#seventh son brewing

[gffa]

Okay, so it was a month since my last BATFAMILY fic recs set, but in my defense a) huge life changes and b) I did a quick count up of how many recs I had built up and it was literally well over a million words. A million words! In one recs set! And this is like the seventh one of these that I've done! And I still have at least a thousand fics on my reader that I haven't started! Because this fandom has seriously not just consumed my brain, but given me absolutely amazing stuff to read that scratches all the itches I desperately have--well, okay, scratches the itch I have for my Dick Grayson Problem, but same thing.

I've really needed some escapism lately and being able to laugh or cry or just sink into a nice, long novella or even novel-length fic has really been a godsend has done a lot to soothe me and help me process feelings that sometimes otherwise can feel too overwhelming to deal with. All while also giving me the exploration of issues or decompression time with the characters' issues that the canon itself doesn't have the space for. So, I hope this list can give others something to read in the way it has given me so much that I've loved and brought me joy or emotional catharsis, because fandom has been really incredible about Bringing The Good Stuff and I want to repay the favor!

BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I'M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ The Halfway Point by Sugarcookie222, dick & bruce & alfred & clark, 5k     After a miscommunication with Bruce, a 13-year-old Dick runs away. He makes it as far as a diner in a nearby state. Bruce had left to finalize the adoption papers but clearly needs to work on his communication skills. He calls Superman in a panic to help him find Dick.

✦ be safe, they said (be good) by deargalileo, bruce & dick & alfred, 4k     there's a tree in the wayne's backyard. a very specific tree, one that seems to attract daring children like bees to honey. unfortunately for the children, it is not a tree that is suited for climbing. fortunately for the children, they have fathers who are there to stitch them up.

✦ a haunted ballroom by lothIoriens, bruce & dick & alfred, 11.9k wip     When Dick stumbles across the ghosts of Wayne Manor dancing the night away in an abandoned wing of the house, he thinks that, finally, something might be normal again. But the ghosts are nervous, and he doesn't know why. Something is brewing underneath the surface of Wayne Manor, and it's up to Dick to find out what it is—and it's up to Bruce to make sure nothing happens to his charge in the meantime.

✦ Straight On Til Morning by audreycritter, bruce & dick, 1.2k     Bruce wakes Dick up on a school night to show him the sky. It dredges up memories for Dick, and it would be a disaster, except it’s Bruce. And Bruce understands.

✦ (More) Pressing Matters by Syl, bruce & dick, 39.2k     Dick Grayson arrives at Wayne Manor, a cold empty place, shortly after his parents' murder: A re-telling of the Boy Wonder's well-known origin story.

✦ First Action Hero by Goldmonger, bruce & dick & clark & cast, 3.5k     “Jerkwads,” Dick said darkly, taking Clark’s hand. He looked up at him then, dressed smartly in a black suit and tie, and wearing converses with Sonic the Hedgehog on them. “You okay, Uncle Clark?”

✦ Lil Birdy Wants to Fly by lil_taair, bruce & dick, 3.8k     Bruce would have usually appreciated the cheeky smile that was directed at him if his son wasn’t 25 fucking feet off the ground

✦ World's Finest: Fortress of Friendship by WingFeathers, bruce & dick & clark & diana, 6.9k     Finally, Dick talks Bruce into letting him see the Fortress of Solitude – provided that Dick stay safe and out of the way while the Trinity discusses some Secret Important Business about a certain young Amazon. Clark promises that the Fortress will be safe, but is that a promise he can make?

✦ Stolen Son by springfox (dallystrings), bruce & dick & jim, 8.6k     Dick is excited to visit an American mall for the first time, and Bruce struggles to understand the difference between 'guardian' and 'dad'.

✦ Comfort Food by motleyfam, bruce & dick, ~1k     Dick struggles to find his appetite in the aftermath of his parents’ deaths.

✦ The meaning of justice by Fleur_de_Violette, bruce & dick & babs & cast, 4.6k     As Bruce drives toward Gotham Academy, he tries to imagine all the possible reasons for the principal to call him. He has a lot of imagination. Especially when it comes to bad things happening to Dick. Still, his ward being a suspect for attempted murder hadn’t been on his list.

