MC finally shuts down from all of her acts of helping with overblots and the countless favors/demands that are asked of her. When the Prefect of Ramshackle is the one who needs help, who steps forward?

WARNINGS

I am not the best at labeling warnings or triggers but I can say that this story is laden with neglect, self-neglect, anxiety, possible depression and attempts to justify the above. There could be more labels that I can add but i’m unsure how to word them - so please exercise caution.

Quick Note: The reader in this story is largely based upon Cinderella, for multiple reasons (#1 being that I want to and #2 being that I absolutely love Cinderella and think she’s amazingヾ(•ω•`)o ) . If that type of character behavior annoys or offends you, I recommend skipping this!

She should have seen it coming; The break. Her break.

Her sight blurred with tears, which spilled over her eyes  quickly as she laid upon the floor of the library – cold and alone. In front of her, just out of reach, laid her phone amidst the plentiful books which laid strewn chatoticly across the floor from her harsh tumble. Her phone vibrated constantly cause M/C o flinch as she imagined the messages that must be flying across her notifications; Her friends and upperclassmen asking for favors and why she hadn’t completed what they asked.

‘I need to… get up.’ She thought to herself, willing herself to move her arms but her body was more akin to cold, ancient steel, a machine that had been abandoned and forgotten throughout time; It felt nothing like how she was a month ago, a week ago, a few hours ago. ‘ I have.. so much left to do.’

As she tried to find the will to stand – M/C thought of how she ended up in this position; body battered and bruised after falling from the top of the ladder in the deserted corner of the library.

 She could barely life her feet as she made her way down the path, back towards Ramshackle Dorm. In her arms, Grim lay curled into her chest as he slept peacefully in her arms.

‘We both had a long day.’ MC mused to herself, gently pressing his closer as the cold, wintry wind blew harder. She recounted their day slowly, going over each task they had accomplished.

Crowley wished for them to wake up earlier to remove unwanted, viney weeds from around the campus gates, Sam’s Store, and the fencing around the Flying Course field in exchange he’d give them some aid to finally repair their roof. Unable to refuse such an offer, M/C awoke at 3 am to be able to accomplish all of the weeding.

However, Grim had not woken to any of her calls or he just ignored her, leaving M/C to venture into the darkened morning on her own to do the weeding.

After 2 hours, when she was finally able to head back to Ramshackle to freshen up before breakfast, she was stopped by Vil. The Pomefiore Dorm Head all but demanded her attention for an hour  in the afternoon, her lunch period specifically, to fetch him some arctic sea water from Azul.

Vil was supposedly unable to pick up the water himself as he had an impromptu photoshoot and Azul would only meet during lunchtime.

Despite the tone he used, M/C could sense that Vil was more antsy about missing his photoshoot -made more evident by the slight twitch at the mention of potentially missing the event. She agreed with a bright smile; choosing to ignore Vil’s comment about grass sticking to her and her ‘odor’ when she turned to leave.

Finally, she made it to Ramshackle and  rid herself of the stray remnants of debris before she freshened up. Grim, who finally awoke, all but rushed her from the home before she could rest – determined to beat Ace and Deuce to breakfast.

But as luck would have it, M/C could not make it to the Dining Hall before she was stopped by a rather, frazzled Ruggie, who all but shoved a bag of food onto her. He left rushed orders to take it to Leona as he was asked to help restock the lounge before classes. He ran off before she could refuse.

Grim happily skipped to the dining room, telling her not to waste time since he wasn’t going to save her any of the food. However, before she could rush off – Grim yelled back at her to pick up some tuna for him at Sam’s since she was going out of the main building anyway.

She only nodded, ignoring the hollowed feeling in her stomach and the way it rumbled in protest.

M/C remembers being stopped before she could reach Leona, the botanical garden just in sight. That view had been blocked by the ever-looming, Leech Twins. Floyd grinned down at her and plucked the sandwich from her hands.

“Ah! Koechi-chan is so sweet!~ She brought food for us, Jade” Floyd cheered, ignoring her protests and pleas for him to give her the food back.

“Indeed she did, Floyd.” Jade chuckled, doing nothing to stop his twin, who began to eat the food in front of M/C. “And by the way, Prefect. Vil told us that you would be the one picking up his items later today.”

“Y-yes that’s right. At lunch time.” She clarified, her voice softer as she deflated. In retrospect, she still didn’t know what she could have said to Floyd to make him stop. So many girls on Magicam were adamant about how they maintain dominance over their own friends to avoid being stepped on but they always sounded cruel; Giving instructions to ‘clapback’, to insult them,  to physically hurt them or poke at their insecurities to make them listen. She didn’t want to snap at the twins, not only would it not do her any good but angering them isn’t what she wanted.

“Azul needs to push that time to this evening, at dinner. Vil suddenly requested twice the amount and thus more payment is required.” M/C remembered the chill that ran down her spine as the Twins seemed to loom over her even more.

“P-Payment? But I don’t-“

“Rook is handling the payment but,in the even he doesn’t, please he prepared to pay any outstanding fees.”

The Twins ignored her pleas for clarification, with Floyd only turning around to demand that she be present for his basketball practice later today.

M/C recounted how, after that, her day became a blur with random intervals of clarity when another request or demand was made of her.

Ace and Deuce asking her to handle their chores in Heartslabyul of feeding the Hedgehogs and Flamingos while they went to mandatory study hall with Professor Trein.

Trey caught her and asked for her to pick up some cream from Sam’s shop for him. She also picked up the tuna that Grim had asked for and the only thing she could afford to eat to replace the breakfast that she missed – a discounted egg salad sandwich.

A sandwich she could only eat half of, as the other half was given to Silver, who had missed breakfast looking for Malleus. He had not asked anything of her, she remembered, but the way he looked at her was odd to say the least. He was adament on her sitting down and finishing her half of a sandwich before leaving  but the appearance of Ortho, who asked for her to run an errand for Idia, pulled her away.

Her classes came and went, leaving her feeling isolated as usual. Professor Crewel, never one to shy away from a ‘training’ opportunity, chided her for using an incorrect about of Phoeniz wings in her potion. He only became agitated when she proceeded to answer his questions about the potion, a simple draught, completely wrong. Grim was of no help as even he didn’t know the answers, nor did Ace or Deuce by what they had said but Ace and Grim took great joy in laughing at her misery.

Normally, it wouldn’t have affect her but today, it hurt.

But she smiled anyway.

Lunch time came and, again, she was stopped before she entered the dining hall. Sebek  demanded her help in finding Malleus, who was not present at lunch. Again, Grim deserted her as Sebek grabbed her and dragged her along beside him and Silver to find Malleus.

Again, Silver regarded her in an odd way but he said nothing out of the ordinary towards her.

They never did find Malleus and Sebek took too yelling at her for being unable to be of any use in finding him.

“..Sorry, Sebek. I’ll try harder next time.” Was all she could say, while Silver chided him on being too harsh.

As they made it back to the main building, it was time for classes; She had missed lunch as well.

 ‘Perhaps that’s why I was so dizzy.’ She thought to herself, managing to prop herself onto her elbows. The floor beneath her moved and rippled, similar to the waves in the great oceans back in her homeworld. ‘Correction, why I AM so dizzy…’

Her mind again wandered back to her day after lunch time; Where her day only worsened.

Without any proper food in her, there was no way that she could stay awake with Professor Trein’s class. Lucius quickly spotted her and alerted Trein, before Deuce could fully wake her up.

