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kquil · 7 months

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DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER TWO

02 : SHOPPING (1/2)

CHPT. SUM. : life isn't easy in the Black Family household, you need to get out, you also need a new wand. Sirius does too as well as a few other things; time to go shopping.

LENGTH : 5.8k

TAGS. : hurt/comfort ; tantrums ; fluff ; sirius needs a hug ; regulus needs a hug ; original walburga can eat shit ; orion can eat shit too ; reader being an amazing mother ; walburga deserves to get bullied ; floo powder travels ; diagon alley shopping time~ ; stupid wands ; arson ; goblin OC ; sirius being a sneaky baby ; regulus follows in his older brother's footsteps ; misbehaving things ; Ollivander cameo~ ; please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes for now, this wasn't really proofread (╥﹏╥) i'll go back over things later on!

← PREV. | 01 : ARRIVAL | SERIES M.LIST

7th August 1971

It didn’t take you long to uncover the upsetting affairs of the ever proud Black Family.

There was nothing to be proud of. It sickened you to witness the blatant disdain Orion had for his own two sons, neglecting them by leaving for work early and returning only to lock himself up in his home office. The bastard even overlooked his sons when he was present at home on the weekends and the few words he spoke when addressing them dripped with cruelty and ignorance. The only positive thing you could take from his absence, however, is the fact that the boys didn’t have to tolerate his silent callousness for long periods of time.

But that meant seeing the effects of Walburga’s despicable conditioning of the two boys, which was far worse.

It was clear that Regulus wanted to be favoured and compiled to his mother’s whims, desperately seeking her approval. Whenever his small, pale hands reached out for you, no matter how miniscule, you accepted with open arms and a warm smile. His precious look of surprise, and shy happiness at your unexpected acceptance, never failed to make your heart shatter, even more so that his reaction never seemed to let up.

Before every apology, before every small request, before every word he breathed in your direction, there was an evident hesitance, a slight fear in his motions that made him freeze up for a moment. It was a consistent action that you hoped, with time, would disappear for good. You love having Regulus for your son but you don’t want him to do things just because you said so. In your previous life and before your dreams were shattered, the one thing you looked forward to about having children was the development of their own personality, the becoming of their own individual person. That’s what you want for Regulus, and Sirius too. But you know that Regulus was the main son who was deprived of that pleasure in the original timeline so you wanted to give him that extra bit of care. It was your responsibility, now, to give him that happiness.

Sirius was the same. He wanted approval too, you could see it so very clearly in his piercing grey eyes – it’s an innocence he shares with his younger brother. There’s a glimmer of hope in his grey pools, hidden behind the need to protect Regulus and the mix of anger and sadness fostered by the horrendous parents he had the ill-fate of having. You want to bring down those walls but you know it’ll take some time. Nevertheless, you clung onto the hope present in his eyes and used it to cultivate your firm resolution, like a garden to the foundation of a new life and a new future. It was needed, especially when Sirius lashed out, his fury, dangerously ablaze like a forest fire set on destroying everything in its wake.

It was no secret that the original Walburga expected nothing but excellence from her only two sons, so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that she had hired private tutors for them leading up to their official education in Hogwarts. They were to study French, Etiquette, Literature, Cursive/Calligraphy, Maths and all of the wizarding basics. All taught by private tutors that delivered material like stale bread on a plate and leaving them with the terribly tedious assignments in the most ridiculous amounts. You understood why Sirius worked himself up to such a tantrum. However, he was not setting a good example for his younger brother, who clung onto the long flowing skirt of your black dress and pressed himself against your legs for comfort.

Tenderly, you combed your fingers through Regulus’ neatly permed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp while the two of you waited for Sirius to lose energy and simmer down enough for you to finally get a word in. It only took a few minutes but Sirius was soon left heavily panting, his expulsion of rage gone but still evident in his harsh glare and aggressive stance.

Silence took over the room as you continued to hold his gaze, determined to handle the situation calmly but firmly and without any interruptions – you hope to God that your amateur imperturbable charm worked on the door of the room; it was the weekend, meaning that Orion was at home and he wouldn’t take too kindly to his equally hateful wife being screamed at by his disobedient son.

“...it’s not fair…” Sirius grumbles under his breath, pouting defiantly as his small hands ball up into clenched fists by his sides.

“I know it’s not fair, Sirius,”

“Then—!” Sirius cuts himself off when you raise a brow at him, your mouth pressed into a tight, thin line.

Some part of you understands why Sirius would lash out so aggressively; he was practically drowning under the workload he was set by his individual tutors, drowning under the expectations the original Walburga had set on him and he didn’t know how to express his frustrations. Along the way, you’re sure he’s bottled up his emotions and tried to get on with things, evident by the littered chaos of papers at his feet, marked by his neat handwriting. Such beautiful handwriting for such a young and troubled boy. With his deadline fast approaching and his assignments piled up to his ears, Sirius lashed out in the violent and wrathful way he’s been exposed to since birth. You want to be soft and comply with his demands but you know that’ll foster bad habits in him. Conceding now will only teach him that it’s okay to become violent when he’s frustrated and that it’ll work to help him get what he wants. But that is a false reality. And you will not perpetuate the illusion for him.

He’s your son now, he’s your responsibility and you’re going to teach him well. So you stand firm but composed. You’re setting an example. It isn’t until you sense the fear of what may happen slowly seeping into Sirius’ much smaller frame, that you step forward and take action.

In your slow approach, Sirius flinches and snaps his eyes tightly shut. His clenched fists slowly come up to shield his chest as his shoulders tense despite the visible shiver that runs up his frame.

A small voice calls out behind you, “Mother–”

“Regulus, this is between me and your brother. Please don’t interfere,” Regulus bites his lip into silence but watches on with fearful eyes. He wants to step in and hold his brother close, the same way Sirius has done to help comfort him many times before but, no matter how strong his will, Regulus didn’t move. Why? Was it the fear or… was it something else?

Once close enough, you kneel down and gently grasp Sirius’ small shoulders. You try not to wince when he falters from your touch and tries to withdraw but your grip keeps him securely in place. Inhaling deeply and slowly, you begin to speak in a stable voice and with strength. It’s best to start from the beginning.

“Sirius…” you wait until he meets your eyes, hesitant and afraid but stubbornly brave, “what’s wrong?” he sends you a look of exasperation, you can read him easily ‘why are you asking him that when he’s been screaming at you about it?’, “I will not listen or engage in any conversation with you if you ever speak to me that way,” you set the boundary and pause to make sure he processes your words clearly before continuing, “I will only listen if you talk to me like a normal person, if you just scream at me like that then I can’t help you,”

Sirius wants to scoff at your words; how could he possibly trust you to help him if you’ve never been worthy of his trust? But he glimpses the image of his worried, younger brother over your shoulder and bites down on his sharp tongue. Regulus has grown a small but reluctant trust for you ever since the day you fainted. It was naive of him but Sirius could never fault his younger brother for anything. He’s always been the one with the softer heart between them so it was natural for Regulus to be more trusting. Deep down, Sirius wants to have that same level of give within him too.

But it was hard. It’s hard to trust…

…that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, however. One prolonged look at his brother was all he needed to have the courage to put that trust forward.

“It’s unfair,” he repeats, clearly this time.

“What’s not fair?” you prompt, your features softening along with your tone as Sirius wills himself to continue. You haven’t lashed out at him yet, you haven’t even threatened to launch a curse at him, that was a good sign.

“All this work…” he gestures to the scattered papers he had thrown to the floor in defiance. Now, he looks towards them in shame and quickly diverts his gaze from the mess.

“I see,” you hum as he looks onto you with eyes of wonderment, unable to comprehend that you were taking in his complaint so graciously – he isn’t used to this type of gentleness but he likes it… “I’m sorry you’re under so much pressure to do this much work,” Sirius holds his breath as hope builds up within him, its light is radiant but he tries to ignore it, “I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you–”

“––I tried to do well!” Sirius defends, his eyes desperately searching your own for some form of understanding. It was your warm smile that eased his panicked heart… in some sense, he’s beginning to understand his younger brother; his mother looks far prettier when she’s smiling.

“I know,” you cup his face with one hand and lovingly caress the skin of his cheek with your thumb, “you’ve worked so hard. Thank you for trying, Sirius,” you watch tears pool at his eyes and coo comfortingly as you bring him into your arms and tuck his face into your shoulder, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I promise to talk to your tutors about the workload,” your gentle assurance and unfaltering promise eases his worries and Sirius allows himself to melt into your embrace. You’ve never called him that before. And never in such a loving or warm tone. It makes his heart feel lighter and his breath stutters in disbelief.

Can he keep you like this? He wants you to be like this forever.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up in your kind embrace but he’s brought back to his senses when he hears shuffling and quickly feels his younger brother being brought into the hug too. Lighthearted and optimistic about the world’s goodness, Sirius brings an arm around his brother, who reciprocates his actions, and the three of you stay there, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort. This is nice.

“Regulus,” Sirius feels his brother stiffen up beside him, but only for a moment, it almost goes unnoticed before Regulus tucks himself further into your arms, “I’m sorry for the burden of work on you too,”

“I-It’s okay, mother,” alas, his younger brother is too forgiving but Sirius knows it’s a trait that he loves his brother for.

“Do you like the amount of work you’re doing?” you question, doing your best to keep your tone neutral and only slightly peaking in curiosity.

Regulus pauses for a moment, contemplating his answer, “I wouldn’t mind less work…”

His answer makes you laugh, the sound feathery and light, it makes the two brothers stare at each other in wide-eyed disbelief. They’ve never heard their mother laugh before. It was obscure and strange but a pleasant sound, something that they want to hear more often from you.

“Then it’s settled, I’ll be having a word with your tutors,” the two boys release a sigh of relief and you feel Sirius melt a little more into your arms, “so you can leave your work alone for next week entirely,” their shock doesn’t go unnoticed but you continue, “I’m so proud of both of you for working so hard,” you didn’t want to rush things but you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly and gently and with all the love you could muster, you lean forward and press a kiss to Sirius’ forehead and then do the same to Regulus.

They were stunned into silence as a pink hue rose to their cheeks, their wide, unbelieving eyes staring up at you in the most precious way. They look so adorable; you want to capture this image of them in a photo to keep forever. You can practically hear their racing hearts trying to beat out of their chests as their eyes swim with a child-like astonishment and wonder. They’re just two precious little boys who deserved better than the miserable, tragic fate J.K fucking Rowling wrote for them. And you were going to stop at nothing to make sure their futures were happy.

Warm with happiness, your soft smile remains as you gently usher the two into the living room to settle down and relax for the evening. However, the little bubble of merriment you had cultivated with the two boys was promptly ruptured by the sour, disgruntled face you happened upon as soon as you opened the door.

Tucking the boys’ suddenly tense frames into the folds of your skirt, you address the intruder, “Orion–”

“What was all that racket?” he demanded, his voice booming and frightening enough for Regulus to begin shaking faintly against you. It made anger spike in your chest but, thankfully, Sirius was there to reach out and immediately begin comforting his younger brother. You made sure to keep the boys out of Orion’s gaze but it was no use, “Sirius! I know it was you! HOW DARE—!”

“We’ve already settled the issue so there’s no need to talk about it further!” you interrupt through clenched teeth, chest puffed out angrily as you hold the boys’ tense but trembling figures into your legs, hoping to calm them as best as you can. Curse that imperturbable charm! And curse that stupid wand! You haven’t been able to cast a single, functioning spell with it and your excitement for the world of magic had quickly dwindled into abhorrence, stemming solely from the stubbornly disobedient wand, “I’m sure you have a lot of work to do so excuse us!”

You hurriedly lead the boys away from Orion and to the living room as Orion snarls, outraged at being dismissed so flippantly but confused over your sudden change in demeanour. For now, he settles on observing the changes no matter how subtle and returns back to his office.

“THAT WAND ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT IT’S TRUE MASTER!” Walburga screams in your head and instantly makes you clutch your temple in distress. Settled in the living room sofas, Sirius and Regulus observe you with worry. Walburga doesn’t seem to know any other way of communicating than screaming and it has led to multiple black outs and fainting spells. It also meant that you kept having to drink the same disgusting healing potion over and over again and you were sick of it!

Seeing the same symptoms again, the two boys fidget in their seats, wondering what to do to help, “Are you okay mother?” Regulus asks as you muster a small smile.

“I’ll be alright, Regulus, thank you,” your response isn’t enough to convince Sirius and he whispers something in his younger brother’s ear as you set to deal with the annoying bitch stuck in your head.

‘Shut up you insufferable bitch, is inducing a headache your only talent?’ Your words and foul language make her sputter pathetically and it makes you laugh under your breath. Your moment of joy and satisfaction is short lived, however, as Regulus summons Kreacher just as you fall into darkness once more.

The fucking bitch…

8th August 1971

Because of that evil bitch stuck in your head, you had to ingest another phial-full of that horrendous healing potion. Not only that but the stupid wand still isn’t working for you.

“How can I survive this hell hole if I can’t even use magic?” you grumble into the open air as the evil bitch cackles resembled the sputtering and coughing of a broken-down car, mixed with the discordance of an off-tune violin, erratic, grating and screeching.

‘Can you shut up?!’ you shout in your head, already fuming, ‘Your laugh sounds like it could kill someone! No wonder you’re so miserable and your only sons hate you!’ that finally got her to shut up and you could think clearly again. Even though the situation was annoying, It made you snicker. Being able to bully Walburga into silence made those awful healing potions worth it. You’d drink a hundred healing potions if it meant delivering justice for you two boys.