✦ The Question Game by Santana2, dick & bruce, 1.3k     Basketball can be a very enlightening game if you play it right. Little expansion on Robin's part in Downtime

✦ Cat's Eat Birds by Nightwing_DC_2112, dick & bruce & selina & cast, 12k     After a run in with the Scarecrow Robin is separated from Batman fighting off the effects of Crane's Fear Toxin when an unlikely ally steps in to prevent him getting into further trouble.

✦ World's Finest Mini Issue: Happy Birthday by WingFeathers, bruce & dick (& minor clark/bruce & alfred), 1.8k     Bruce hoped for an emergency to get him out of his birthday party. He just didn’t want Dick to be the one in need of help. BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Truth Serum is the Worst by JackHawksmoor, dick & bruce, 3.1k     Batman gets dosed with a truth serum and unexpectedly spends most of the time talking about how desperately he loves his children, how awesome they are, and how he wishes he was better at being a father.

✦ Holy Time Travel Fuckery, Batmen by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl, dick & bruce, 4.4k     Batman is dead, and Dick has reluctantly taken up the mantle. So then why are there four Batmen, all clearly Bruce, standing in front of him on this rooftop?

✦ The Waking World by Fairy527, dick & bruce, 2.2k     This isn’t the first time Dick has gone to Bruce after a nightmare. However, this is the first time his nightmare has involved Bruce's murder at his own hands, and it doesn't settle well.

✦ More Alike Than You'll Ever Admit coffeeandchocolate, dick & bruce, 1.2k     Dick Grayson has always been there alongside Batman. So if no one else is going to acknowledge that his first year wearing the cowl was harder, well, he's just going to have to do it himself. After Bruce returns from being lost in time, he and his eldest argue.

✦ Almost, Nearly by CKBookish, dick & bruce & jason & cast, 8.1k     Dick was just supposed to go with him to lunch. He wasn't supposed to get shot. He wasn't supposed to be bleeding out in the pouring rain on the steps of Wayne Enterprises. But then Bruce hadn't expected that sniper and he had seen it far to late. BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ Behind Granite and Lime by JeanjacketCarf, dick & bruce & jason & tim & barbara & cass, 14.5k wip     Cassandra had noticed. Of course, she noticed. That was the problem, she couldn’t turn it off. She always had to see, always had to know. So she knew when Dick came back from his mission that something was wrong. Or something is off with Dick. Hopefully, it doesn't have anything to do with those murders.

✦ Soup's On by HoodEx, dick & donna, 2k     Taking care of Dick never feels like a burden, it feels like an instinct. And Donna's really good at following her instincts.

✦ to dream away a sleepless night by waffle-wonder (cosmic_croissant), dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass & stephanie & duke, 2.7k     Dick was fine. He was fine. Sure, he was having a little trouble focusing on unlocking his apartment door, but that didn’t mean anything. Or- Dick is exhausted. His family catches him when he falls.

✦ Temporary by daringyounggrayson, bruce & dick & alfred & cast, 14.8k     The double homicide at Haly’s Circus is not Bruce’s first case involving a child, and while there's no overt indication that Bruce should react differently to this case, he supposes that his previous cases did not involve the witness known as Dick Grayson. On the surface, the Grayson case seems like any other gang case, but the more time Bruce spends with the boy, the more he begins to doubt his own instincts.

✦ To the Moving and the Strange by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, dick & bruce & alfred & tim & cast, 6k     Thankfully, Alfred tips his head in acknowledgement. “I do,” he agrees. “I remember a great many things. But I have forgotten things too, and I expect as time goes on, more of them will slip away from me, and it’s entirely possible that I won’t even notice they’re gone. My memories of them will simply be… less.” Dick looks at him, studying the lines of his weathered face. “Does that ever make you feel like... like if you loved them more, you’d remember them?”

✦ better luck nest time by ScarlettSwordMoon, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke & cast, 47k wip     Feeling as if Dick’s family does not appreciate him enough, an alternate Earth version of Babs turns Dick into a bird. Now each member of the Batfamily must confess something to him if they ever want to see Dick as a human again. AKA The tale of a family and their birb.