“Do you believe yourself too smart to pay attention within my class, Miss M/C.” He sneered, a glare firmly on his face as he gazed down at her.

“N-No, sir. I’m sorry, Professor! It wasn’t-“

“Silence.” His voice was firm as harsh, caushing her to flinch and shrink in her seat. “There will be no talking back to me of any kind. I had high expectations of you, Miss M/C and yet you have a complete lack of manners. As punishment, you will write me a paper explaining the important of Magical History, no less than 10 pages. If it is not on my desk first thing in the morning, then expect a harsher punishment. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes, sir.” She mumbled, her head bowed in submission. M/C could remined the feeling of the heat behind her eyes; How hard it was to hold back tears in that moment.

She hadn’t expected kindness from Professor Trein but it seemed no one was recognizing that she was doing the absolute best that she could do with the circumstances that she was in.

She was blunt and sarcastic at times, yes, but she can’t think of anyone who can hold their tongue constantly. Yet when she seemed to speak, unless it was humorous in nature or her agreeing with those around her- she went unheard. But if she pressed and asked for help, who would drop their things to come to her aid?

Those thoughts plagued her for the rest of the day;

Even as Floyd threatened and scolded her for missing basketball practice, where she was supposed to stock the ice water and the cool towels for him,  even though Epel asked her to pick up some old weights from Ruggie.

Even when Ruggie scolded her for not delivering Leona’s sandwich, calling her a thief for eating the sandwich when she reassured him that she didn’t and that Floyd had taken it.

Even when Ace and Deuce whined and complained about letting them down for not feeding the animals properly, when she couldn’t do it properly as they never explained all of the rules to her.

Even when Azul asked, demanded, that she find a specific book for him within the dark recesses of the library before closing as Vil’s additional fee– the thoughts never left her.

In truth, she was merely an anomaly in this world; An irregularity that didn’t belong, didn’t have a place within this magic, twisted world that she found herself in. She was without even the most basic magic to help her through her day to day life as the other had. M/C didn’t know even the most basic of terms within classes that would help her – shown by her struggling grades and performance.

She wouldn’t last outside of NRC, even Crowley had alluded to that. She had no birth certificate, no I.D. on her person, and no family of which to speak of.

Who would risk their own education and future to help someone who wouldn’t be able to do anything on their own anyway?

Even Grim, the other half to her ‘whole student’ was beginning to separate from her as his magic was matured and refined.

But that was why she smiled, was it? She smiled because she liked being needed, feeling as if she had a place in a world where she had none. Even if it ended with her being overworked, sleep-deprived and feeling so hollow – she was needed. A little suffering was nothing.

If her friends would excel in the world around her, wouldn’t that be worth it all? They shouldn’t have to suffer and fail in their classes just because a useless anomaly couldn’t handle the most basic of things.

‘It’s fine.’ She thought to herself, finally pushing herself to her knees. She winced, her movements letting her know just how bad her fall had truly been; Her chest hurt and ached with every beat of her heart, her right leg, the one which hit the ground first, was pulsing and red hot and all over – it felt as if fire ants were stinging her.

“It’s..fine.” She mumbled to herself, reaching with shaking hands to begin the task of stacking the books that she knocked over.

“No, it is not.” Came a hardened voice from behind her.

M/C tensed, her eyes widening as she registered the voice as Professor Trein. As she straightened her back quickly, aiming to turn to look at her professor, the room began to spin once more. Sound all around her became muffled as it felt as though her entire was was submerged underwater.

 “ -s M/C. Are your manners that abhorrent that you cannot even turn to face when when I speak to y-.” Professor Trien fumed but his voice faded away despite how hard she attempted to focus on it.

“P-Professor…” She whimpered, curling into herself to try to stop the sensations around her; But they never ceased, even as she felt something wet run down her face - a pain beginning to bloom upon her head as she focused on the wet feeling.

And it all went dark.

[loeyparker]

hurt her to save her - d.m

pairing: draco x fem!reader

word count: 7k 

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death and torture

plot: getting closer to Draco during sixth year has consequences. Draco realizes that when he’s forced to hurt you in order to keep you safe from Voldemort

a/n: my HP obsession is back so I’ve returned to writing fics but i might have went overboard with this one lmao . it wasn’t requested, but if someone wants part 2 i’m gonna do it <3

Draco Malfoy had a very good memory. Besides being cunning and arrogant, he was also incredibly smart – which is precisely why he was second best in most classes. Behind the cold, uncaring façade the youngest Malfoy put out into the world however, stood a boy who remembered things he probably should have forgotten.

Lately, Draco Malfoy couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything but fear. He attempted to mask the feeling either with anger, determination or indifference but the true, raw feeling of fear was behind it all, much like a dementor guarding all his other emotions. The past summer planted dread and terror deep into his mind and the ink on his skin felt like it was seeping through his skin, entering his veins and poisoning his heart.

By the time he arrived back at Hogwarts for his sixth year, he felt drained. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, the young boy attempted to pretend to be a normal student, despite the countless sleepless nights and stray tears that sometimes escaped through small cracks in the emotional wall he’d built around him over the years. The tears only saw the light of day in the darkness of the Room of Requirement, where he found himself surrounded by old artifacts and silence.  

“Draco, Severus has been telling me you seem distracted.” The soft, yet scared tone of Draco’s mother rang throughout the empty, rotting room in the Shrieking Shack. Broken windows allowed for the wind to invade the abandoned building violently and loudly, and to dance around the three figures standing in the dark. It caused a shiver to run up Draco’s spine, but he couldn’t tell if the reaction came from the cold or from Narcissa and Severus’s stares aimed at him.

Draco felt so small under their gaze.

“That’s true, I have been.” Draco admitted, looking forward. He focused on a spider trapping a moth in its web. “With school.” The moth fought, attempted to flap its wings but the web was too sticky. “I have to keep up my grades. Them dropping suddenly would be suspicious.” Draco’s voice didn’t waver, despite his heart beating at a much more rapid pace than normally.

“Lie.” Severus Snape spoke simply. The professor was tasked with taking care of the Slytherin boy, but he wasn’t about to listen to his childish lies while the man knew what he had been seeing in the past months around Hogwarts.

Draco didn’t move.

Narcissa sighed and got closer to her son. She placed her palms on Draco’s pale cheeks and she felt them being hollower than she remembered. Draco still didn’t look at her. The spider was covering the dying moth in his web, fully suffocating the creature.

“My boy, the dead don’t need lovers.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet, regretful even. Her heart ached for the boy who was so quickly deprived of a childhood.

“You cannot forget about the assignment because of a girl.” Snape spoke up, his voice monotonous.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Draco spat back and took a step away from his mother, whose hands dropped. He didn’t feel the lack of her palms on his cheeks, as they left no warmth Draco could feel. “And there’s no girl.”

“Do not lie to us, boy. I have seen you with the Ravenclaw girl, I am not blind.” Snape saw the glances between Draco and you in the Great Hall, he saw the way Draco fixed his gaze on you during DADA. He also caught you walking into the Room of Requirement not long after Draco the previous night. On top of that, Minerva had mentioned how Draco’s recent assignments closely mirrored yours. You had a certain style noticeable in your homework answers, and that style began to be seen in Draco’s own homework which lead everyone to speculate the two students may be closer than everyone thinks.

Before Draco could deny, Narcissa spoke “Under other circumstances, I’d be delighted to hear about a girl in your life.” Her tone was soft, yet it held an edge and sternness to it. “But you have a mission, Draco. Do I need to remind you of the consequences to befall our family if you don’t succeed?”