Now that she’s silent, you observe your desk. Thankfully, you also had your ownhome office. The previous Walburga had a planner specific for Sirius and Regulus’ studying plans, diet and calendars full of ‘X’s with small notes beside them on disobedience and the subsequent punishments. It was sickening and you wanted to burn the thing but you resisted. If you want to act convincingly in front of Orion and plan slyly, you need to know as much about the original Walburga as possible so you keep all her planners, journals and scraps of paper intact. You’ll study their contents thoroughly in due time. You still have some major planning to do and you need to note down important dates to keep track of before you forget them. The start you’ve made has been decent, however, you know you need to rely on magic at some points and you wouldn’t be able to succeed in the current state of your wand. And it isn’t as though you weren’t able to cast magic; the first time you tried to cast a simple spell – the well-renowned ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ – you had set the flowers in the vase on fire.

You need an excuse to go out. As the Patriach of the Black family, Orion had the key to the Gringotts Black Family vault so you can’t just go out haphazardly. You also weren’t comfortable with leaving the boys home alone so you need them to come with you if you can.

With a sigh, you slump into the rigid desk chair and set about occupying yourself with mundane tasks. Perhaps if you indulge yourself in other, simple activities, you can come up with something creative. Stacking your messily scrawled notations of future plans, you begin to rummage through the desk drawers for a stapler or paper clip but come up unproductive. Nothing. Did wizards and witches not use basic stationary?... They had magic, yes, but surely…

Your internal ramblings come to an abrupt stop when you spot a famed crest sitting above a deep red seal. The crest features four familiar beasts, a lion, a badger, a raven and a serpent; at the very centre was an ostentatious ‘H’ — it’s a letter from Hogwarts. And you were just beginning to suspect its potential contents. The seal has already been broken and the letter slips out easily.

Words on the page read with nostalgia, it was as if you were watching the first Harry Potter film all over again and cheering at Harry’s liberation from his toxic aunt, uncle and cousin.

‘Dear Sirius Black,’ it reads and your heart stutters in both excitement and anxiety, ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.’

“Term starts on September 1st,” your eyes snapt to the desk calendar, which had automatically crossed off the days. It’s a little early but that just means you’ll beat the academic year rush. With a smile, you take out the separate list of necessary school supplies and pair it with a small list of your own.

Perfect, you have your reason.

9th August 1971

Before travelling by floo, Kreacher came up to you and cast a simple dirt-repellent spell on you and your two sons. You were grateful for his foresight and thanked him graciously for doing so. Much like all the times before, your unexpected kindness makes the grumpy house elf falter clumsily but adorably as Regulus grins at your side and Sirius huffs with an exaggerated pout on his lips. He’s still ever so stubborn about the house elf but you’ve observed how Regulus has put in the effort to push the two together. You join in the gentle prodding through leading by example, treating Kreacher kindly and with respect. Bit by bit, Sirius has been following yours and Regulus’ lead. He’s not fully there but you smile at the little progress he’s made. It’s only been a few days after all and the results are optimistic, it makes your heart flutter and you look forward to the future with brighter eyes. Sirius had been buzzing with silent excitement all morning and Regulus was quick to join his older brother’s enthusiasm when you informed him that he was welcome to come and join you.

You set off to travel by floo first so you can wait for the boys on the other side and so they’re not on their own not for too long. “Diagon Alley,” you announce clearly and without a shake of nervousness in your voice, only feverish anticipation. In moments, you’re engulfed by green flames. The world whirls around you in a dizzying blur of colours and sounds, the sensation both exhilarating and disorienting.

Unlike Harry and the Weasleys, you appear out of the subsequent fireplace without a spec of dirt on you and smile as you stumble out to await your two sons. The adrenaline rush of it all makes your fingers tingle and your head feel light headed but your smile only brightens. You still can’t believe you’re really here, sometimes.

Sirius came next and then Regulus. However, despite their earlier excitement, it appears as though their spirits were dampened just before travelling. Now, they stand before you with pouting lips and downcast eyes.

“What’s wrong boys?” you ask softly, kneeling down to their level, it was purely out of instinct now. You meet them at their comfort as an equal rather than the other way around. It usually does the trick of consoling them enough to speak to you but this time is different. Their lips are tightly sealed.

“We’re okay,” Sirius says in a tone that makes it seem as if he was trying to convince himself that. You want to press further but relent with a nod. It would be better for you to let them talk at their own time. Hopefully, being outside with so many charming shops dotted around, they’ll ease up and smile again. Pressing a brief kiss to their temples, you lead them out to the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.

The street was bustling with magic and mystery as you observe the scene with bright eyes. The atmosphere of the wizarding alley didn’t compare to the movie adaptations. It was much more charming and wondrous to observe in real life. And wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic as it was depicted to you. However, that may be due to the fact that you hadn’t left the school shopping too late and so the streets weren’t as congested as when Harry went school shopping for the first time. Nevertheless, your heart didn’t stop pounding in elation as you held hands with your two sons and set forth to your first destination.

“Our first stop is at a very important place, okay?” on either side of you, Sirius and Regulus nod, still silent as you lead them through the streets. The air was thick with the scent of potion ingredients and freshly baked treats from the nearby shops, a symphony of sounds and smells, it was a little overwhelming but you couldn’t complain, the tenor of the climate was still very addictive.

As if summoning your first destination, your eyes were drawn to the towering structure of Gringotts, the goblins' bank. Its grandeur was a stark contrast to the quaint shops lining the street, making it stand out like a uniquely different gem amongst a cluster of little treasures.

You walk forward with purpose now but still keep your strides short for the boys. Looking down you observe how they take in the environment around them, dressed like little princes with perfectly permed hair and glittering diamond eyes. Sirius had familiarised himself with the routine of the day, the first stop would be Gringotts to withdraw money to buy all of his school supplies, the second stop would be to retrieve his wand and after that, it would just be a matter of going down the list. It was a different plan to the usual fixed outline his parents were strict to follow in usual outings. Sirius would have been more enthusiastic if his father hadn’t forcibly pulled him and Regulus aside after you’d first disappeared by floo.

‘Don’t even think about dirtying the Black family name while outside. If I even hear a single word of your misbehaviour, it’ll be an entire day spent in the vault!’

His father’s threatening words echoed menacingly in his head, his mind like an empty cave except for the haunting remarks that bounced off its despondent walls. The only way for his father to hear of any misbehaving is if his mother told on them but… Sirius chances a brief glance up at you, only to be met by your kind smile. Quick as lightning, Sirius looks away with a clench of his hand around yours. His mother isn’t like that now, though…right?

As the three of you pass windows displaying cauldrons, brooms, and a myriad of magical trinkets, Sirius’ mind raced with possibilities. What spells would he learn? Who would he meet? And would he make good friends with them? What house would he be sorted into? He hopes not Slytherin, it was what his entire family had been sorted into but he doesn’t want to be like them – never like them. Would he be able to play Quidditch, his mother always used to say that it was too violent and rambunctious of a sport to be associated with. Will he like his teachers? Will he enjoy his classes? The future was a mysterious, unopened book, and Sirius, although slightly hesitant, still bound to expectations, was ready to turn the first page.

As you step through the towering bronze doors of Gringotts, a shiver of awe runs down your spine. The splendour of the entrance hall was breathtaking, with gleaming marble floors and towering pillars that seemed to reach up into the heavens – as opulent a building should be that holds secure a multitude of treasures and ancient artefacts whilst being guarded by a ferocious dragon.

Goblins, sharp-eyed and meticulous, worked behind large, ornate desks – tall and domineering. Their long, dexterous fingers moved swiftly as they counted coins and scribbled in large ledgers, busy but happily so when surrounded by so much gold. The air was filled with the clinks of coins and the soft murmur of transactions, bank-speak, typical and not too far from the banks of ‘muggles’. High above, the cavernous ceiling was illuminated by shimmering crystal chandeliers, casting a golden glow over everything, fitting for the amount of gold glittering beneath it. It was a complimentary union, one that oozed lavishness. Even the air smelled rich and you wondered if gold dust was dancing in it too. The atmosphere was one of ancient power and impenetrable security, safe and anchored. As you walked further in, you could feel the weight of centuries of wizarding history envelope you, it was unmistakably a place where secrets and fortunes were both hidden and revealed.

Approaching a vacant desk, you steady your breath and quickly recite your introduction in your head before elegantly performing it. You first drop into a low but graceful bow and repeat your greeting from memory, “Greetings Master Goblin, may your gold prosper and your enemies fail against your blade, I am Madam Black,” with bated breath, you wait for his reply, hoping that uttering your family name was enough.

“Madame Black, I am Filgus. What can I do for you today?” the goblin hid his surprise well. It was unusual to receive such a polite and formal greeting from the Matriarch of the infamous Black family. The surprise was pleasant but also carried with it a fair share of warning. Odd behaviour never bode well. Filgus was determined to not let anything pass, his pride as a Goblin demanded it be so.

“I would like to withdraw from the family vault,” you explain and hand over the key Orion had

“Very well,” Filgus accepts the key and moves to dismount his desk, “follow me to the carts,” you’re immediately reminded of the movie scene, where the speed and twisting passage of the cart made Hagrid sick, even as a half giant.

“Is it safe for the children?” you fret instinctively. Maternal instincts, a previously dormant part of your nature now expressed in the most spontaneous but opportune ways.

Filgus snarls in offence but bites his tongue as best he could, “I assure you Madame Black that Gringotts is one of the safest establishments to exist in the wizarding world,”

Not wanting to offend the goblin further, you nod with some hesitancy and keep your boys close. The fact that you worried for them made their little hearts flutter as their cheeks heated into a delicate pink hue. It was unusual for them to experience such care and worry but it still made them feel good. Turning to each other, they observe their identical reactions and bite their lips to keep from grinning too widely.

The journey to the vault was as winding and twisting as you remembered in the films. It was equal parts frightening and thrilling. The experience was exactly like that of a rollercoaster but without as strict of a regard to safety. If only the path was better lit, maybe that would have made the journey a little more pleasant.

“Here we are,” Filgus announces, stepping off the cart and politely asking for the lamp. You oblige and slowly follow him out of the cart, steadying yourself before you help Sirius and Regulus out too, “your key, Madam Black?” Filgus sets about opening your vault door as you turn to the boys and check their welfare.

“Are you alright, my darlings?” you ask in a soft whisper, kneeling before them.

In all honesty, Sirius had enjoyed the ride down, the twists and turns and perilous speed made his head spin in the most delightful sense but he’s grown to like you worrying for him more than that temporary thrill. So, with a pitiful look on his face, he shakes his head ‘no’ and slowly begins to stretch his arms open.

“It was scary…” Sirius whispers, taking advantage of the cold underground temperature to make his voice shake in ‘fear’.

“Oh darling,” you coo softly and bring him into your arms, “it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sirius smiles into your shoulder and allows himself to cling onto you like he’s always secretly dreamed of doing. This feeling of safety and security was one he didn’t ever want to let go of. Over your shoulder, Regulus gapes at the affectionate scene and, although it goes against his moral code of lying, he musters up the sly courage his older brother so easily displayed.

“M-me too, mother,” Regulus calls for your attention in a bashful whisper, “I was scared too,” your kind, understanding smile eases his nerves Regulus jumps into your arms as soon as you open up to accommodate his small frame.

This didn’t count as misbehaving, right? Only they knew whether or not they were truly scared or not…

The bell above the door tinkled softly, happily announcing your arrival as you pushed open the creaky, unassuming entrance into Ollivander’s, the most renowned wand shop in all of Diagon Alley. It made you giddy just thinking about getting to meet the whimsical shop owner and wand artisan.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic, a combination that seemed to tickle the very edges of your senses. Your fingers itched to grasp at wand, your nose scrunched up at the pleasantly ancient scent permeating the air and your eyes surveyed the room with an eager gleam. The shop was narrow and cramped, yet it felt infinitely deep, with towering shelves that stretched up into the shadows. Each floor to ceiling shelving unit was crammed with thousands of slender boxes, their organisation questionable but fitting for such an antiquated establishment. Dim light filtered through the dusty windows, casting a mystical glow over everything. The walls seemed to whisper secrets of ancient trees and magical cores, each wand holding the promise of a unique bond, waiting to be discovered and pledged to its chosen master. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could hear Sirius’ heart pounding with the thrilling but nervous realisation that among the wondrous collection of boxes, one held a wand that was meant solely for him. It would be special and unequalled to anything else – an incomparable affiliation

Mr. Ollivander, with his pale, incisive eyes emerged from the shadows like a wisp of memory, his movements as silent and fluid as a ghost, a jolly ghost supporting a fanciful smile. His gaze takes in your sons, to which he gives a thoughtful hum before fixing his stare onto you.

“Madame Black…” Mr. Ollivander observes you with open curiosity, peaking the interest of your two boys, their diamond grey eyes watching the interaction silently and with overflowing intrigue, “having trouble with your wand?” his quick deduction makes your breath hitch and your shoulders tense. The impish gleam in his eyes almost going unnoticed by you, “it’s very peculiar for a wand that has already chosen its master to change its mind, especially from a wand that’s so loyal,” he ponders aloud as Sirius and Regulus inch closer to your sides, clinging onto the fabric of your dress skirt as they heed Ollivander’s nebulous words with a hint of caution, “curious, very curious indeed... I could only think of one reason, an abstruse but entirely possible reason for such a contingency in a world of magic…” Ollivander leans forward and looks deeply into your eyes, his own dancing about in their search, for what, you don’t have a clue. But it feels as though he can see into your soul, the flicker in his eyes detecting the presence of another. He shakes his head, almost in disbelief but laughs merrily, easing the tension built up in the air, “not one, but two, I see…”

Your heart shudders in your chest. Did he know?