“No.” Draco spat. He already knew the consequences – loud and clear. They had been drilled into his mind, heart and soul the entire summer. If he couldn’t kill Dumbledore, Voldemort would kill Draco’s entire family instead.

“The girl is another weakness. Another person to add to the death list, Draco.” His mother pleaded. “You know he will kill her if he finds out.”

“I know.”

Draco could feel all the warmth in his body melt away and even his bones felt cold and heavy.

“You can still save her.” Snape spoke. “Focus on you mission, hurt her. Make her believe you don’t love her.”

Draco glanced at the spider one last time, and the moth laid still in the webs of the predator. The wind made the web sway, but only slightly. It was too sturdy to be blown away by any forces.

“Hurt her to save her.” Narcissa’s voice echoed through Draco’s mind all the way back to the castle. The Room of Requirement didn’t appear that night, and so the boy went to bed instead. He entered an empty Slytherin common room and even though the fire was burning, Draco couldn’t feel its warmth. Not even as he knelt in front of the flames, attempting to warm his freezing hands. His movements were mechanic. As he laid in bed that night, he couldn’t remember how exactly he got back into the dorm from the Shack.

However, he remembered events that took place years ago perfectly.

He especially remembered the night of the Yule Ball, two years prior. He can pinpoint the exact moment he spotted you in the crowd of well-dressed students. It was, in his mind, the first time he really, truly saw you. He remembered the small -but noticeable skip of his heart that happened as soon as his eyes landed on your figure. You were smiling, but sitting at the wrong table –  which confused him for a moment. You were sat at the Gryffindor table, right next to the Weasley twins who were making you laugh. A Ravenclaw boy whose name Draco didn’t know was behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders thus signaling that he was your date that night through possessive body language. You didn’t acknowledge his presence much, though.

Pansy, Draco’s date, made comments about your dress each time you stood up to dance. The long dark blue satin dress gently touched the ground with each step you took, the slit in its side slightly exposed your leg with each movement. There was a smile on your face the whole night.

Draco thought you looked so beautiful.

He thought you looked beautiful even when your glance danced towards Ron Weasley until the end of the ball.

Draco also remembered the night Pansy dragged you into Umbridge’s office a year later. She held your arms behind your back forcefully while you struggled to get out of her grasp. Your wand was in her possession and you looked angry. A great juxtaposition to how you looked on the night of the Yule Ball. He remembered thinking how much sense it made for you to be tangled in Harry Potter’s mess because that’s what Potter did. He had everyone on his side, all odds in his favor while Draco was being dealt bad cards at every turn.  

You fought and tried to get away from Pansy. Your hair was messy, and your oversized blue sweater was getting untucked from your jeans with each forceful move you made. A frown painted your soft features, your eyes seemed darker than usual. Draco caught a glimpse of the scars on your wrist which he immediately knew came from Umbridge’s detention sessions, and he felt a flicker of rage rise into his stomach. The feeling directly contradicted the satisfaction he had been feeling at the sight of Potter getting his plans spoiled right in front of him.

“Parkinson, lay it off.” Draco found himself spitting when he realized the pressure on your wrist was painful. He spoke before he realized what he was doing, and so he found the confused gazes of Ginny and Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and you – all fixed on him. Pansy obeyed Draco with discomfort.

You looked at him quizzingly, not really understanding why he was suddenly…helping you? He met your gaze just for a second before a heavy glare returned in his eyes and he turned away, focusing entirely on Harry and Umbridge.

It was minutes later when he watched your figure getting smaller as you ran away from Umbridge’s office, escaping with your friends. Draco and his friends were left behind and unable to follow as they each struggled with curses thrown at them in the escape. You were all long gone by the time the group of Slytherins came to, and Draco remembered that he found himself wishing he had people running into the line of fire for him like Harry did – he wished you would’ve glanced back at him in your escape and then weeks later when he was told about the events of that night, he found himself hoping his father didn’t hurt you in the Ministry attack.

Those thoughts and memories didn’t stay with him for long that summer, though. Draco couldn’t say that you crossed his mind after he received the Mark.

Until that night.

It was late and he was in the Room of Requirement, still fiddling with the cabinet. It was the fourth consecutive night spent in there after finding the damn thing, and he wasn’t anywhere close to fixing it. Frustrated, he punched and kicked the wood so hard that his knuckles sent sharp waves of pain through his arm. It was because of the noise he was making, the kicks and grunts that he didn’t hear the Room’s doors open and close.

You had previously been in the Gryffindor common room, attending one of their parties. There weren’t lots of Ravenclaws there – hell, it was only you, Stiles, Padma, Anthony and Michael. And it was all going well. You were sat on a bean bag chair with Stiles in-between your legs, surrounded by your Gryffindor friends: Ron, Harry, Hermione, Neville and Ginny, with Dean and Seamus on their way to you all with butterbeers in hand. The atmosphere was fun and light – a welcomed escape from the reality surrounding you, but you all decided to enjoy the moment and pretend the world outside the common room didn’t exist for the night. So you sat close to the fire and you didn’t know if the hot flames were warming you up or if it was the fact that Ron was focusing an unusual amount of attention on you.

You’ve had a crush on the Weasley boy since third year, and no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop your heart from beating faster each time he smiled at you.

You were having a great time.

“And if I become an Animagus to help Scott, then what?” Stiles spoke. Harry shook his head. You puffed. “What? We’d be the new generation of the Marauders; someone has to keep the legacy alive.” He continued, determined.

“Lupin would kill you, mate.” Ron laughed.

“You know animagi don’t pick their animal though, right?” You questioned. Stiles looked up at you and beamed.

“I know. But it’s like, vibe related so I think I’m safe. I’d absolutely be a dog, or a wolf.”

You glanced worryingly at Harry, but the boy simply burst out laughing and denied jokingly. Everyone else hearing the conversation laughed as well.

“Stiles, if it’s vibe related then you’d be a weasel.” You spoke, prompting laughs from everyone. Ron high fived you for the joke and you smiled wider than you thought possible.

The good mood didn’t last long, though. Only moments later Lavender Brown joined the group and comfortably sat herself in Ron’s lap. You watched him give her a quick kiss and wrap his arms around her. “What are we talking about?” She asked and it was as if your ears got covered. The sound faded, your smile dropped, your shoulders slumped. Ron would never like you back, you had to accept that. It was pathetic how you longed for the boy for so long.

So, you excused yourself and left the common room entirely to take a walk. You didn’t expect to end up outside the Room of Requirement, and you didn’t even feel like going inside. But the hall was dark and cold and you began hearing footsteps and the flickering light of Filch’s lantern slowly began illuminating the stone walls and with a haste movement, you went into the Room before Filch could walk around the corner and catch you.

You found yourself in a Room much different from the training grounds you had known while being part of the D.A. Tall piles of clutter seemed to reach the ceiling and despite the room being extremely vast, it felt tiny and crowded because of all the objects tossed and piled everywhere in sight. You walked on a path formed through columns made out of old boxes and books, all piled amongst stacked chairs, empty owl cages and rusty potions equipment. Loud bangs followed by grunts caused you to stop in your tracks and draw out your wand. The room in itself seemed unpredictable, and so you already had about six defensive spells ready to go in your mind and on the tip of your tongue.

You caught a glimpse of platinum blond hair before anything else. It looked messy – very different from the way Draco usually wore it: slick and perfect. Now, it gave you the feeling that he’d been vigorously running his fingers through it, causing it to become tousled. He was only in a white shirt – the robe, vest and tie laid disregarded on a near-by couch.

Lowering your wand, you gently knocked on a table to get his attention.

He turned around in a panic. His hand reached for his wand but stopped midair when he saw you. “What are you doing here?” Draco spat with no hesitation. His heart skipped a beat again, like it did on the night of the Yule Ball.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You responded, glancing at the cabinet in front of him. At the time, you didn’t think anything of it.

“None of your business.”

“I don’t care anyway.” You glared. “This room appeared to me like it did for you and since I think I need it, I’m not leaving.” With your arms crossed, you leaned against a random tossed out piece of furniture.

“Isn’t there a Gryffindor party you should be at?” Draco’s gaze remained cold and the scowl on his face didn’t falter.

“You know about that?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, I know everything that goes on around here.” He broke eye contact by focusing on folding up his sleeves. When his hand began working on his left forearm, he stopped abruptly, remembering. He went stiff at the realization, which you noticed. Before you could speak however, he looked back at you with a smirk, “Was Lavender Brown there so you ran away?” It was as if he didn’t look struck by lightning just two seconds before.

However, his words made you forget his strange behavior. “The hell? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, come on, (Y/L/N). Everyone knows you have the hots for Weasley. Least you can do is own up to it.” He teased with a mixture of annoyance and amusement present on his face.

“Piss off, Malfoy.” Walking up to the old couch Draco’s uniform laid on top of, you sat down and watched as the dust flew out of its cushion. Draco groaned. “I’m just gonna nap here until I’m sure Filch left and isn’t near the Ravenclaw tower.”

Draco mumbled some things you didn’t bother to understand, and then silence befell both of you. He didn’t really bother to fight you to leave even though, in retrospect, he should have had. Maybe if you didn’t stay with him that night, he wouldn’t be meeting you in the Room months later with tears burning his eyes. But, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that night. That night, he just rolled his eyes at you breaking the silence ten minutes later, when he thought you were asleep.

“What are you even doing there?”

“I told you, none of your business.” He spat.

“Is that the vanishing cabinet Peeves broke a few years ago?”

Draco turned around. It was his turn to be surprised by your knowledge. “How do you know about that?” He couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over your figure as you sat cross-legged on the old couch he napped on countless times before. You wore casual clothes – which he always thought looked great on you, and your hair laid straight over your shoulders. The few candles he had lit around softly luminated your face with warm tones.

You smiled proudly at his question.

“Fred and George shoved Montague in it last year” you laughed “it was quite funny.”

Draco remembered the incident. He was, after all, the one who found Montague stuck in a bathroom after the encounter with the twins.

“You’re trying to fix it, aren’t you?” Draco watched you jump up from the couch and walk next to him to examine the cabinet. He suddenly felt on edge, exposed. The Ravenclaw in you was jumping to solve a problem, while the Slytherin in him was about to explode. “Have you tried a mending charm?”

“Of course, I tried a mending charm.” Draco answered with annoyance in his voice. You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t work.”

“Well, then- “

“I don’t need nor want your help, (Y/L/N).” He glared down at you. “I can handle it myself.”

“Asshole.” You mumbled before taking a few steps back from Draco. He didn’t turn to you. Instead, he focused on his task even though his mind wasn’t on it anymore. He focused on your footsteps as you began to walk away without another word and before he could overthink, he spoke up softly. “But you can stay, if you want.”

You didn’t stop walking as you answered him. “I don’t.”

Draco then heard you utter “Lumos”, heard your footsteps getting quitter and quieter, then the heavy doors being pulled open. After they closed, he found himself surrounded by silence once again. Not dwelling on it, he pushed the thought of you away and resumed his work. Nothing was more important than his assignment.

Things slowly started to shift after that night.

The next day in Transfiguration as he was zoning out, a paper butterfly landed on his desk. He glanced around the room but saw nobody giving any sign of sending him the note. However, after he opened it and read its contents, his eyes immediately found you. On the paper was a list of incantations that would be useful in repairing things, and he knew you had sent it even though you looked focused on the textbook in front of you. It looked as if you were purposefully trying to ignore him, and Draco allowed the ghost of a smirk to form at the corners of his lips.

Two nights later, Draco walked into the Room of Requirement and you were already there. A few more candles than usual were lit as you sat on the (now clean looking) couch, reading a heavy, dense book. “Have they worked?” you asked without looking up from your book.

Draco sighed, loosening his tie. “No.”

And as time passed, you and Draco began spending more and more time together. Initially, you tried to help him fix the cabinet. It gave you a distraction from Ron and Lavender. But it was also obvious that fixing the old thing was important to him – he seemed desperate and for some reason, you felt like helping. And so, you found yourself sitting close to Draco on that old, tossed out couch with different heavy books resting in your lap every night, both searching for spells that could work. Each few day the space between you decreased until you reached a point where your knees touched and your shoulder pressed into his bicep. Sometimes you could even feel his minty breath on your face – just for a second. But the feeling began to linger even as you walked the stairs up to the Ravenclaw tower late at night.

You also found yourself thinking less and less about Ron.

Then, about a month after the Gryffindor party, the Katie Bell incident took place.

Harry began suspecting Draco of the attack and accused him of being a Death Eater. You didn’t go to the Room of Requirement for a few days after that because honestly, you were scared. You knew, deep in your heart that what Harry was saying made sense and because of that you started to believe that Draco’s cabinet wasn’t just some fun project. You lit on fire all the parchment you had written mending charms on, in a haste and with shaky hands.

You didn’t want to see him after that.

But you found yourself days later sneaking out of the tower late at night, quietly making your way to the seventh floor.

Draco got heavily scolded by Snape for the necklace attempt. The Professor found his action completely foolish and didn’t hesitate to let Draco know that. The boy arrived at the Room feeling beaten, defeated. On top of that, he was met by the empty couch and the broken cabinet and he snapped. In a fit of rage, he broke one of the cabinet’s doors and threw it at the couch. The noise he caused rang through the entire room, momentarily covering the silence. He couldn’t bear the sight of his failure any longer and the thought that you were now possibly scared of him after rumors of him being a Death Eater spread around the school, thanks to Potter, angered him even more.

“Training for the next Triwizard Tournament, Malfoy?”

Your voice made him turn around quickly, surprised look on his face.

A small smile danced at your lips, and you took out your wand. Pointing it at the broken door, you cast out “Repairo,” and the door lifted from the couch, gently levitating towards the cabinet and fixing itself. In the end, it looked as if nothing had happened. “At least this works, otherwise you would’ve had to pick up some muggle skills.” You teased.

Draco let out a small laugh, before his face fell again and he sat down on the dusty floor. His back rested against some other piece of forgotten furniture and he brought his knees up, hugging them to his chest. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes.

You quietly sat next to him with a huff.

“Why are you here?” Draco asked quietly.

After a moment of silence, you answered with honesty “I don’t know.” And you didn’t. You couldn’t understand why, despite the pit in your stomach that took shape as soon as Harry accused Draco of being a Death Eater, you were alone with him in a secret room, late at night.

Opening his eyes, Draco made a quick decision. He placed his left hand on your right knee, squeezing. Your eyes met – he looked calm; you were confused. “Do you trust me?” Draco’s voice was just a whisper. Alas, through the deafening silence of the Room, you heard him loud and clear.