NEXT. | 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : i would like to say that i was planning to delay this chapter update for a day or two since i was an absolute muppet to myself and decided to switch up events in the plot and oc introductions last minute but, thanks to @urmomw4ntsme (amazing username btw (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )) and their message about being excited for the update, i was lovingly and innocently pushed into getting the update out on time ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) so thank you, my darling haha! i appreciate your perfectly timed, kind message. i hope you darlings enjoyed the read and forgive me for splitting this chapter up into 2 parts - i suppose i planned for too much in one chapter hehe~

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landograndprix · 1 year

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where your heart truly lies ✾ l.n - ix

❧ in which you and lando are not together, right?

❧ Satan is back, wars not over besties ☺

❧ prev part - next part

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liked by maxfewtrell, landonorris and 25,761 others

y/nusername end of the season traditions 🥂

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fewtrelllando only here for max vibing on his own 🕺

norrizz4 ugh now I have to live without f1 and mother serving cunt on the grid for a couple of months 😔

y/nlandooo mom & dad 😭

yourbestfrienduser good to see I do look like e goblin when drunk

landonorris you don't have to be drunk to look like this

yourbestfrienduser 😐

maxfewtrell pictures are getting better

y/nusername saving the best for last ;)

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bonsiii-art · 23 days

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So while I work on creating an art backlog by taking care of the prev reqs in my inbox, I saw an artist I follow, @/deeppink-man, compile her expression art memes she created and the blushing/shy one is calling to me like the goblin mask from that spiderman movie so-

Send me the combo of letter + number with whatever cookie or character you want and I'll do my best! ✧⁺⸜(●′▾‵●)⸝⁺✧

#bonsi talks #drawing blushy expressions are fun so why not do a whole bunch of them? >:P #I remember doing a different expression sheet from deeppink before and that was cool uwu #blushing expression meme

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galaxiasgreen · 23 days

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🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 7.8k words]

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

In which, even after he broke your friendship, Ominis can't get you out of his head.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, Scriptorium quest, Muggle culture, Your Scent in the Amortentia, Going Feral when You're Hurt, Comforting You When You're Sad.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad] [PREV][NEXT]

2: When Everything Changed

You didn't speak to him for a long time.

Justifiably, Ominis knows. It's one thing to insult, degrade, demean someone, but something else entirely to diminish their very existence, to reduce them to flesh and bones and happenstance. You were Muggle-born, he was pure-blood. Your friendship together was as tenuous as life itself.

You didn't deserve risk, so he steeled his heart, his mind. He moved through the struggles of fourth year silently, like a wraith, participating only when needed. A clock was ticking for summer – he couldn't spend the entire holiday at Feldcroft, though he longed for it, though Sebastian offered. When the dread of it came, thick and drowning, it was the thought of you, what he was doing ultimately to protect you, that eased the pain. He didn't realise how deeply you had planted your vines inside him, so that everything he did now, anything he felt, or touched, or tasted, reminded him of you. You were ingrained, and no matter how hard he tried to uproot you, you would not wither.

Perhaps this was his reality now. Perhaps he would never speak to you again.

Naturally, fifth year changed everything.

The new school year rang with tension. A goblin tyrant, Ranrok, sought vengeance against wizardkind, with his influence strongest around the Scottish Highlands, scattered around the hamlets around Hogwarts. His plans were unclear, just another thing Ominis worried about, massaging his temple on the walk up to school for the first evening.

Sebastian wasn't in a talkative mood. He'd come to verbal blows with his uncle that afternoon, when Ominis was packing and keeping Anne company. Their voices were so raised they could be heard in the entire village.

"Stop getting her hopes up! For goodness sake, she's cursed. At least let her enjoy however long she has left in peace, without your meddling!"

"Meddling?" Sebastian scoffed. "She's my sister! I'll find a cure for her—"

"If St Mungo's Healers can't do it, no fifteen year-old boy will either."

"You might've given up, but I haven't."

"I've stopped trying to fill her head with false hope and nonsense!"

Anne's lethargic sigh had pulled Ominis away. "I'm so tired."

"You should rest."

"No." She fell back against the pillow. "I mean, of their arguing."

Truthfully, Ominis was tired of it too. He heard enough hatred at home, the few lonely weeks he had to spend there before absconding to Feldcroft. For the most part, his parents ignored him, though there were days they dragged him to dinners or parties with the other pure-blood families. He made sure to give the Malfoys as wide a berth as possible, even though Peregrine didn't bother him again.

"Can you promise me something, Ominis?" Anne had asked.

He'd pursed his lips. "That depends on what it is."

"You'll keep an eye on Sebastian this year." A wry laugh. "A metaphorical eye, that is."

He always intended to. The darkness was offering Sebastian solace, and he feared his best friend was diving down a path from which there was no return. How far would he be willing to go for Anne?

"I'll do my best."

"And... and talk to Gibby."

He hadn't heard your name all summer. It sent a frisson through him, equally terrifying and pleasant, and made to leave before an inevitable interrogation—

"Please," she said, stopping him. "Sometimes family isn't blood. Sometimes family is heart. And she is as much a part of yours as the rest of us are."

Yet, when he left with Sebastian an hour later, he adamantly reminded himself why he made that pact in the first place. He could not— would not talk to you, and rub raw a healing wound. Things were simply too dangerous to risk it, if not from Peregrine Malfoy, then from one of the other pure-blood families, the Lestranges, the Blacks, or the Fawleys.

When he and Sebastian arrived at the school, sun hushing the horizon, Ominis paid no mind to the knowledge that you were there, somewhere at the Hufflepuff table, enjoying the start of term without him. He took his seat next to his best friend and expected the same opening speech, Sorting Ceremony and feast.

Only there was one thing different.

Missy was what everyone called her. The nickname was sparked by rumour, as thick as honey – unlike yours, spurred by your actions, your quirks, Missy's had come before her, on the train up to Hogwarts, where all the fifth years spoke of a new student starting this year under the mentorship of Professor Fig.

Staring school so late, with the support of a prominent Hogwarts professor? That was unusual, she was unusual. A mystery.

Only when she appeared at the Sorting Ceremony, late, it was apparent she was anything but.

"There she is," Nerida crowed in the hum of chatter. "The new girl!"

"Her hair is amazing," said Violet, awed.

Ominis heard the new girl – like you, she had a distinctive set of sounds he could use to distinguish her from others. But unlike you, however, there was no naivety, no jolliness or upbeat wonder. There was only purpose, strong with each stride and levelled breath. Even as the interloper, and a late one at that, she acted like she already belonged.

His heart ached suddenly – the memory of the Undercroft tore at him, and he fought to keep it down, push away the strange sensation that came with thinking of you.

When the new girl was sorted into Slytherin, she sat next to Sebastian. "Hello." Her voice was distinctive too, well-spoken, eloquent, from wealth.

"The mystery student," Imelda said, clearly more impressed than she let on. "The whole year's been talking about you."

"Have they?" She didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Is that what I am? A mystery?"

"A real lady of mystery," said Sebastian, equally intrigued.

"Oh," said the mystery student, chuckling – Ominis caught threads of a sinister undertone. "I'm no lady. Miss is just fine."

"Well, then, Miss Mystery," Sebastian teased, "welcome to Hogwarts."

Ominis was too polite to ask what her real name was. It was too late now, anyway. The nickname stuck like mud, too fitting for a girl with an air of something otherworldly and powerful to be displaced. Your laughter bubbled in his head – maybe she would come to love the nickname as you did.

But there was no point thinking about you anymore. No point imagining what the future beheld for you.

Later that month, Ominis asked after what Missy looked like, if only to build a better picture of how different you were to one another, but Sebastian had only laughed.

"I'd tell you, but she changes her hair and eyes every day. Always in Snelling's Emporium. And her robes – she's never wearing them! Every class we go to she just puts on capes and hats and all sorts. It's a mismatch."

A very strange girl indeed, but not in the same way you were, in the same way you still are.

As the air began to chill, Ominis felt the change in his friend like frigid air on bare skin. He was warming to the new girl, more rapidly than Ominis expected – she invited him to Hogsmeade, joined his secret duelling club, stole him for night-time escapades and thirsted for knowledge only he could give. It seemed harmless enough at first, but the new girl had a particular sway, popular but not needy with the attention, mysterious but still generous with her time, and genial with her friends. Especially with Sebastian.

Worst of all, you were becoming her friend too. She was like the replacement for what you'd lost.

"Amortentia." Professor Sharp's voice carried through the Potions classroom one day, as October crept up the front lawns. "I'm sure you're all familiar with this, but for our new student's sake, could someone please refresh us on its properties?"

Unsurprisingly, Garreth spoke up. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world. It smells different to everyone according to what most attracts them."

"Very good. This is a potion we will be learning to brew in seventh year. As Mr Weasley has said, this is the most powerful love potion in the world." The last part he emphasised seriously. "It is not to be trifled with. Today, we will be brewing weaker love potions, but I am allowing you all to see for yourself the properties of Amortentia, so that you may recognise it outside the classroom. Dare I say, so you can protect yourself should anyone try to use it on you."

Sharp allowed them to gander at the potion as they brewed their own. The fifth-year girls were most excited, and as Ominis prepared his ingredients, the Hufflepuffs plus Missy headed up to the main station to have their turn.

Of course, you were amongst that group.

"Well, Missy?" you asked, as eager and animated as he remembered you to be. "What does it smell like?"

Missy took a whiff, then laughed.

"Secrets."

"Secrets don't have a scent," said Lenora haughtily.

"They do to me." She stood back, let you go ahead. "Go on then, Gibby, your turn. What does it smell like to you?"

Ominis struggled not to listen.

"Sweets." Of course it did. "Magic. You know, just the general scent of it. And..." Your voice turned tart. "Oil."

The giggling ceased. "Oil?" asked Adelaide.

"Oil," you confirmed, in a way that brooked no space for discussion.

What an absurd thing to find attractive. Did oil even have a scent? He pondered on this for a while, trying to untangle its meaning until their potions were neatly bubbling and Sebastian nudged him out of his thoughts.

"Want to go up next?"

They went after Everett declared his favourite scent to be broom handles ("Probably because that's the closest thing he'll ever get to a girl's touch," Sebastian muttered). Already the aroma was drawing him closer, a pleasant tickling like a silk robe on freshly bathed skin.

Sebastian inhaled deeply.

"Hmm."

"Well?"

"Old parchment," he said, "and hair dye."

Hair dye? "I've been told you were starting to grey."

"Funny. No idea why it smells like that."

But Ominis did. Just an inkling, anyway.

"Your turn." His friend stepped back. "You more than most anyone to know what it smells like."

Perhaps nothing, he thought in vain. It was a folly to think himself above such emotions. In fact, though his family may have tried to beat it out of him, it took strength to admit he had such a weakness at all. Since his sense of smell was more acute than most, it would've been strange, perhaps concerning, if there was no scent to the Amortentia at all.

So Ominis leant forwards and inhaled. The aroma was so heady he could get drunk on the smell alone.

"Honeysuckle," he murmured, probably because they grew around Feldcroft, and the memories were something he cherished. "Polished wood, like in a wandshop. And something... sweet." It was a sudden overwhelming note, and his voice grew hoarse. "It's very sweet. Something like—"

He iced over.

Strawberry laces.

"Something like...?" Sebastian said. "Your face has gone red."

"What?" Ominis drew back, willed the scent to disappear. "I— I don't recognise it."

Sebastian didn't say a word at first. Then came the insufferable chuckling beneath his breath.

"Ah, wait. Sweet, was it?"

"I said I don't recognise it." And when Sebastian went to speak again, Ominis quickly snapped, "Not another word."

But he knew, when his friend lapsed into contented, smug silence, this was by far the last time they'd have this conversation.

Without meaning to be, without even being there, you were a cruelty, vivid and sweet, and no matter what he did, he was powerless beneath your spell.

But with tensions rising in the world, he could not afford to think about you. He couldn't afford to think about what your scent in the Amortentia meant for his confused, muddled feelings.

By chance, he got the opportunity to think elsewhere the next day, when a letter arrived – from Gringotts, of all places. The braille glided beneath his fingertips, and he realised it was a will, his Aunt Noctua's will. It was getting to the point where she'd been missing longer than she had not, and his parents had finally bowled through solicitors and admin to snatch the last of the pittance from her vault. With no next of kin, she had given most of it to Ominis, though the money wasn't actually his until he turned seventeen.

Truthfully, the worst part was he could barely remember Noctua's voice anymore. He wondered constantly where she had gone, why she'd left him with her horrible brother and family. Once when he was eight, when a hopeful innocence still sang through him, Noctua had come to watch over him as his parents and siblings attended a society event in London. A pure-blood ball, he was told. Adults talking about adult things, how dull. As the youngest, Ominis hadn't been permitted to go, but he didn't mind so much when he got to spend time with his whacky aunt.

He was practicing his braille as Noctua tidied about the room.