“I don’t know.” You answered again. And, mirroring his impulsive move, you placed a hand over his. He felt cold at the touch and as you got used to the slightly stinging feeling, he found comfort in your warmth. “All I know is that I’m here, for some reason. I felt like seeing you.” You admitted, your voice tender and quiet.

Draco didn’t speak for a while. You thought you embarrassed yourself but didn’t dare to move.

“There are things about me that you really wouldn’t like if you knew.” The boy finally spoke. His eyes were glued to the cabinet that was a few feet from you both, but his mind was miles away. “I’m not a good man.” He admitted with no waver in his tone, no hesitation.

And maybe it was the daily, month-long meetings you’ve had with him. Or maybe it was the flicker of decency you saw in him when he got Pansy to release her painful grip on you the previous year. But your mind dug up small events and information buried deep in your memory that made you frown at his words. You remembered Dobby. Harry told you he was the Malfoy’s house elf who tried to keep him safe during second year, and it all seemed strange to you. You knew that house elves, if owned, could not act on their own volition no matter how strong their beliefs and inclinations were. In your mind it seemed unlikely that Dobby left the Malfoys without their knowledge and so, for the longest time you had a hunch it was Draco who sent Dobby to warn Harry. Especially since Lucius was the one who snuck Tom Riddle’s diary into Hogwarts. You were also quite sure it was Draco who helped Harry figure out the monster from the Chamber of Secrets was a Basilisk.

But overall, you knew Draco didn’t grow up in a good environment. He’d been heavily manipulated his entire life and it was in that moment, as you sat next to him on dirty floors, hand on top of his, that you decided whatever he was doing, he was doing either because of blackmail or manipulation.

“You can’t let the bad things from the past define you,” You whispered as your fingers slowly occupied the empty spaces between Draco’s own fingers. He was quick to grip your hand into his. “I think you are good. You’ve just been dealt shit cards.”

Draco didn’t show any emotion as he processed your words. But that night as he lay in his bed all he could think about were your words. Nobody had told him he was a good person before, and he’d never felt supported before in his life. And he felt a wave of emotions hit him all at once. He felt envy because Potter had had you all this time and because of your friendship with him, Draco didn’t get close to you sooner. He felt jealousy because he remembered you were in the Room in the first place because you were heartbroken over Ron – again, someone he didn’t like had all the things Draco felt he should’ve had instead. He felt comfort knowing you weren’t scared of him despite Potter filling your mind with (true) accusations. He felt hopeless because he was a Death Eater now and you were one of the good guys. He also felt entitled, selfish and determined because for the first time in a while, he found himself wanting something – someone, that he wanted for himself: you.

Over the next few months, you both unintentionally grew closer. Draco remembered every smile, every laugh shared between the two of you in the candlelight, hidden deep inside the Room of Requirement. Most days, he worked alone on the cabinet while you studied and pretended he wasn’t doing something potentially harmful. You both found yourselves finding comfort in the other’s mere presence.

You began to think less about Ron and more about Draco and it made you feel strangely guilty, especially when Ron would throw his arm around you like he used to in the Great Hall and you’d catch Draco’s eyes and excuse yourself to move back to the Ravenclaw table.

On certain nights you attempted to get Draco to do homework with you. But with each passing day, he became more and more anxious and afraid. And with each passing day, it hurt and worried you more and more. On a few occasions you did his Transfiguration homework for him just to keep him out of detention.

He owled you a Merry Christmas note during winter break but told you not to write him back. He knew you wished him happy holidays as well.

You gave him a Christmas present when you got back to Hogwarts – a ring, as you’d noticed he liked wearing them. His face lit up at the gesture and it was the first time he embraced you. The action was impulsive but it felt right. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back, the other cradled your head gently. His face buried in your neck and he held you so tight you didn’t dare move. He held you to make sure you were real and wouldn’t slip away from his grasp.

A little over a month later, Draco was feeling the pressure of his tasks heavier than ever. He felt sick each time he looked at the cabinet and you were noticing that. You were also noticing his complete disinterest in school and his reoccurring absences. He’d spend days in the Room, not even coming down to eat. You snuck him meals each time you could but sometimes you’d find them untouched on the floor.

“Alright, Draco. What’s going on?” You confronted him one night.

“Nothing.” He mumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” you pleaded “Draco you’re not acting like yourself please, tell me what’s going on so I can help.” You never pleaded with a man before, never thought you would. Your ego felt too strong for this. And yet, there you were, standing behind a disheveled Draco Malfoy with an ache in your chest.

He ignored you.

You felt like throwing something at his head.

You watched as he opened the cabinet doors and took out a rotten apple. He held it in his hand for a second too long. It wasn’t unusual, you’ve watched him do this repeatedly over the past five months. You flinched when he threw the apple on the floor with vicious force. He then kicked the bottom of the cabined a bunch of times, yelling out in anger and frustration. His scream echoed through the Room. You pursed your lips.

“I can’t do this.” He finally spoke. “I can’t bloody do this and everyone’s going to die.” He started pacing around the small clearing amidst clutter. “My mum, my dad, me…you – we’re all going to die.” He kicked the plate of food you had brought him a few hours prior, spilling the contents over the floor.

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s gonna kill you and mum in front of me, make me watch,” He was frantic “probably gonna torture you first so I die remembering your screams. Then,” he pinched his nose, wiped his mouth “then he’ll kill me. I’ll be last and everyone’s gonna be taking the piss out of me, the fucking kid who couldn’t fix a fucking,” he kicked the cabinet again “magic fucking cabinet!” he kicked and kicked until you could feel the pain he felt in his leg yourself.

You walked up to him and attempted to pull him away from the large wooden broken object, but he pushed you away forcefully. You stumbled back in shock. “How dare – “ You couldn’t finish your sentence, however. He hastily turned to face you, pulling up the sleeve of his left arm aggressively, exposing the Dark Mark.

No words came out of your mouth after that.

You couldn’t seem to peel your eyes off of the mark, and Draco watched you with a pained heart. Part of him expected you to run, another to pull out your wand and attack. He didn’t know which one was coming, he didn’t know which one he preferred. However, he didn’t expect you to walk up to him with slow, steady steps.

His eyes locked with yours as you took his arm into your own. It was as if the Room emptied and the only things in it were the two of you. Holding his arm to your chest, you got as close to him as possible. As he looked down at you, his heavy breath fanned your face. “It’s okay, Draco.” You whispered. “I understand.”

And you did. You understood his choice, understood the position he was forced into. And your heart ached for him.

That’s the night Draco remembered best. The way your figure was illuminated by the soft glow of yellow candles, the soft fabric of your sweater rubbing on his skin. The kindness in your eyes spreading warmth through his veins, the way your lips moved when you spoke his name. Most times he thought about conjuring a Patronus, Draco believed the memory of that night was what he needed to focus on in order to succeed.

With his hand on the back of your head, he quickly lowered himself to reach your height and caught your lips in a kiss. He felt you smiling into it and he found himself mirroring you, until you pulled away to giggle into his shoulder. He couldn’t do anything besides kissing the top of your head.

Days later you were both laying on the couch you had transformed into a cozy spot. You were focused on his Mark, tracing your fingers along the lines of it, gently. Draco knew he was supposed to feel pride in having the Mark – that’s what his family had told him, but he felt something close to shame each time he looked at it.

You rested your hand on top of it, covering it. “I’m sorry. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

A week later he was forced into the meeting with his mom and Snape at the Shrieking Shack. The following night he walked towards the Room of Requirement late, with heavy steps. It felt as if each movement he made on the way happened in slow-motion.

You were reading comfortably when he finally reached you. A smile formed on your lips upon seeing him, but it faded when you took in his appearance, his sour face, hardened figure, stone gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Draco didn’t speak, only pointed his wand towards you. You froze. “Draco?” His hand shook, his face wavered. You were confused.

“I have to do this, (Y/N). He’ll kill you otherwise.” Draco’s voice cracked.

“No, he won’t. You’re a skilled Occlumentist, right? He can’t get into your mind.” You immediately caught on.

He shook his head. “He’ll know, he’ll know. Snape knows, mum knows,” he sounded so scared that you attempted to get up to comfort him, but he threated so you sat back down “he’ll know.”

Tears formed and blurred your vision as your heart picked up speed.

“You know, I didn’t wanna think about you, I wanted to stay focused. I came here to do a task, that’s it. I came to be great, to do great things for the Dark Lord.” Draco began, “But then I saw you. I’ve wanted you since fourth year and then here you were, being good to me and…you woke up a weakness inside me. And I got selfish, I put my mission aside to get something for myself.”

Tears now ran down your face, and Draco mirrored you. You shook your head, silently pleading for him to reconsider.

“But I have a mission, (Y/N) and it’s so important. I can’t be distracted. And I can’t have you being associated with me – it’ll get you killed and I can’t – I can’t have it.”

The candles flickered and for a split second your mind went to a Divination class, where Trelawney explained candle magic. Their dancing light showed instability, chaotic energy while its tall flame indicated success brought about with complications. The air felt cold as you stared at Draco who hadn’t fully stepped into the candlelight. An abyss of darkness stood tall behind him, the sights of it deepening the pit in your stomach. Despite his shaky hands, dark circles underneath his saddened eyes and hollow cheeks, Draco looked put-together. His hair wasn’t messy like it was the first night you found him in the Room. It was back to its slick, flawless style. He wore his all-black suit, and his tie wasn’t loosened.

“I also can’t have you walk out of here knowing everything about me.” His voice hardened and for the first time while being with him, you felt fear.  

“I won’t tell anyone.” Your voice was small. You sat up, your eyes beginning to look for a way out.

“I can’t risk it, you’re friends with Potter. You’re one of the good guys.”

“I won’t put you in danger, Draco.”

He grimaced at your words as if they’ve hit him with the force of a Cruciatus Curse. He tried not to let any more tears fall. You took his reaction as an opportunity to get closer to him. Maybe if you could take away his wand, touch him. Maybe then you could change his mind.

“I won’t endanger you either,” He whispered. “That’s why I have to do this.” At that, he lowered his wand and took two long strides towards you. Another one of his unpredictable actions that left you frozen in your spot. In a swift motion, he cupped your face between his calloused palms. “You know this is the right choice.”

“No,” you whispered and shook your head “no, it’s not. You can teach me Occlumency, I can help you,” your fearful eyes bore into his saddened ones, his heart ached at your words, at the fear he was capable of instilling in you. “We’re a good team, remember? I can help.” You kept pleading as your own hands rested on top of his. You felt the ring you’d given him still on his finger.

He simply shook his head with a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face. “I’ve already corrupted you enough.” Draco admitted and you were taken aback; rendered speechless. “You’ve been covering for me with your friends, lying to Professors, basically doing my homework while I’m working on bringing the school down.”

Your heart dropped; hands started shaking. Draco felt it. He felt the weight of his words starting to crush you. Down in your mind you knew he was doing something bad with the cabinet, but you didn’t think it was so drastic.

Draco continued. Hurt her to save her, his mom’s words rang through his mind. “I’m using the Vanishing Cabinet to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts,” his words made you remember the Death Eaters attack at the Quidditch World Cup, where you were almost trampled. You remembered the attack on London that sent one of your family members to the Hospital. You remembered how ruthless the Death Eaters were at the Ministry, when they were throwing deadly curses at a bunch of teenagers.

And there it was.

The look of betrayal, hurt and fear on your face that Draco never wanted to see. He tried to remember the night you saw his Mark, the night you accepted and comforted him. That’s what he wanted to remember, not this. “After I get them here, I’m going to kill Dumbledore.” He continued.

Chills erupted on your body and you recoiled from his touch.

“I knew you were planning something bad, but this, Draco?” You couldn’t speak louder than a whisper as you took small steps away from him. He knew this was coming; the disgust, the unacceptance. Was your speech about understanding him all bullshit? “You don’t have to- “

“Yes, I do. It’s my mission.”

“No, listen to me. You’re not this person, you’re not a Death Eater. I know you, Draco. You’re still a good person put in a terrible situation but it’s not all lost, we can-“ Despite your fear, you still found yourself comforting him, pleading with him. Your mind lead an inner battle between understanding the boy’s motives and wanting to let Harry know of everything that was happening.

You couldn’t let Dumbledore die, couldn’t let Death Eaters attack Hogwarts.

“I cursed Katie Bell. Almost killed her.” Draco cut you off.

“I know.” You deadpanned. He parted his lips and frowned in confusion. “I saw the necklace in your bag a week before it all happened. Then I saw it on McGonagall’s desk. It wasn’t hard to piece together the puzzle.” You explained.

Despite the warmth spreading through his heart at the thought of you not abandoning him even after knowing that all those months ago, at the thought that he’d finally found someone to be on his side for once in his life, someone who understood and maybe even actually loved him – despite it all, Draco’s eyes had never showed less emotion.

You wanted to cry but didn’t. Your ego won.

“You know I have to do this, (Y/N).” His voice didn’t waver anymore. The more reasons you gave him to love you, the more his decision solidified in his mind. “And you know I’m doing the right thing,” he wanted to hold you so bad, but he didn’t move; instead, you both stood feet away from each other. “Knowing all this puts you in danger. Coming here every night puts you in danger hell, even looking at me in the Great Hall puts you in danger. I can’t see you brought into the manor tied up, imprisoned and killed as a punishment for me. And you know I’m right. I’m not just some irrelevant follower, I’ve sat at a damn table with The Dark Lord countless times this summer. He’s been in my home; he knows me personally.”

You couldn’t look at him the more he spoke. So, your gaze was stuck on a candle, but your eyes remained unfocused.  

“You’re smart.” Draco kept speaking, his tone now loud and confident. “This is the part where you tell me that even though you wanna change my mind, you know I’m doing the right thing,” he even joked. You wanted to cry but couldn’t speak. He was right. “Tell me you’re proud of me because I’m putting someone else’s wellbeing above my own for once” his voice became muffled, as if he spoke from underwater. It was silent for a moment as Draco watched you process his words, “You’ll be on the right side of history after this. You’ll go back to Weasley who’s a better choice for you than I could ever be – even though it kills me to say that.”

All you could do was shake your head in disbelief.

By the time you looked back up at him, he had a few tears running down his face and his wand pointed at you. And so you cried.

“We were a good team, weren’t we?” Draco spoke with one last saddened smile.

“Draco, please. I love –“ you began, but Draco couldn’t bear hear it.

You watched Draco wipe his tears with a swift motion, before a white light formed at the tip of his wand. His voice came out strong, unwavering, and determined. His hand stopped shaking.

“Obliviate,” Draco uttered before you could react.

[minor-solemnity]

i don't know if this counts as a request but just makeup sex!! the way you wrote smut in curiosity was so good!

This definitely counts as a request haha! Thank you so much, I hope you like it!