"They'll be back after sundown," she was saying, "so make sure you're finished before then."

"Isn't it midday?"

"It's one."

"So I have lots of time."

"Yes," she said mirthfully, "but I want to take you to the village later today."

The village? "That's the Muggle place, and Father says I shouldn't go near them. They're all stupid anyway. Like pigs."

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes."

A creak as she sat on the bench next to him. Her hand ran down his back.

"You should know, Ominis, that not everything your father says is true. Muggles aren't anymore stupid than wizards are. They're hardly different from us at all."

The comment, harmless in retrospect, felt like an affront to everything Ominis knew. "But they don't have magic. That makes them stupid."

"It doesn't make them stupid. You don't have your sight. Does that make you stupid?"

"No," he said at once, indignant.

"So you understand. What we have and do not have doesn't matter. It is how we choose to live that does. In the end, we all return to the earth in the same way, flesh and skeleton."

That didn't make sense to him. "But how do they do anything if they don't have magic?"

"Well, you're learning your braille now, aren't you? They find ways to do things that work for them." She stood. "Tell you what, why don't we go to the village now? You can finish your work later."

Ominis agreed. He wanted to know, after all, if what Noctua said was true. She dressed him down for it, cotton and breeches and a woollen coat that drowned his arms, and they headed out before the clock struck two, Ominis clutching her hand as the wind bandied playfully with his hair. It didn't take them long to walk, though he detected so many new scents, new sounds. Wheat fields susurrating within musky spruce fences, crackling bonfires and burnings that pumped smoke into the sky. They reached a low stone wall that bordered the village river, cold against Ominis' hands, before Noctua hushed him.

"Do you remember the rules around Muggles?"

"No talking about the M-word," he said diligently, "or that we are the W-word."

So Noctua took him on a stroll through the market. He was surprised at the atmosphere, busy but not bustling. Horses clattered against cobblestone, ivy rustled against houses with rooves made of thatch. Knives slammed down on meat and fish, and there was bartering, so much bartering, for the best cuts and lowest prices.

"Come off it, Dave. Two shillings for that? You must be joking."

"Ain't no joke. Gotta' keep the lights on somehow, don't I?"

They chuckled, even though Ominis didn't understand why, until he remembered Muggles simply couldn't call upon light whenever they wanted. They had to rely on candles and hearths and gas lanterns. They had to rely on their own labour to make ends meet and provide for their children.

A thread of something fresh caught Ominis' nose then, and he turned towards the scent. Warm bread, just baked.

"Want some?" asked Noctua.

His family teachings came to him. Make no disturbance of your betters. "No thank you."

"Are you sure?"

It did smell nice, but he worried about whether Muggle bread was poison for wizards. Still, Noctua took him into the bakery, and thought terror laced through his fascination, he took the bread Noctua paid in their strange Muggle money and eagerly bit into the crust. It was warm and buttery and filled his belly to full – and best of all, it tasted like regular bread. No poison.

"Ah, born like that, was he?" said the baker.

Noctua seemed so at ease with them. "Yes, he's practicing braille at the moment."

"Oh, now, that's wonderful. Keep at it, lad. You'll do great."

"Thanks," Ominis managed. He'd never spoken to a Muggle before. He didn't know Muggles learnt braille too.

Noctua took him back outside as he finished the last of his bread. "Well? What do you think?"

The general mood was buoyant and hopeful. Not everyone was affluent, yes, but there was something wonderful in the way they worked tirelessly to get what they wanted. If the air smelt the same, the food tasted the same, the people merry and sad and angry the same...

"It's a bit like Hogsmeade," he admitted at last, because that was all he had to compare it to.

"So you see, then," said Noctua, a twinkle in her voice. "Not so different after all."

Only when they got back to the house, Ominis not entirely convinced but probing for more, he felt a shift in the air like claws on his shoulders. His parents had arrived home early, as had Marvolo and his noisy sneer.

"At the village, I see," his father barked. Then, "Ominis, to your room. Now."

Ominis knelt to the ground and pressed an ear to the crack under his door so he could hear the argument in the foyer below.

"You will do well to remember that he is my son, and I will not have you traipsing him around in Muggle slums!"

"Do you want him to be so completely unaware of the surrounding world? He'll have to live outside these walls one day."

Marvolo scoffed. "The boy is blind, Noctua."

"In sight, not in head," she retorted. "Though he will be if you all keep treating him this way."

It was nice to hear her support him, and from then on he enjoyed her company a lot more. She had so much wisdom to share, about the Muggle world, about his family, about the dark secrets that followed the Gaunts like shadow. When she went missing, he despaired in his bedroom alone, knowing all too well no one but him would care. It was only until that will arrived, balling up any last hope that she was alive, that he decided to shut the door on her disappearance once and for all – by chasing the information she'd last shared with him.

Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium.

It hadn't been an immediate decision. Once he told Sebastian of the Scriptorium, and his aunt's futile quest to find it, Sebastian hounded him for weeks, desperate to seek it himself. Ominis shut down his questions, even though, secretly, he wanted answers himself.

Missy managed to convince him – if only because she reinforced how important it was for Sebastian to find a cure for Anne, something that was possible with the secrets of the Scriptorium. And, well, to sate his own curiosity Ominis wouldn't be moved, but for Anne, whom he loved as much as Sebastian did, he agreed to make an effort. He would put aside his distaste for the Dark Arts for closure.

"Don't mistake my agreeing to go as thinking this is a good idea. I'm only going to ensure you don't get into some sort of trouble."

Missy's voice turned upwards with agreement. "You've made the right decision."

On the other hand, his was rueful. "I hope we don't regret this."

They waited until nightfall. It should've been no trouble to get there for the three of them, since the Scriptorium's entrance was next to their common room – but come the clock chimes at midnight Missy was nowhere to be found. Sebastian paced in wait as Ominis pressed a heel to the wall where the secret door lay, trying to sense any vibrations beneath. Boot steps heading towards them snagged his attention.

But there were two pairs. The first, Missy's forceful strides. The second—

You.

Instantly he recognised it. The bounce of your curls. The clatter of your glasses. The shoes, merrily clacking against stone. The scent of you, so sweet and innocuous, and yet like pure ecstasy.

You startled at the same time he did, standing upright.

"Gibby—"

"Ominis—" Hearing you speak his name after so long, in a tone that wasn't revulsion, was like music. But the shock was gone when you turned to Missy, aggravated. "I-I didn't know he was coming."

"Yes," said Missy coolly, "this information comes from his family."

"And therefore it is my quest," he reiterated. "You cannot invite whomever you want."

"I thought the more people, the better." So composed and unperturbed. "Why? Will this be a problem?"

"Yes. She cannot go."

"And why not?" you challenged indignantly.

So damn naïve. "It's dangerous."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"You can put your wounded ego away, Ominis. There's no way I'm not going exploring with you all."

He swore steam erupted from his nose, but it took Sebastian, of all people, to step in and play middle man. "We'll all go— and no, Ominis, unless you're planning to hex her, I don't think you can stop her."

"Don't tempt me." He grinded his teeth. "If you get hurt—"

"You wouldn't care," you said coldly.

And you were right. He shouldn't have cared. He'd severed your bond almost a year ago now. But there was something in him helplessly clutched in your grasp. Something that wouldn't let him let you go.

"If we're ready," said Missy, elongating her words in a poor attempt to smooth the tension, "then you can tell us the first step into the Scriptorium, Ominis."

Lighting the braziers was the easy part. Other students had done it, lit the things to light their way through the dungeons and accidentally unveiled the door. But no one had got further. A dead end, it was declared.

Instantly, he knew why.

Whispers seeped through the chamber walls. As the others explored, and Missy repaired a broken relief, Ominis wished he could clap his hands over his ears. There was something terribly wrong with this place. Something dark.

"Wait— a journal entry! Under the broken pieces!" Sebastian snatched a crusty parchment from the ground. "Ominis— it's signed from your aunt."

"What?" He couldn't believe it. Then had she... succeeded? "What does it say?"

Sebastian read. "Wow... she tried to convince your father she'd found the Scriptorium. She came down to get proof."

Noctua was here. And, perhaps worse, his father knew. His father knew and never said a word.

Tears came unwilling to his eyes, and he fought to bat them back, but it was like the susurrations heard his pain, strengthening their efforts to unsettle him.

"What's wrong, Ominis?"

Your voice was a balm, even though Ominis hated himself for it. His throat ran dry.

"I— I can hear hissing."

"Hissing?" asked Missy.

"I'm a Parselmouth," he explained, and for some reason, admitting it in front of you filled him with more shame. "I can hear and speak to snakes."

"Wow, that's incredible."

The awe in Missy's voice disconcerted him. "All descendants of Salazar Slytherin have the ability."

"So what's it saying?"

Ominis swallowed and focused on the sound. It pulled such a deep fear from him, to use this ability he hadn't in so long. The worst of it was, it was like he'd last spoken it yesterday. Like he'd never stopped at all. He'd sworn a year ago to lock away all the darkness of his family bloodline and throw away the key, and yet here he was, standing in his predecessor's lair, the translation effortless.

For Aunt Noctua, he tried to convince himself. But it was much harder to pretend the ends justified the means.

"Speak to me," he murmured.

"The relief depicts a person facing a snake," said Sebastian. "And this door... well, it's covered in snake motifs."

Ominis felt it, if only to fuel the hope that his friend was wrong. Of course he wasn't.

His heartbeat was a wild stag in his chest. "But I— I can't. I haven't spoken it in years."

"I think you know it's not the sort of language you forget."

No. It wasn't.

Everything in this place was overwhelming. His father's deliberate silence, the darkness that fettered him when he thought he was free... He didn't realise he was shaking until a hand came to steady him. You. Because of course you knew about his aunt, and how fond of her he was. You knew how much this meant to him, even if you didn't know the horrible things he'd done to get here.

He hesitated pulling his arm away – a foolish mistake. Your touch lingered like your soap.

"Take your time," you said softly.

He tried to gather some lost mettle. For my aunt, he told himself, again and again, until the whispers didn't seem so scary. It was difficult to centre himself when three people were waiting on him, but knowing that behind this door were the answers for his aunt's disappearance, and potentially the answers for Anne's illness, lit the spark of courage he needed. All that was left was to speak.

So he took a deep breath. Forced it out again.

And he spoke.

The tongue was guttering and unnatural. Rusty. Yet the door recognised its own flesh, and as the snakes undulated along the door's surface, and it opened with a cold draught of wind, Ominis knew he'd never escape his family legacy. No matter how much he wished it.

The others cast Lumos and set about exploring the space. Even so many years here and there was still some wonder in discovering the new, the unwritten. Salazar Slytherin did not make it easy to enter his Scriptorium, as the enclosed stone hallways, suffused with the cold, were riddled with puzzles, most of them involving the use of sight. Missy managed to solve the first, a memory test that required her to twist dials to match symbols on the gates.

She clicked the first one. Something sharped sliced the air besides him, and Ominis flinched.

"What the—"

"The gate came down," Sebastian said, terrified but also in awe – a worrying amount. "Between the archway."

"So there's no way back."

You huffed a breath. "So there's only forwards."

Regardless of your optimism, that was not a comforting thought, and the group stayed closer together, firing Lighting charms into the darkness. Dust swirled beneath Ominis' nose, and yet the place had a damp, mildewed feel, unpleasant and uncomfortable, but as the others continued to solve Slytherin's riddles, a rising worry eschewed his fear. This was too easy. His ancestor, he hated to admit, was one of the greatest wizards of all time, and too clever to find entertainment in shallow puzzles. There had to be something worse.

"I don't like this," he murmured into the humming din at one point, as Sebastian and Missy searched for the next symbols.

He didn't mean to talk to you, but he had.

"We'll be okay," you said, even though you moved a little closer to him, closer than he'd expected. "Salazar Slytherin is your direct ancestor?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

A pause.

"He hated Muggle-borns, too."

On anyone else's tongue, the words were a jab. On you, they were only full of pity.

I don't hate Muggle-borns. I don't hate you.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it, and the silence that followed devoured him.

"I think this is the last one," said Missy, when they entered yet another identical stone corridor, the echo of her voice a small comfort in the confined space.

Sebastian had already turned this into a game. "Race you?"

She let out a single chuckle. "You couldn't keep up."

"Try me."

You laughed along to their competitive scrabbling. When the air rippled, and stone quaked, revealing a corridor that seemed to lead nowhere, you patted your cheeks twice and marched forwards on Sebastian's heels.

But Slytherin enjoyed games too.

The gate almost sliced Ominis' nose when it descended in front of him, cutting him off from you and Sebastian. A mere breath separated you, and yet the gap felt infinite.

Behind him, Missy spluttered. "Damn it!"

That meant— he was trapped.

Powerless.

He grabbed the gate, unyielding beneath his fingers. "Sebastian, what's going on?"

"I—" Sebastian startled. "Oh no."

He heard your intake of breath then.

"What's going on?" Ominis demanded.

"Bones," you said quietly. "And a note. I-It's from your aunt..."

She died here. You read it aloud, confirming Ominis' worst fears. Grief tore through him, swelling behind his eyes.

"This is the last puzzle," Sebastian said, voice firm. "There's a door, but it's sealed. It says Crucio on the floor..."

"No!" Ominis rattled the gate. "No, you can't. This is madness, Sebastian! Please—"

"Please what?" Sebastian said, frustrated. "The Scriptorium wants a price for entry. This is what we must pay."