2.8k of (a little) plot and more smut :)

Tag List: @jinxqsu @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey 

Game Theory

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

Hogwarts is hosting a festival for a comet. You’re not sure why a comet deserves a festival - something to do with an ancient prophecy allegedly made by Rowena Ravenclaw. The night shall bow to fire and the school shall stand strong. It’s all very poetic. Regardless, Hogwarts is celebrating the passing of the comet over the school and you have to admit that the grounds look beautiful. Tiny replica comets made of bluebell flames dance above your head, marble statues of famous astronomers and seers stand proud in the tall grass, and garlands of lotus flowers, yellow jasmine, and, more strangely, parsley are strewn everywhere. Further down, there is a sectioned off area for dancing where tinkling music can be heard drifting over the light breeze. The small rowing boats that usually carry the first years over to Hogwarts are adorned with tiny glowing lights, ready to take you and the rest of the school across the lake to see the comet blaze across the dark sky when the time comes.

You feel like you’ve walked into a fairy circle, not the grounds that you’ve come to know so well over the years. You stand there, at the doors to the castle surveying the scene before you with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Students are milling around, enjoying the music and the food. You can spy a few of your friends drifting about and you make a note to say hello when you get the opportunity. If you get the opportunity.

Because… because you’ve done something pretty stupid. You’ve gone and found yourself a date and as it turns out, Frasier Rowle is… well he’s handsome. Which was why you’d started dropping hints a few weeks ago. But he’s also brimming with undeserved arrogance and entitlement. He’s possessive too, and petulant. You’d found that out the hard way when you’d apparently hugged Charlie a little too tightly for Frasier’s liking and he’d sulked for a week straight. No, Frasier doesn’t like other people playing with his toys and in any other circumstance, you would have rolled your eyes and dumped him for his childishness.

These are not normal circumstances though. You'd needed a date for the festival because if you didn’t then you’d have lost. Well. Sort of. There’s no game being played, certainly not officially at any rate. But still, you don’t lose games official or unofficial. It’s a rule you have for yourself. You like winning. Simple.

So, you smile demurely at Frasier and ignore the way his black dress robes wash out his pale eyes and pale hair (you wished he’d opted for the blue as you’d suggested) and offer him your hand. He takes it, holding it a little too tightly as you descend the steps to the party below. You feel the weight of his gaze even though you can’t see him. You ignore it. You pretend you don’t know you’re being watched as you twist your arm through Frasier’s and when he kisses your cheek, you pretend you don’t care that Frasier’s breath is a little sour from whatever he ate at dinner.

Charming. You’re charming and funny and flirty and Frasier is proud to have you as a date. You can see it in the way that he all but parades you around in front of his friends. The tell-tale prickling on the back of your neck tells you that he’s still watching. Which means you’re still winning. So you smile and laugh and stay close to Frasier even when he and his friends start talking about the internships and jobs their wealthy and connected parents have secured them. Frasier is apparently going straight into the DMLE even though his grades suggest a role as shop assistant would be far more suited to his capabilities.

“-like I always say, it’s not a bad thing to be better than other people.” Frasier’s voice cuts through your thoughts and your smile turns slightly strained. Because it isn’t a bad thing to be better. But Frasier Rowle simply isn’t. He reminds you of one of those expensive eclairs that your mother sometimes brings home when you have cause for celebration: beautifully decorated and full of air. “Isn’t that right?” His elbow digs into your ribs and for a second you stop smiling. He frowns expectantly.

“Of course. You’re completely right.” You say and carefully extricate yourself from his arms. Deciding to date Frasier had been a stupid decision on your part. In all honesty, you find him incredibly distasteful but… But he serves a purpose. And you’ll be damned if you don’t see this through. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll get us some drinks?” He nods and you make a hasty (but not too hasty, you wouldn’t want anyone watching to get the impression that you’re eager to leave) departure.

You’re standing at the drinks table, pretending to decide between a flute of sparkling apple juice or pumpkin juice (why wasn’t wine an option?) when he slides in next to you. Tom looks horribly good. His dark hair is parted neatly, falling in delicate waves across his forehead and the soft glow from the bluebell flames throw his aristocratic features into sharp relief. You note, with no small amount of irritation, that Tom, unlike Frasier, looks devastatingly good in black. His robes are perfectly cut and look soft and inviting in the way that expensive things often do. You imagine that they’re a gift from Malfoy or one of his other cronies.

“Rowle then. That’s who you’ve decided to degrade yourself with.” Straight to the point then. Well, good. This is the only reason you’ve been putting up with Frasier for all these weeks, after all. You cast a sideways glance in Tom’s direction and are aggravated to see that, despite the jealousy lacing his words, he looks entirely at ease. Like he’s just asked you about the decor or the weather or last week’s arithmancy test.

“I’d hardly call dating Frasier degrading myself. He’s been offered a very important position in the DMLE, don’t you know?” You reply archly. He raises an eyebrow in response and you purse your lips primly, as though you don’t share his exact thoughts on Frasier’s future Ministry job. You turn to him then, taking in the darkness of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Something that feels like it could be triumph settles in your stomach. Tom is a master of controlling his emotions, but even he has his tells. “More to the point, why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer right away and really, you don’t expect him to. Why does he care? You aren’t sure he even knows the answer to that himself. All you know is that after a year of meeting him in alcoves and abandoned classrooms, you can’t stand to be a secret anymore. And he can’t seem to stand the idea of holding your hand in public. “I’m merely surprised. You’re reasonably intelligent and he is... Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing his family is so well connected.”

“Reasonably intelligent? If it weren’t for you, I’d be top of the year,” You say indignantly. He smirks that you realise that maybe you should probably be defending Frasier’s intellect. “And I find mine and Frasier’s conversations incredibly... stimulating, if you must know. It’s really quite nice to get such a fresh perspective on certain issues. No pointless arguments because he’s too stubborn to realise what he could lose.” You smile innocently as his posture grows taught and his lips thin.

“Oh look, your security troll is coming to collect you,” Tom says dispassionately, eyeing Frasier who has spotted you and now making his way steadily over. You scoff.

“Oh please, Frasier is hardly a troll. He’s much too-” whiny, self-important, weak “-small.” Something dangerously close to a laugh escapes Tom’s lips and a pang of sadness and anger and longing twists in your gut. It’s far too easy to fall into your regular routine of barbed comments and sly humour with Tom. It reminds you of the other conversations too, the secrets and confessions that seem to spill from you both whenever you let your guard down for long enough. Whatever. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you. Not enough for you to be satisfied anymore. You shoot him a smile, insincere and caustic, “Besides, maybe I like having someone who cares enough about me to see who I’m spending time with.”

He frowns, only for a second, and that’s the only sign you get that your words have affected him before his expression clears and he looks as impassive and impenetrable as ever. Frasier appears and it doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s unhappy. He looks between you and Tom with a suspicious sneer distorting his features. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. But I should have known, it’s so sweet of you, darling, to be so charitable with your time.” You tense at the thinly veiled insult about Tom’s humble beginnings before you mechanically pass your date his drink. He wraps an arm around your shoulders in a, quite frankly, terribly insecure show of machismo. You smile up at him and refuse to look back at Tom as he leads you away.

***

Night has well and truly fallen and you’re silently bemoaning the fact that your dress robes have short sleeves whilst you try futilely not to shiver. Frasier hasn’t noticed; he’s busy talking about his future or quidditch or the funny thing his house-elf did last summer or some other entirely inane thing with his friends. His hand is curved around your waist and you’re fairly sure it’s for Tom’s benefit. This, at least, makes you somewhat pleased. But still, you’re cold, you’re bored, you haven’t been able to talk to your friends at all, and you’re wishing desperately that it was Tom’s arms around you.