But you didn't know any Dark Magic.

Sebastian did.

The realisation chilled Ominis down to his heart.

"Don't you dare!" he screeched. "Don't you dare use that curse on her!"

You stammered. "Ominis—"

"We're stuck!" Sebastian barked. "Your aunt died because she came alone. She didn't have anyone to use Dark Magic on. So unless you want to die like her, we don't have a choice."

"We always have a choice!"

Even though he didn't know what that was, even though it was Slytherin's nature to demand obedience or death. None of that mattered. What did was that you were the last person who deserved such pain, when you'd already been through so much. When he'd already caused it.

He tried with all his might to break the gate, bend it, cast the Exploding charm, whatever it would take to get him in the chamber.

"It won't work," Missy said, softer than he thought capable.

"I have to try—"

"It's okay," you mumbled, cutting him off. "I-I can take it."

The tremble betrayed your fear. Sebastian offered a compromise, that he could teach you and you'd use it on him, but even if you wanted to learn the curse yourself, which you didn't, there was no way you'd ever find the intention to use it willingly, and to use it willingly on Sebastian, no less, who'd done you no wrong since you'd known him.

Ominis banged his hands against the gate. "Damn it, Gibby—"

"I said I can do it," you snapped. "I'll be fine."

"I told you it was dangerous!"

"I knew the risks."

"Did you?" he challenged. "You came down to explore!"

"I'm not naïve, Ominis!" You came closer. "Of course the Scriptorium of Salazar Slytherin wouldn't be easy to get into. Of course I knew there was a price!"

But for you, and only you, to pay it? Was it by fate, that you walked in second, or was this what Slytherin wanted all along? For Muggle-born blood to pave the way for the rest of wizardkind?

His hands shook as he clutched the gate, so tightly his veins bulged. Once, you were the most naïve person he knew, but that day in the Undercroft had changed you as much as it had changed him.

You spun away, back to Sebastian. A deep breath.

"Okay. I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

Presumably you nodded, because you didn't say the words.

And Ominis was helpless to listen as Sebastian raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Your pain seemed to last for hours. For a second, a wink in time, you were silent, only that fizzing noise, that horrid, burning stench of the curse any indication anything was happening at all. But then you cried out, you wept, you mewled, howled – then it was pure agony, screams that arced through Ominis in ways he would never forget.

Something shifted. It was a softer noise than your screams, like mud, or honey almost, sinking into the ground. As the blockage melted, Sebastian ceased the spell, but your pain did not end, and when the gate shot back up, Ominis stumbled over himself to get to you.

"Gibby," he fell to your side, cradled you, ran hands over your shoulders and face, breathless. "You— I— are you—"

Your ragged breaths calmed. Your quivering eased. Tears ran down his own, probably splattering onto you, but you said nothing, only remained still in his grasp as he held you, comforted you.

Something warm drew up his temple then, and it took a second to recognise it. Your hand. Your thumb, combing back an errant lock of hair, skimming the mole on his temple.

"So you do care," you croaked.

He didn't know how to respond.

"I-I'm sorry," he said instead, failure washing through him. "I... I should've—"

"Don't," you whispered. "Not here. Not yet."

So he didn't. Instead, he wordlessly helped you to stand. Sebastian and Missy asked after you, and their awkwardness brought a new flush to Ominis' cheeks, but when you gave a shaky thumbs-up and an audible smile that warmed even this terrible place, the four of you headed into Slytherin's Scriptorium impeded no longer.

Sebastian and Missy got to work searching each nook and cranny of the cavernous chamber of stone walls, busy with the scattered remnants of Slytherin's work: parchment, scrolls, ancient tomes on shelves that seemed to hum with magic too ancient to describe. Ominis held onto you for the entire time, emotionally spent. You clutched his arm in return, and he felt the tremble of your grip, the vestiges of the curse. He should've helped to search the place, really, but he didn't trust that Slytherin, the most famous pure-blood supremacist in the history of Hogwarts, wouldn't have any last surprises for you.

Missy eventually found Slytherin's spellbook, and the exit, which chucked the four of you back out into the dungeons. You huddled behind the columns until you were sure there were no teachers or prefects, and only then did Ominis allow himself a moment to press his head to the stone, process everything he'd heard, felt.

His aunt was dead, bones lying cold in that corridor.

Sebastian had used Dark Magic like it was second nature.

You had been hurt. And you were owed an explanation.

But so close to the common room entrance was risking too much. If not Peregrine Malfoy, then another pure-blood, a painting, a ghost, a teacher bribed. Someone else, trading with secrets that could ultimately slither its way back to his family.

"Ominis," Sebastian sounded genuinely contrite, "about your aunt—"

"Oh please, Sebastian," he snapped, the anger sudden but healthy. He swung on his friend, teeth bared. "We were lucky we escaped at all."

"But I'm grateful that we did, because maybe now Anne—"

"And if you'd have died in there? How could you have saved Anne then?"

You startled. "Wait, let's—"

"Swear to me." He didn't bend under the weight of your gaze. "Swear to me, right now, that we will never engage with Dark Magic ever again. That— that we will never cause that pain again."

Sebastian was speechless. "But—"

"Swear it, Sebastian!"

"All right, all right." He took a breath. "Understood. And I... I really am sorry about your aunt."

Admittedly that closure was nice, to know Noctua was gone. He didn't voice anything, his feelings too raw and churning, and Sebastian headed towards the common room, Missy in tow.

"We'll go. You two... have a lot to talk about."

When the common room door slid shut, and it was only the two of you, alone, a new sort of worry seeded in his stomach. You said nothing for a while, the last moments that had passed between you as palpable as stone.

"I— I'm sorry," he forced out, this apology much harder than the last. "The Cruciatus Curse—"

"I'm okay," you repeated. A shuffle of your boot. "Are... are you going to talk to me again now? Are you going to tell me why you turned on me?"

But he found the words impossible and unmoving. He needed time, space, to heal from today, before he was ready to open another old wound.

"I-I can't. Not yet."

You paused. It was long and hard to bear, like a rake drawing down his chest.

"All right," you said quietly. "When you're ready, find me. You know where."

He did know where. Back in the early months of first year, when you were green and hungry, there were times when you weren't tagging in Ominis and Sebastian's shadows, times when they didn't know where you were at all. Once he decided, on whim, to search. The castle was huge and he wasn't optimistic, but he checked your favourite places: the Hufflepuff common room, the library, the front lawns and the sitting area outside Charms. When you weren't there and no one had seen you, he concluded he was just missing you, and hurried towards the Great Hall before his absence at dinner was noticed.

That's when he heard you, far above.

The hallways of the Viaduct Entrance were quiet – everyone was at the feast – and even still, your voice was barely a whisper. He halted, pausing to make sure, and there again was your sound, high-pitched and squealy and very you. Brow furrowing, he followed the noise up the stairs until he found himself squirrelled between the wooden joists holding the ceiling.

Whilst Ominis and Sebastian had claimed the Undercroft as their own, this was your space. He didn't know when you'd discovered it, or how, but here you were, curled beneath the beams.

Crying.

It surprised him. You, crying? When you were always so upbeat? When everything seemed to make you laugh? He approached you like you were a unicorn, easily spooked by noise. Still, you noticed him anyway.

"Oh! Ominis! I— I didn't see you there."

"That makes two of us."

But you didn't laugh, which meant something was very wrong.

He swallowed his pride. He'd never dealt with someone crying before, least of all a crying girl. "What's the matter?"

"You're going to think I'm silly."

"I already think that."

Another heaving breath. Another jab that didn't land. "Then— I don't know. You might laugh."

"Why would I—?" He stopped himself. That wasn't what you needed to hear. Instead, he sat next to you. "I won't laugh. Promise."

"Okay." You shuffled a little closer. "I-I miss home."

Ah. You were homesick. Frankly the concept was foreign to him – he'd never once missed his family. Even then he rejoiced every second he got to spend away from home. Still, it seemed to be eating you up.

"I-I'm not ungrateful," you said quickly. "I'm really happy to be here. And I really like magic. It totally makes sense – one time I exploded my brother's washing basket and we never knew how—"

"Exploded—?" He sighed. Just you things. "Never mind."

"But I miss them. My mama and papa run the confectionary. My brothers are supposed to take over when they're older, but Connor met Matilda Asher at church and everyone reckons they'll marry soon and he'll go into lumbering, and Ellian doesn't like sweets a lot, and he's much better at business and numbers anyway, and who knows how little Tam will grow up— oh no, I'm going to miss him growing up!"

Now you were weeping and hiccoughing. "Slow down. You're getting tears on my robes."

"Sorry. Is that... am I a wally?"

He didn't have the heart to ask what a wally was.

"Everyone gets homesick sometimes."

"You don't."

So you noticed. "I grew up in the magical world. You didn't. If I was suddenly dropped into the Muggle world, I'd be sad too. It's overwhelming to suddenly be in a different place with different people, let alone find out you're actually a witch, but you'll get used to it."

"What if I don't?"

"You will." It wasn't a guess. It was fact. "And your friends will help. Sebastian and Anne, and Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur too."

"And you?"

"Yes," he said, managing a smile for your sake, "and me."

You took a deep breath, a sign that meant you would be okay.

"Do... do you have a tissue?"

"No."

"A... face-cleaning spell? Dryus Tearus?"

"You can't put -us at the end of words and expect it to be a spell. Just stop crying." It came out as a demand, even though Ominis didn't mean it to. He lifted the hem of his robes and wiped away the tears. "You'll get to go home at Christmas, which is only two months away."

By which point, he knew, you wouldn't feel so homesick anyway.

You squirmed when he drew the robe across your nose again. It was snotty, which made him grunt in disgust, which then made you giggle, and then use the sleeve of your own shirt to wipe the rest away.

"Thank you." You sniffled again. "I must look terrible."

"Awful."

A sharp pause – then another laugh, this one more like your usual self. "You are funny, Ominis Gaunt."

Funny was, perhaps, the last word he would ever ascribe to himself. It was, however, the perfect word to assign to his feelings a few days after the Scriptorium debacle, when he was finally ready to share the truth.

He didn't find you under the joists in the Viaduct Entrance's ceiling. Instead, where you were sitting that first time he caught you in first year, and where you sat in the subsequent times since, he found a note. Cleverly it was in braille, and he suspected there was no written words. He drew his thumb across the print.

Below astronomy deck, 8pm.

You had been waiting there, every day like clockwork. Waiting for him.

Ominis climbed the winding stairs. He didn't come up here often – without his sight, he couldn't read the stars, though he did still partake in stargazing theory and discussion. The floorboards croaked. So high up, the wind teased the tips of his ears, and he fussed with warming them until the deck was before him.

He thought he was alone, that he'd missed the chance today.

But you were here, coming up to him steadily. "Are you ready to talk?"

He nodded, voice scarpering deep into his throat. You waited. You weren't going to prompt him or give him any tools to help. You were as hungry for answers as you were before, but you would not make it easy. He would have to work for your trust.

He didn't know how to start.

"I— my family—" How did he tell you about the pain he went through, without diminishing yours? How could he articulate the horrors he'd experienced home, that he'd subsequently thrown back at you? "Some... things happened, when I was at home that summer after third year."

You waited still, not saying a word.

The beginning, then.

"You know my family hates Muggles. Hates Muggle-borns. It's an old pure-blood notion that Muggle-born magic is weaker, that it's stolen. I realised it was wrong when I met you, and regardless of my family's opinions I thought it was okay to be your friend."

"Opinions," you retorted. "You mean prejudice?"

"Yes," he agreed hoarsely, realising his error too late. "Yes, prejudice."

Silence again, as you waited for him to continue. He didn't know you could be so blunt.

"Peregrine Malfoy found out in third year we were friends. He— he told his father. Who told mine." Now his heart raced, his pulse thrashed, a cold clamminess prickled up and down his skin in disgust, shame, fear. "M-My parents, my brother Marvolo, they... they were displeased—"

Your hand found his arm then to steady him then.

"You don't have to continue."

"You deserve to know—"

"It's okay. I... I already know."

"You— what?"

"I've known since the Scriptorium."

"How?" he demanded, then seethed. "Damn Sebastian—"

"Not Sebastian," you mumbled.

Anne.

"It wasn't her place to tell either."

"No," you agreed, "but I wrote her a letter and she told me anyway, since you were being a dummy."

"But you know why, then," he reiterated, clutching your shoulders, hoping, begging to make you see. "You know why—"

"I know I lost my best friend," you said, angry tears snuffing your voice. "I know you suffered. I know your family are the vilest, most evil people on earth. I know that nosy Malfoy should mind his own business. Sebastian said he talked to him. He won't say a word about you now."

What the hell did Sebastian do? "It's too risky."

"I'd rather live in risk with you then not have you at all."

"You don't understand. My family will stop at nothing to protect the sanctity of the bloodline. If they are capable of hurting me, they will hurt you. Maybe— maybe worse. They might've tried something already if you weren't protected here, at Hogwarts."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"You should be. They can do so much worse than... than the slur I called you, Gibby."

"Mudblood. I know."

"Don't say—"

"Why? That word means nothing to me – it only meant something when it was coming from you."

He didn't know how to respond, speechless.

"Your family can continue to live their lives in hatred, but I won't ruin mine for their sake. If I have to keep my friendship with you a secret to keep you safe, fine." Your voice was fierce, incredible, beautiful. "But I am not losing you, Ominis Gaunt. Not again."

You knocked the breath from him then. Those were words he would never forget; you planted yourself deeper into his heart, where your flowers bloomed even in the shadows of his past.

You were his family, too.

It had taken him a long time to realise you always had been.

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#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #acvas #acvasverse #gibby #my writing #my stuff

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gallifreyanhotfive · 3 months

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Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 60

Very soon after regenerating, the Second Doctor had pulled a large earring out of a trunk in the TARDIS, which he described as very fashionable once and remembered that at one point he used to wear it. (Novel: The Power of the Daleks)

Borusa once wrote a history book titled Rassilon the God. (Cat's Cradle: Time's Crucible)

Like all other Time Lords upon initiation into the Academy, it has been confirmed that Susan once gazed into the Untempered Schism. (Audio: E is for...)

Many years after Nyssa left the Fifth Doctor to stay on Terminus, she had an adventure with the Fourth Doctor. This meant the Doctor had met Nyssa before Traken. (Novel: Asylum)

The First Doctor trained to be a ninja on Quinnis. (Novel: The Devil Goblins from Neptune)

The Ninth Doctor once got stranded when the TARDIS burped and jumped ahead 20 years in the future. From 20 years in the past, he communicated with a 12 year old girl named Sally Sparrow, knowing all about where to leave messages for her because she wrote about it in her homework, and that homework had been given to him by a spy in the future. Sally Sparrow successfully returned the TARDIS to the Doctor and grew up to be that very same spy who gave the Doctor the homework in the first place. (Short story: What I Did on My Christmas Holidays by Sally Sparrow) This story was later adapted into Blink.

Amendment 9 of the Fourth Constitutional Addendum is a Gallifreyan law also known as the "Stupidity Clause." K-9 brought it up while trying to think of a way to get Romana II found innocent during her trial. (Audio: Mindbomb)

On one of their first trips off Gallifrey, the First Doctor and Susan went to Garazone, where Susan bought him a model of the Nightjar after hearing stories about it. The Doctor put it up in the TARDIS. (Audio: Pursuit of the Nightjar)

This Nightjar model is still in the TARDIS by his Eleventh incarnation. (Audio: All of Time and Space)

Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart and Doris once saved Susan from drowning. (Short story: The Gift)

Soul catching refers to the Gallifreyan rite in which a Time Lord transfers their mind to another's shortly before their death, after which their mind will join the Matrix. The Third Doctor used it on Waro once, and the Eighth Doctor once used it to communicate with the Beast. (Novel: The Devil Goblins from Neptune; The Taint)

The Thirteenth Doctor once identified Halogi-Kari as a Harbinger, a rare and powerful race. He was a Wolf of Fenric and had transported Ace to Iceworld on Svartos when she was young. (Novel: At Childhood's End)

The Fifth Doctor once went temporarily blind when he plugged himself into a defense net and got overwhelmed. (Audio: The Children of Seth)

The Eighth Doctor tried to warn the Seventh Doctor of the circumstances of his upcoming regeneration, but the Seventh Doctor decided that he would proceed as he would have anyway (as foreknowledge is dangerous to the Web of Time.) (Novel: The Eight Doctors) This means that the Seventh Doctor knew he was about to die and regenerate in the beginning of the TV Movie.

Near the end of his life, the Seventh Doctor grew depressed and lonely, and he knew he should go to Gallifrey and give himself to the Chief Hospitaller and his team of psycho-techs. Gallifrey had access to neurosurgery, therapy, and drugs, and the last resort was forced regeneration with the hope that the next body would not have the same melancholia. (Novel: The Eight Doctors)

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hobiebrownismygod · 9 months

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"Sorry, Dove" Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader - Part 2/2

Summary: Hobie Brown's canon event, or in which basically you were the Gwen Stacy to Hobie Brown's Spider-Punk

TW: Blood, Mention of murder, Reader death, Angst, Hobie crying

WC: ~1.8k

A/N: You and Hobie are young, around 14 to 15 in this. It's supposed to be sort of his origin story. Btw, Hobie's dialogue are bolded. I recommend reading the first part before moving onto this part, its linked below.

Taglist: @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @vileviale @puff-hugs @lauryn2558 @sunasslut69

Taglist link & Masterlist

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Hobie was completely unaware of what was happening to you when he swung down to the city, stumbling as he fell onto the ground. The bomb had started multiple fires in the surrounding buildings, and he quickly went around, webbing open the fire hydrants in the streets and eventually calming the fires down enough for him to go and save the civilians trapped beneath the rubble.

He was doing really well too, pushing the rubble up, grabbing the people one by one and swinging them to safer places before sending them home. The only problem was, the person who set the bomb off was nowhere in sight.

That was, until he heard that quiet chuckle he hated so much. His spider-sense immediately flared and he crouched back, ready to pounce on the first glimpse of the Goblin he saw. "Goblin! Show yourself!" He said, seething with anger as he waited for the masked man to show up.

And then, his expression dropped when instead of the Goblin appearing in front of him, you did. You were shaking your head, eyes silently begging him not to approach you as you walked out from behind the rubble. Of course, he didn't listen, immediately rushing over to you. "What happen-"

He was cut off as his spider-sense flared once again and he leapt up, just barely dodging one of the Goblin's many trick knives. His eyes narrowed as he finally caught sight of the Goblin, who rushed right past Hobie on his hoverboard, grabbing you in the process before heading towards the building that'd exploded, half of it turned to rubble.

Hobie followed as quickly as he could. "Let her go!" He exclaimed, shooting a web towards the Goblin, which the man promptly dodged. "Make me."

Once Hobie got to the top, he lost sight of you and the Green Goblin once again. "Y/N!" He called out desperately, furiously turning his head around as he scanned his surroundings for any sight of you. "Goblin, where are you?!"

"I see you've made yourself a friend. A sidekick, even." Hobie watched as the Goblin appeared from the shadows, slowly walking with a knife in his hand, that same wide smile on his face. "Congratulations, Spider-punk."

"What did you do with her?" He asked angrily, holding his arms up threateningly at the Goblin, ready to shoot his webs at any moment. "Where is she?!"

The Goblin simply chuckled in response, taking a deep, obvious breath. "It's quite a nice night, isn't it?"

"Cut the crap and tell me where she is!"

"Oh?" The Goblin raised an eyebrow. "Have you run out of jokes already? What happened to the little quips I love so much?"

"Give me back my friend." Hobie said coldly. He shot a web towards the Goblin but the man simply swat it out of the way with his knife, cutting through the web like it was nothing and standing up straight. "No."

Hobie's expression drooped slightly. "Please. I'll do anything." He pleaded, eyes widening. "Just let her go. Please."

"Anything?" The Goblin chuckled, bringing his knife up to his face and tapping it on his lips. "Then why don't you show me your face, Spider-punk?" He suggested, his smile widening.

Hobie hesitated for a moment. "Bring her out first." The Goblin tilted his head to the side slightly. "Fine."

A whirring sound caught Hobie's attention and he watched in horror as you were brought into the light, tied back to the hoverboard while you struggled. You were shaking your head furiously, eyes wide as you let out muffled grunts, your mouth covered by rope. "Y/N-"

"Get close to her, and I'll set off the bombs."

Hobie backed away slightly, the bombs on the hoverboard catching his attention. If he tried anything, the Goblin would set them off, and you'd be killed. You had tears in your eyes as you continued to struggle and the sight made Hobie's heart twist.

"It's gonna be okay." He said quietly, looking back towards the Goblin. "You want me to take my mask off? I'll take it off. But you have to promise to let her go."

The Goblin nodded, putting his hands behind his back as he watched curiously, to see what Hobie would do. Hobie slowly reached towards his mask, and pulled it off. You let out a gasp of protest, but he ignored you. He dropped the mask on the floor and looked up at the Goblin.

The Goblin stared back at Hobie for a moment, processing the sight. He probably hadn't been expecting his enemy to be so...young. "Let her go." Hobie said quietly. He felt extremely vulnerable at the moment and was itching to pull his mask back up.

The Goblin obliged and the ropes untied themselves, causing you to collapse to the floor. "Spider-man!" you exclaimed, getting up so you could approach him, but the Goblin stopped you, pointing his knife in your direction. "Not a single step."

"You said you'd let her go. So let her go!" Hobie was exasperated and he pointed his fist towards the Goblin. "I let her go. But we're not done." The Goblin replied, the smile slowly returning to his face. "I don't care that you're a kid. You're going to fight me." He said coldly.

"Fine." Hobie huffed out, putting his fists up. You couldn't do anything but helplessly watch as a fight ensued, with Hobie dodging the knives and bombs being thrown at him while shooting his own webs towards the Goblin. The scuffle was causing the building to shake and rubble kept falling.

"Just surrender!" The Goblin screamed out, lunging towards Hobie who barely dodged, covered in blood and scratches at this point. "NO." He leapt up, guitar in hand as he brought it smashing down onto the Goblin, causing him to be flung back. The Goblin cursed under his breath, looking up at the winning vigilante who was approaching him again.

And then, he decided to use his last hope.

The Goblin pounced towards you, using his gadgets to tie you up once again. "No!" You exclaimed, struggling and extremely annoyed at this point. This was the second time he'd caught you, but it wasn't like you could fight back. You kicked at the Goblin as he grabbed onto your throat, holding you up.

"You little-" He muttered. Hobie stood back slightly, eyes wide as he tried to calm the Goblin down. "Wait-wait you said you'd let her go. Please. Please let her go!"

The Goblin tightened his grip around your throat, effectively choking you as he held you above the edge of the building, a dangerous glint to his eyes. "You've ruined everything I've worked for, Spider-man. So I'm going to ruin you."

"Please." Hobie begged, putting his hands up. "Please, don't do this. Let her go." He whispered.

The Goblin looked back with a smile. "Gladly."

A blur of events followed. You felt yourself being flung off the building, your heart and stomach dropping as gravity did its job, pulling you towards the far-away ground. Hobie lunged after you, arms outstretched in an attempt to grab you before you reached the ground. Your hand reached out towards him and he shot a web towards you.

But before you could grab it, he was knocked out of the way by the Goblin's hoverboard. The last thing you remembered was dread creeping up your stomach and through your body as you accepted your fate, realizing he wasn't going to be able to catch you. You fell.

"NO!" Hobie yelled out, fighting to get back to his feet. He leapt towards the Goblin, tackling him in a fit of fury. He got on top of the dazed Goblin who was struggling to catch his breath, trying to push Hobie off of him. Hobie pulled his guitar off his back, holding it above his head.

And then, he slammed it down. But once wasn't enough. He brought the guitar down again, and again, and again. He wasn't even thinking at this point, he was simply acting on instinct, stabbing the Goblin long after he was already dead.

Eventually, his movements slowed down, and Hobie dropped the guitar, looking down at the mangled mess that had used to be the face of the man he hated most in the world. His chest was rising up and down rapidly, his heart rate faster than it'd ever been before.

Hobie slowly got up, looking around as he tried to collect his senses. He stumbled towards the edge of the building, looking down to where you fell, a flicker of hope flashing across his face.

Maybe, just maybe...

He jumped down to the ground, letting out a groan as his foot slipped and he fell onto his side. "Y/N? Y/N?!" He called out, silently begging for you to respond. "Come on, where are you!? You're here, you have to be..."

A slight shine caught his eye. He felt his heart drop as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he caught sight of a body. It was lying there, head tilted slightly back, completely unmoving. He slowly approached the body, feeling the hot tears begin to build up in his eyes. "Y/N?" He whispered softly.

His gaze dropped to the figure's hand, where the shine he'd caught a glimpse of had come from. The person's wrist had a small slab of metal encircling it, connecting back to their palm. Web-shooters.

"No..." He whispered, falling to his knees and turning the body over slightly. "No, no, no, no..."

It was you.

And you were dead.

The tears began to fall as he looked down at you, lifeless with your eyes closed. "No, please, no-" He whispered, swallowing back a hot lump in his throat as he pulled you into his arms, shaking gently. "Wake up, come on, dove, wake up-"

He caressed your face as gently as he could, running his fingers over your skin and slowly feeling the warmth disappear under his cold touch. "Please. Please don't go." he choked out, quiet sobs escaping his lips as he held you close, burying his face in your neck while he cried.

"Dove..." he whispered, looking back down at your body. His tears had fallen onto your face, making it seem as though you were crying too, the drops slipping down your cheeks and onto the hard, cold floor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He looked down at you, shaking his head and sniffling. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry, dove." His voice broke. His hand rubbed against your cheek gently, wiping the droplets away.

"I love you." he whispered. The words simply fell out of his mouth and he was unable to stop himself at this point. "I love you so much." His sobs were sounding more like gasps as he ran his fingers through your hair, shaking his head. "I love you, please come back. Dove? Dove, please."

But his pleading was useless. You weren't coming back. You were gone and there was nothing he could do about it. "I love you." He whispered again. "I should've told you. I'm sorry." The sound of sirens were approaching in the distance, causing Hobie to flinch slightly. He couldn't stay any longer. He had to go.

But before he left, he had one last thing to do. One final gesture.

He slowly leaned down, and pressed his lips to your cold ones, just for a moment, before pulling back and crying into your neck. "I'm sorry."

After a moment of silence, he gently laid you back down, the tears still streaming down his face, before he finally stood up. "Goodbye."