It seems as though your scheming has not gone to plan. Well, no. The plan had been to make Tom jealous and you’re fairly sure you’ve accomplished that. But still, you somehow feel as though you’ve lost. At the sound of a loud chime, a hush falls across the festival and the Headmaster announces that you have thirty minutes before the comet is scheduled to pass overhead. Immediately, the professors begin to coral students towards the lake and a crowd of eager teenagers starts to form around you, pushing forwards to get to the boats. Frasier’s hand slips from your waist and you get separated in the rush. You’re about to reach forward to try and grab him when a large, warm hand touches your lower back. You freeze because you know that touch. Know those hands. Intimately.

“Don’t make a scene,” Tom whispers in your ear and you’re still shivering but it’s not only from the cold anymore. He leads you away from the ruckus, his hand never leaving your back, his gaze focused determinedly on the castle. Any thought you had about finding Frasier is replaced by the desperate need you suddenly feel to make sure that Tom never stops touching you again.

You’re not that easy though. You’ve been denying yourself what you want for weeks at this point. You can carry on for another few minutes. “Where are you taking me?” You ask and you’re quite proud that you sound demanding, maybe a little petulant. As though you wouldn’t follow him wherever he decided to take you. Judging by the shrewd glance Tom sends your way, he can see right through the protests forming on your tongue.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He pushes you inside the castle and suddenly the noise and commotion of the festival feel very far away. The quietness of the empty castle seems to envelop the two of you, creating an almost stifling atmosphere that you somehow can’t quite bring yourself to break. Tom drags his gaze over you, drinking in every change in your expression, every shift of your body. You feel vulnerable and raw and seen. Slowly, he raises his hands and runs them up your arms. You’re skin, still cold from the night suddenly feels like it's on fire. “You’re cold.” You nod. “I would have expected better from someone of your date’s impeccable breeding,” Tom murmurs it like it’s an insult. You frown and are about to ask what he means when he shrugs out of his robes and drapes the heavy fabric across your shoulders. He smiles then, slow and possessive and pleased.

The errant embers of desire that have been burning in your chest since he first touched you spark brighter and fiercer. He takes you by the shoulders and holds you close as he leads you further into the castle, the press of his chest against your back, the pressure of his fingers on your skin a tantalising promise of more to come. “You know, I was rather looking forward to the comet. A once in a lifetime event, I’m told.” And well… You still sound petulant, maybe even a little bratty but also breathy and excited and oh, oh, Tom’s humming deep and low in your ear, maybe a little amused, maybe a little endeared and his fingers press a little harder and he quickens his pace as though he wants - needs - this just as badly as you do.

He carries you the last few steps up to the astronomy tower. No sooner have you made it to your destination than he is pressing you against the wall of the tower, one hand gripping your waist tightly the other moving to cup your jaw, his fingers spread across your throat and you gasp and-

Wrap your arms around his neck, pull him closer, moan into his mouth when he finally kisses you. There isn’t a metaphor or simile that describes the fervour he kisses you with. He’s demanding and desperate in the way his lips slant across yours, tasting and searching and you yield. You yield so quickly it would be embarrassing if you weren’t so hot with want and need and desire. You angle your body more closely to his and relish in the hard press of his chest, the way his hand slides from your waist to your hips then back to your waist like he can’t quite decide where he wants to touch you. You can feel the unmistakable hard outline of his cock against your hip and you grind upwards, unthinking, lost in a haze of pleasure and the feeling of his lips biting kisses along your jaw.

You unwind your arms from his neck and reach his belt but are stopped when he takes a step back, his hands moving to grip your wrists before you can continue. You feel unmoored and can’t quite help the whine that escapes your lips. When your gaze finally focuses, you see him watching you, his already dark eyes are practically black, pupils blown, his lips are swollen and wet, and his breathing is ragged. “Does he do this to you?” He asks, his usually smooth voice rough with emotion.

When you don’t say anything, he smirks, and, holding both your wrists in one hand, slowly, teasingly drags his other up the inside of your thigh. You’re helpless to stop him as he dips his fingers down into your underwear and curls two inside you. He teases you with long strokes, using his thumb to brush against your clit until you’re trembling and gasping and pleading. “Can he make you lose control like I can?” His voice is dangerously low and he’s watching you closely, never quite giving you what you want.

It’s torture.

It’s bliss.

“Please, please, please,” You chant under your breath, a steady stream of words and preyers that aren’t all decipherable. “Please, Tom, you know he can’t. You know it’s only you, please, please.” His face goes slack with desire and just as quickly as he’d pulled away he’s pressing closer to you again, kissing you hard.

His thigh nudges your legs wider apart and you hook one leg around his waist relishing in the pressure and friction this new angle affords you. You hear the zip of his trousers and then the tip of his cock against your folds as he aligns himself and, “Ohh, please, Tom, I need-”

Your senses are overwhelmed by his smell, his touch, his quiet grunts of exertion as he sets a rather punishing pace. He’s mumbling promises and praise and curses into the crook of your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers move in sloppy rhythm against your clit, adding just the right amount of friction that has you gasping obscenities into his ear.

The pressure in your lower stomach builds and builds until finally your orgasm crests over you. He’s holding you tighter still, riding you through it until you collapse against him, shuddering through the aftershocks. He follows you soon after, his body growing tense, his grip on your hip so tight it’s almost painful, your name on his tongue.

Afterwards, you curl up against him, his robes (you were right: they’re soft and warm and expensive) wrapped around you both. Tom strokes your hair almost absently as you watch the sky as Ravenclaw’s comet streaks past, bright and bold and so beautiful that it almost takes your breath away. Almost. “I want you to take me on a date. And hold my hand in public.” You say. Request. Demand.

He laughs and pulls you closer, “If that’s what it takes to keep you from embarrassing yourself with the likes of Rowle, I’d be happy to oblige.”

[thegrapeandthefig]

If you feel confortable sharing, tell us one of your experiences with the Gods

There's a ton of small insignificant things but recently one that truly made me laugh was when I was planning the Apatouria. The festival was meant to start on nov. 5th in the evening and I usually do my grocery shopping in the weekend. So it was in my plans to buy what I needed for the feast the weekend before, on Sunday. I had chosen to make Moschari Kokkinisto (essentially a type of beef stew). It can be served with anything, but the recipe I had served it with very thick and hollow long pasta, which is known as pastitsio noodles in Greece or ziti in Italy. I live in Finland and since that's a very specific type of pasta I wasn't counting on finding any and had planned to just fall back on regular spaghetti.

Anyway, on the Saturday morning I forced myself to go out to fetch a package that was dropped at my local small shop, which is like a 5 minute walk. I wasn't planning to do groceries, just grab a bottle of milk to make hot chocolate as a treat when I get back home and get the package. So I go to the furthest part of the shop for the milk carton and walk by a random aisle to go pay. It was the pasta aisle. Something catches my eye and I see a bunch of packs of pastitsio pasta. It took me a solid few seconds to fully register what the fuck was happening and almost started laughing in the shop because how?

I'd put it on capitalism if it was just a random find in a big supermarket, but really that shop is not a big supermarket, just a small neighborhood market. But hey, I can't complain since I got exactly what I needed at the most convenient time. In the end, it's just pasta but I'm still dumbfounded at the circumstances around it all.

Why the gods would care so much about pasta is beyond me, though.