He shot his web towards the closest building and swung away right as the ambulances arrived, along with the police cars and officers. He wiped his tears with the back of his gloved hand before he pulled his mask back on and disappeared into the distance, not leaving behind a single trace, besides one last whisper that left his lips.

"Bye, dove."

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bbunnieee · 3 months

Text

Trent Northwick Hc’s (BULLY)

(i thank everyone in the comments of my last post bro 😭🫶 plus sorry if it isn’t as good , i don’t know much abt the bully’s clique.. not proofread!)

“Ladies, one at a time!” -TN

Regular

- I feel as if he had a bart simpson “all girls are the same” type phase in middle school.. but he “matured” after like a couple of months. (cus it’s funny)

- He lost his v card once and that was it. but dude NEVER shuts up about it when a subject similar is brought up

- Actually loves Tyler, The Creator. specifically the album Goblin

- Bi (obvi) no preference. just talks about girls more because who doesn’t like cute girls? he definitely does

- He was born in cali but moved to Bullworth in like the 6th grade

- He looks really similar to his dad. and is pretty close to him just because of that.

- Talks allll the time. like he’d be shushed in class at least 4 times a day, nothing less.

- Hella confidence + ego

- If you say something he doesn’t like, he’d literally give you the stank face the whole day and just be somewhat of a smartass

- He’s pretty aggressive without even trying. Like basically, he walks kinda aggressive, definitely talks aggressive, hugs aggressively, kisses aggressively, and even laughs aggressively

- Hates when people point him out for crying, he’d deny it as tears dropped on the floor nd say something like “No, i’m not. get outta my face..” as he sniffles and pouts, but he won’t mind a hug n things as long as you don’t say anything about his crying.

- His favorite mangas are Chainsaw Man, Berserk, and he definitely enjoys OHSHC on another level.

- Unhealthy eating habits, but mostly loses weight when he runs around doing whatever, he’s a really active person. plus apart of the reason his skin breaks out is because of his diet too

- Gets voice cracks from time to time

- Swears up and down he has “rizz”

- Freaky ah dude

- He still enjoys games like tag and ding dong ditch, he just genuinely thinks it’s fun and will beg you to play / do it with him

- He has a fear of dogs for no reason at all

- Likes shooting games like, COD or fortnite

- he’s actually a decent actor, not bad at all. and that makes him a good liar

- If anyone says something to call him ugly or something, he’d continue to name everyone he’s “had” relations with true or not

Dating

- His flirting is lowk so corny..

- He’s kinda used to guys n girls brushing him off when he makes a move so when you go along with it he’s kinda just stuck like “oh…?” and scratches his head trying not to fold right then and there

- His dates would be talking you out to the movies, or like getting fast food and going to a park to do whatever comes to mind

- If your into skincare n stuff he’ll definitely do it with you, and have like nights that you’d do routines with snacks and a movie or youtube to watch

- He’s lowk a prev all around. he won’t touch if he can’t, but he’ll definitely look

- He’s okayish with PDA, just doesn’t exactly like it because it’s “too lovey dovey”

- His love language is taking off guard unappealing photos of you and posting them to whatever social media because he thinks it’s funny

- He gets jealous but doesn’t really realize it, he’d just be slightly confused on why he’s feeling that way and gets frustrated only from that

End.

#bully canis canem edit #bully x reader #bully game #bully rockstar #bully scholarship edition #candid bully #canis canem edit #bully cce #trent northwick

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imperator-titus · 2 months

Text

Ghost from the Past [Part 6]

In which I've finally concluded that yes I deserve a poly ship. When I get this to Ao3 eventually, I will try to make the Astarion/Gale aspect a little more prominent early on. I think it's time to add the Bloodweave tag? They be flirtin' this episode.

Also yes Eletha is kind of a messy bitch.

CW: Sexually explicit material, non-Canon compliant Poly!Gale

(Prev)[Part 5] (Next)[Part 7] [Master Post]

[Yes I'm using this slutty gif. Finally, planned smut. gif by cheekylittlepupp]

They were going to finally deal with the goblins and rescue the druid Halsin when the sky opened up with a vicious storm. Everyone preferred the comfort of their tents, except for Eletha. In just her small clothes, she wandered around the drowning camp with nary a bother. She took this time to bathe herself and Bonnet.

When she walked past Astarion’s tent, he stuck his head out of the flap and growled at her, “What is wrong with you? Get in here this instant!”

Eletha stood under the awning of his tent, rain dripping off her skin and what little hair she had. “What’s your problem? I’m not bothering you.”

“Just get in here,” he grumbled before disappearing into his tent once more. Rolling her eyes, she followed.

Muttering and grumbling some more in annoyance, Astarion convinced her to take off her wet clothes. He practically ripped them off of her when she didn’t move fast enough. Eletha complained, but complied with his wishes, like sitting still while he toweled her off. It occurred to them both that this was the first time in a very long time that he’d seen her completely naked. Well, except for the new moon, but that didn’t count.

“I can dry myself, you know.”

“I doubt you can tell that you’re wet, so I don’t believe you.”

Astarion hesitated as he finished her hair and moved on to her back. He ran a finger along a rather prominent scar that went from shoulder to opposite hip. Putting on a smirk and a flirtatious tone, he said, “Aren’t you a proper adventurer? And I thought those scars on your face were just for show.”

Eletha hummed, distracted. Astarion wilted a little, disappointed that he failed to open a conversation with her.

On her neck, he found two faded marks. Clearly a vampire’s bite, but unlike his, they were neat, dainty, and close together. Whoever sank their fangs into Eletha’s neck had done so gently, perhaps intimately.

Astarion pressed his nose into the back of her neck, behind her ear where she kept her hair short. She made a small noise, a little startled, a bit excited. Taking in a deep breath, he groaned and sighed. The scent was somehow familiar and new, sparking something in the dark recesses of his memory. In a low voice he murmured, “You smell amazing.”

“That’s what happens when you bathe,” Eletha rebutted with a laugh, but he could tell her heart sped up and that the sound of his voice by her ear sent a thrill up her spine. “You know… it’s unlikely you’ll find much to feed on tonight, and tomorrow is a big day. You could have some of my blood. If you want.”

“You’re such a good friend, my dear.”

Astarion smiled to himself against her hair. Her smell was intoxicating. After pressing a kiss to her neck, making her breath hitch, he very carefully sank his teeth into her flesh. As he drank, savoring the taste, he pressed her back to his chest and let his hands wander over her skin. When one brushed against her breast, she managed to smack it away. The other trailed down her abdomen, and he barely passed her belly button before she snatched that one away.

“Naughty boy,” Eletha chastised, humor mixing with the edge in her voice. Astarion took his fangs out of her neck and chuckled.

“Please forgive me. I couldn’t resist,” he purred as she turned around to face him, an invitation in his eyes. “Aren’t high elves supposed to be too imperious for things like dancing in the rain like some common druid?”

“Oh, you want me to be mean, is that it?” she asked, stopping the bleeding on her neck, eyebrows raised.

“I said imperious. Noble. You’re more cold than commanding,” Astarion teased, haughty and confident.

Eletha hardened her eyes. With just a thought, they became sharp and clear, like a predator’s. Her voice was clipped and serious, as if she was another person. “Is this what you want?”

Astarion leaned forward just a little bit, eyes alight with delight. “Oh, yeeees. I think I like this side of you.”

In a flash, Eletha’s hand was on his jaw, controlling his head, digging in just enough to make him uncomfortable. A small gasp of surprise and arousal escaped his lips. For a moment, she looked down on him as if he was some trifling irritant, unworthy of her attention but demanding it.

Then her eyes softened and a smile bloomed on her lips. Wiping away her blood from his chin, she laughed. It was a little shocking how easily she changed. “I think the rain has stopped.”

Astarion watched as she gathered up her wet clothes, not even bothering to put them back on. “You’re going to leave, just like that? I’m hurt.”

“Oh, Astarion, you started the game, I merely finished it.”

“I wouldn’t call the game finished yet,” Astarion insisted, regaining his composure, putting on his ‘I’m starving and you look like a perfect meal’ eyes.

“You should play this game with Gale, I bet it’d be fun,” she told him with a little girlish giggle, like they were two friends discussing their crushes. If either of them had any hair, they’d probably be braiding it.

Astarion scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please, Gale is colder than you. I have to admit, he is quite handsome…”

“And powerful. Well, he was. And have you been to a wizard’s tower? It’s full of secrets and valuables and dangerous artifacts.” A wicked little grin started to show on his face and she tittered again. “Besides, Gale likes you.”

“Gale likes you, my dear.”

“Oh, yes, that’s why he found a bunch of books on vampirism and ancient artifacts that protect one from the sun. Because he likes me.”

“You’re having a laugh.”

“And the way you two chirp at each other like birds in spring? I have to keep you apart or I’ll get a headache. And he was very upset when you got excited about being beheaded. Personally, I’d like someone’s hands around my neck. But you have to do it in such a way that they don’t fight for air. You just stop the blood from going to their head and they just…” Eletha made a little gesture with her free hand and softly went ‘poof.’

“You’ve been drinking too much,” Astarion insisted, shaking his head.

“Okay, keep pining for my old used-up body that you’ve had before and deny yourself the powerful wizard that has done some inventive things with a goddess.” Astarion opened his mouth to argue with her, but she flitted out the tent as if propelled by faerie wings.

----

When Eletha stalked her prey, moving silently through the trees and grass, it was with reverence.

In the heat of battle, she kept her head, allowing Karlach or Lae’zel to swim in blood and gore while she managed the field.

In the goblin camp, she walked tall and her presence commanded the vile creatures to back away. Astarion saw it return, that regal severity in her eyes and words. The soul passed down to her through the ages had to be thirsting for this moment, to have lesser beings groveling at its feet and brought to heel with word or blade.

Half the night he worried that this day would end in chaotic bloodshed, a lot of it their own. He could hear Shadowheart and Lae’zel offer prayers to their respective goddesses. Karlach danced around in front of her tent out of nervousness, not gaiety, oblivious to his staring. Wyll tended to his blade and armor with fanatic fervor and offered Astarion a serious nod of camradic understanding. Gale practiced his spells for perhaps the ten-thousandth time in his life and when he met Astarion’s eyes, he smiled cockily.

Eletha had sat by the fire, staring into its flames, her bare knees crushed into the stones that surrounded it. For a while now, he considered her naive. Despite her age and experience, she still insisted on helping others with little reward. But unlike Wyll, she sometimes knew that people couldn’t be helped and served her own interests instead.

Then they were in that kennel. A proper kennel, not the one Cazador kept him in. Those little goblin children threw stones at that bear and it roared in pain and rage. Eletha’s ears twitched and somehow, he could hear her breath shudder for just a moment. The goblins giggled and clapped with glee and before anyone could say anything, Eletha’s elven longsword was wet with blood and little goblin heads rolled on the floor.

After that, Astarion didn’t think her so naive. Judging by the looks on the others’ faces when this small scrap was done, they all were recalculating their opinion of their leader.

As Eletha cleaned her blade, the cave bear reshaped into a man, the largest wood elf any of them had ever seen. He even rivaled Karlach in height and thickness. His body was soft, but not patriar soft. No, those hands could crush stones and lift ancient trees and his core was thick and sturdy, like a great oak resisting a storm.

“I would ask for your forgiveness for my appearance, but…” Halsin looked down at the headless bodies of the goblins. Everyone else was pointedly not looking at them.

“I’m all for believing any creature can overcome its nature, but I can’t abide animal cruelty,” Eletha explained, voice becoming a little humored as she spoke. Her severity melted away and she grinned at him, a hand on her chin as she appraised his appearance. “Bonnet is going to adore you. I’m almost disappointed that I don’t bring her to these sorts of things.”

“Haa, I’m sure I will enjoy making her acquaintance-”

“Bonnet is a bear, by the way,” Gale said helpfully. Shadowheart snorted, strangling a sudden laugh.

“Ah, that explains your rush to my rescue.” His attitude changed once he noticed that they were all infected with mindflayer tadpoles. After some discussion, they came to an understanding, but first thing was first.

The hunt was on.

After dispatching the goblins guarding the entrance to the kennel, Eletha stopped Astarion with a gentle touch on his arm. That harsh look was back, but there was a mischievous air to it. She pointed a finger up and he scanned the temple rafters for what she was indicating.

“What do you say? Shall we rain terror down on the Absolute’s idiots?”

Astarion gasped softly and touched a hand to his chest above his dead heart. “I think I’m falling for you all over again.”

----

This time, when Eletha aimed to put a dent in their alcohol stores, it was out of revelry and not a need to push back a deep dark sadness that threatened to crush her into dust. Gone was the icy chill, or the dour frown, or the knives in her eyes.

She disturbed Gale’s peace with an offering of wine and a broad smile.

“What’s on your mind, Bhin?” she asked as she poured him a drink.

“It’s just… a beautiful night, don’t you think?” Eletha let him paint a picture for her of a normal night for him, fraught with wist.

“What’s Tara like?” she asked after he cleared up their misunderstanding.

“Astarion reminds me of her somewhat. The same sharp tongue. And sharp teeth,” Gale explained.

“Then I guess we’d get along.”

“As long as you don’t try to rub her belly. She hates that.”

“But what if I want to rub your belly?” Eletha asked with a smile before putting the mouth of her bottle to her lips.

“I’m afraid I’ve experienced pleasures far more thrilling than tummy tickling,” Gale argued quite seriously before going on a small tangent about his celestial love life. Then it dawned on him. “Wait. You were flirting with me. For once, I think it is I who has had too much wine…”

“You know, Astarion doesn’t really like his belly rubbed either, but he does like having his ears gently touched and a nice stroke down the spine,” Eletha explained, demonstrating how one could pet either a cat or a certain elf.

“Are you trying to foist me onto another?” She smiled as she filled her pipe with something more fragrant than her usual tobacco. Gale didn’t think that what he said was humorous in any way, but Eletha often seemed amused by some private joke.

“Young ones should stick together. And a vampire seems like a half-step down to a normal person after a goddess, yes?” she asked after drawing in a bit of smoke.

“Your logic is… interesting, to say the least.”

“Yeah, well, if you don’t blow up, you’ll live a long time, right? And I’m not exactly confident in my longevity, elf blood or no,” Eletha said before drinking some more.

“I believe I understand what you are trying to say.” Gale sipped his wine and Eletha refilled his glass. “I want to say this is disappointing… but I find it so… heartwarming, that you have so much concern for Astarion.”

“Don’t let him know,” she false-whispered, holding up her hand to hide her mouth and giving him a wink. More seriously, Eletha asked, “Can I paint you my own picture?”

“I wasn’t aware you had artistic pur- Oh. Yes, a story.” Gale chuckled under his breath. She wrapped her smile around her pipe, sparing him a witty remark that sparkled in her eyes. “Please. Speak to your heart’s content.”

“Despite being, well, him, Astarion was my only friend. In all honesty, he was the only one I could relate to or who could make me feel safe, even when he was getting us in trouble,” she told him fondly, building up her own wist. Then her smile fell and she took a drink. “Then one day, he was gone. And I thought I would never have a friend again. Never thought I could love someone or be loved.”

“Admirable that you haven’t chased him with a sharpened stick by now,” Gale said while she uncorked another bottle of wine for him.

“Anyway. I wandered for quite a while, alone. Sometimes I picked up an animal companion, but there was a lot of time where it was just me and the stars. Solitude felt good. I would meet people, but I might as well have been a construct, for all the care I afforded them. There was this village, it’s not there anymore. They grew the best apples. For decades I traded with this one fellow whenever I came through. We would share news, like what creatures had been seen lately, how the weather was shifting unexpectedly. He would offer me this delicious apple brandy, ‘recipe passed down for ten generations!’ he would boast. He let me set up my tent behind his house and his wife would insist on feeding me. When his children were little, they would play with whatever companion I had at the time. Then his grandchildren would play with them.

“Eventually, as most Aethen do, he died. The next time I came through, his son gave me one last bottle of the family brandy and thanked me for being his father’s friend. I didn’t even know we were friends.” Eletha toyed with her bottle and took a puff of her pipe, clearly trying to calm herself. “It was weird, how much it hurt. I hadn’t lost anything more important than a comfortable pair of boots since Astarion left.”

“A good pair of boots is hard to come by,” Gale said enthusiastically, happy to relate. He realized it probably wasn’t appropriate, given how Eletha seemed to be hovering on the edge of tears. Then she laughed and raised her bottle to his glass in cheers.

“The point being. After that, I was able to admit that sometimes, I was lonely. Little by little, I stopped being so cold. Actually learned people’s names. It still took me a while to realize when I was friends with someone.” Eletha looked over to Astarion, who was conversing, or rather flirting, with Halsin. A fond but sad smile graced her lips. “I look at him and I remember what it was like, being alone, afraid of the pain that comes with letting something in just to have it taken from you through no fault of your own. A human’s life is like the blink of an eye compared to mine, so what is an elf’s to an immortal? A single beat of a hummingbird’s heart?”

Gale was formulating a clever but sincere response when Eletha looked him in the eye so intensely that it made him stop.

“It must have been hard for you too,” she said bittersweetly. He looked down at his reflection in his wine. It was. It was hard for him. Then Eletha giggled. “There. Have I thrown you off my scent?”

Gale chuckled despite the lump traveling up his throat. “Honestly? No. You’ve only managed to become more interesting and complex.”

“Damn! I’ll have to find some way to become more repugnant.” With a sigh, Eletha stood. A wicked smirk tugged at her lips as she spied Astarion moving back to his tent. “I have some ideas. Please make sure Wyll doesn’t drink too much, I already warned him about the dangers of becoming me.”

“A drunken drowning would be quite the anticlimactic end for the Blade of Frontiers, I agree.” Gale watched as Eletha walked away and hooked arms with Astarion. It was strange, watching the two. They would throw on a different mask in the blink of an eye, become someone else to suit their needs or whims. Aside from them, the most duplicitous was Shadowheart, and even then, she was just guarded. People said he was hard to read sometimes, but Gale always felt like he was being honest when the situation didn’t necessitate secrecy.

It was sometimes hard to believe that they were ever in love. The rest of the time, it made perfect sense.

“Fancy taking a walk? Get away for a bit?” Eletha asked Astarion conspiratorially as her hand caught his elbow and snaked up his bicep. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise before putting on his own wicked grin.

“Oh? You want to go out into the woods, alone, with me? What will Gale think?”

“It’s a walk, darling. You look like you need to get out of here,” she answered, imitating him. He was flattered.

“Then lead the way.”

They walked quite a ways; Eletha smoking her pipe and Astarion taking sips of wine as they went. Eventually they came upon a hollow of trees illuminated by the brilliance of the moon.

“You know, I don’t know that I’ve had so much fun as when we were chasing each other across those rickety beams,” he told her with a practiced twirl of fondness as they found a suitable place to sit. Eletha chose to lean against a tree and he sat down beside her. “Even the cobwebs in my hair were worth it.”

“Rare to have fun instead of fighting for your life,” she pointed out lazily, soaking in the moon’s light.

“I would have changed my tune about you sooner if I’d known you could be so bloodthirsty,” Astarion purred, trailing a teasing finger along the back of her hand. “You were magnificent back there. Makes me wonder what other talents you’ve been hiding.”

Eletha sat up with a soft grunt. “Alright. You’ve caught me in a rare mood.”

“Oh?” Astarion was surprised for a moment. Last time they were in the woods together, just the taste of his lips made her sick. Well, that’s how he saw it, anyway. “A good fight has that effect on people, I just assumed you were immune.”

Eletha knelt in front of him, one knee on either side of his. She took a drink of his wine and some of it escaped in a little trickle from the corner of her mouth. Astarion reached up to sensually wipe it off and lick it off his fingers, maybe make a comment about her being as messy as him or just a generic postulation about how she tasted. Eletha smacked it away a little forcefully before running her fingers up the underside of his exposed forearm from elbow to wrist.

Empty wine bottle tossed aside, she leaned forward until their noses were almost touching. Astarion lifted his face to capture her lips in a fervent kiss, but she dodge him. With her hot breath on his ear, she whispered, “When was the last time someone took care of you?”

Astarion had an answer for that: never. At least where vampire Astarion was concerned. Despite the fact that it was completely unsexy, he opened his mouth to answer what was clearly a rhetorical question.

Then her mouth was on his neck and a gasp escaped his lips in a cold puff. Her fingers, rough yet dextrous, teased his own before finding his belt. Astarion moaned as her hot tongue ran along the bottom of his ear. The moan turned into a desperate whine when she retreated.

Sitting back on his thighs, Eletha spared him only a passing glance before focusing on undoing the fastenings on his breeches. When he reached for her, this time aiming to pull up her shirt, she smacked him away once more. He tried again, not easily swayed, and she captured his hand, just to kiss and run her teeth along the inside of his wrist.

Readjusting, Eletha untucked his shirt. Lavishing his stomach with kisses, licks, and gentle scrapes of her teeth, she tugged down the waistband of his breeches. Astarion groaned in the back of his throat as she brushed her lips over his cock through his underwear. She left kisses from tip to base as she painstakingly pulled down the offending garment. He actually quivered as her tongue left a stripe of spit along its length.

Normally, Astarion wouldn’t let himself be so easily pleased. He’d fake this reaction, of course, and pepper in reactions that reflected what his mark desired most in him. Some wanted the commanding, debonair noble while others wanted a mewling plaything. But Eletha wasn’t a mark and she’d proven time and again that his body wasn’t the price for her protection.

It really was shocking to him how good it felt when he could let go of the performance. He had to fight against the innate instruction to turn off, just go through the motions. Astarion even tried to stop her so that it could be her ‘turn’ and he could show her how good he was, but she swatted him away. When he persisted, she laced their fingers together and just… held his hand. It felt almost as good as her lips and hand wrapped around his cock.

There was just a tiny worry in the back of his mind. Was she doing this just to please him? Were these just motions?

Then he noticed that her hand felt hotter. Her strokes became more insistent. He could feel the back of her throat and the filthy groan she made traveled down his cock. Gasping, Astarion bucked his hips just slightly and when she came up, moaning for air, strings of spit connecting them, he whined again. The look in her eyes was hungry and her lips smirked with pride.

Thus began his undoing. With her left hand in his right, he laid his left hand gently on her head, following her rhythm with small rolls of his hips. Occasionally, unwilling to be done so soon, he would tug her hair just the slightest bit to pull her back and give his nerves a rest. She was relentless, swirling her tongue around him, groaning like a starving man eating at a king’s buffet.

Astarion felt a jolt of pleasure he’d never felt before and threw his head back with an unabashed moan. His hand had to leave her head, lest he push it down further in his blind ecstasy. Squeezing each other’s hand, Eletha took everything he had to give and made sure there would be no mess except for the wrinkles in their clothes and the disarray of their hair.

Boneless, Astarion watched her through hazy eyes as she made him modest and fixed her own clothing. He managed to offer her a husky chuckle and a half-cocky smile. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in some more fun?”

“That was fun enough for me, but thank you,” Eletha said politely, gathering up their discarded things.

“Why?” Astarion asked, maybe a bit too much like a plea. “Why do this for me?”

“Because I’m a little drunk, had some wizard’s weed, and well-”

Now that hollow far-away look came to her eyes. Eletha just… stared straight ahead, as if she could see something happening deep in the earth.

“Eletha…?” Astarion’s bliss shifted into something akin to fear. He reached out hesitantly, debating the ramifications of touching her while in this state. “Lorelai.”

Eletha’s head snapped around, startling him. For a moment, with her body rigid, she seemed to be seeing someone else in his place. There was terror in her eyes. Then her shoulders relaxed and she was herself again. Smiling as if nothing had just happened, she said, “What’s a party without a little fun?”

“Right…” Astarion agreed, dragging out the syllable.

“I’m gonna try to get some sleep. You should hang out with Gale. He really misses his little tressym friend. Sounds like you would be a good replacement,” she explained cheerily as she got to her feet, dusted herself off, and marched back to camp.

Astarion was magically transported to Gale’s tent. Not really, but he couldn’t quite remember getting from the glade to camp and making the decision to sit down with Gale of all people.

“Are you alright, Astarion?” the man asked him, offering him a glass of wine.

“I’ve had the strangest experience.” Gale gave him a critical look-over. “With Eletha, I mean.”

“I’m not really the kiss-and-tell sort,” he told him only to receive a look that said ‘do you hear yourself?’ Ignoring it, he added, “It can be very easy to fall back into the arms of an old lover. I am sure it is… complicated.”

“Did your dear Mystra ever… tend to your… needs… and refuse reciprocation?” Astarion asked hesitantly, searching for the words that both conveyed his intention and couldn’t be misunderstood by Gale.

“Well, if I set aside the fact that our intimate affairs are not quite analogous to those shared between mortals-” Gale started rather academically and a little smugly. Then he actually thought about it and his face fell back into neutrality. “No. I wouldn’t say that was ever the case.”

“It’s a strange feeling,” Astarion remarked, still trying to untangle his thoughts. “Also. That may have been the best orgasm I’ve ever had, and now I’m disappointed that she went to bed.”

Gale cleared his throat. “I’m sure she has her reasons. As… elusive as they might seem.”

Astarion tilted his head and put on a smirk. “Fancy a go? Someone like you might be able to teach me a thing or two.”

Gale chuckled and raised a warding finger. “I’m afraid you will have no such luck with me, Astarion.”

Astarion pouted. “Come on. You’re not curious? All this time out in the wilderness and you don’t feel the least bit pent-up? I’m not some backwater farm girl looking for a tumble, you know.”

“Whether I have those feelings or not is irrelevant. Who knows what a sudden increase in excitement could do to the orb? A moment of destabilization when I’m unable to control it and we’re all dust.”

“That sounds very exciting, if I may say so,” Astarion purred, a hand finding Gale’s thigh under the table. Gale huffed as he moved it away, making Astarion laugh. “Ticklish, Gale? A mighty wizard defeated by just the brush of a hand?”

“Careful. The tadpole won’t protect you from this wizard’s magicks.” Astarion found Gale’s thigh again and managed to slide up a little before Gale moved away even further. “I know you’re having fun, and I don’t slight you for it, it is a bit amusing, but I am afraid you’ve come to the point where if you persist, I will consider it harrassment and be forced to retaliate most fiercely.”

Astarion sat back up, retrieving his hand from beneath the table. “I apologize, Gale. I thought I might convince you to loosen up a little.”

“Your apology is accepted. Perhaps under different circumstances, I would have taken you up on your offer.” Astarion picked up his wine glass and held it towards Gale’s. Curious, Gale held his up as well and Astarion clinked them together.

“Here’s to different circumstances, darling.”

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