✦ deep roots (are not reached by the frost) by fanfictiongreenirises, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & cast, de-aged!dick, 85.2k wip     Dick gets reverted to a younger self after being kidnapped on during a case. But this is far from a routine de-aging.

✦ Bludhaven Police Department by Lady_of_Lorule, bruce & dick & jason & tim & barbara & amy & donna & wally & cast, 31.1k     Sgt. Amy Rohrbach learns that her partner, rookie cop Dick Grayson, is not what he seems. Or how Amy finds out that Dick Grayson is the heir to the entire Wayne fortune, the vigilante Nightwing, the leader of the Titans, and meets some of the Batfam and the Titans along the way. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I'M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Too Many Walls and Not Enough Bridges by CamsthiSky, dick & damian, 3.7k     There's something bothering Damian. Dick's determined to help Damian feel comfortable enough to share it.

✦ All The Small Things by Geeves, dick & damian & bruce & cast, 20.1k     After Bruce's return to the Bat, Dick and Damian have to deal with just being brothers, but things are just a bit too messy to be that easy BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY'RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ Do-over by mx_chrx99, dick & jason & todd & damian & steph, 6.2k     Jason never really got to do the "family vacation" thing. Neither did Tim, Steph, or Damian. Dick did, but that was ages ago. Now's their chance to make up for lost time.

✦ pick up off the floor by deargalileo, dick & jason & bruce, 3k     there was a lump on Bruce's office floor. a Dickwing shaped lump.

✦ the trials and tribulations of fatherhood by InkpotSprite, bruce & dick & jason & tim, 2k     Dick, Jason and Tim compete to see who was the worst child. The answer surprises them all. On an unrelated note, Bruce is wondering if adoptions are a lifetime deal, or if they can be undone.

✦ A Time To Reflect by Experimental_Muse, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & duke & alfred, time travel, 14.5k     Bruce finds himself stuck in the past, and while waiting for the league to pick him up, struggles to get along with his past self. Plus being in a practically empty manor is a bigger adjustment than he'd like to admit. BATFAM FIC RECS - SOMETIMES YOU JUST THINK BRUCE AND DIANA SHOULD KISS IT OUT: ✦ One equal temper of heroic hearts by victoria_p (musesfool), bruce/diana, nsfw, 1.5k     Bruce and Diana reconcile at Nanda Parbat.

✦ Thanksgiving at the Kents by starknjarvis, bruce/diana & cast, 8.9k     Clark convinces Diana to come to the farm for Thanksgiving, and Diana finally gets the chance to meet Bruce's kids. There are far more of them than she had expected.

✦ Escape Artistry by David Hines (hradzka), bruce/diana & cast, 24.2k     Wonder Woman is eager to learn new things. Batman, less so. Primarily JL animated continuity; some comic elements from as far back as the Golden Age. Complete. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE'S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ Will you die for (marry) me? by Ididloveyou_once, tim/kon & cassie & bart & cast, 7.8k     Tim sacrifices himself on a mission and lives. Conner hates that. They struggle through the aftermath.

✦ A Saturday Evening by malcyon, tim/kon & clark/lois & jonathan kent/martha kent & kara, 13.8k     Kon invites Tim over for dinner. Tim's not sure if he should have accepted that invitation.

✦ Sending all my love to you by Paintedqueen, tim/kon, 10.9k wip     Conner and Tim get blasted into New Earth where they meet an old friend.

✦ Composed of Us by starlikeknight, tim/kon & bruce & dick & cast, 37.1k wip     Or, a spiralling Tim clones a baby without thinking about the consequences. And there are many, many consequences. BATFAM FIC RECS - I SAY THIS IS A BATFAM REC LIST BUT SOMETIMES YOU JUST GOTTA SHOVE THOSE ASSHOLES OUT OF THE WAY AND READ SOME SUPERFIC: ✦ All these things (that I'll never know) by Paintedqueen, conner & clark & kara & jonathan & implied tim/kon & cast, 12.7k     Kon-El's journey on what it means to be Kryptonian.

✦ birthday bash by yeeyee123, conner & clark & jon & tim/kon, 11.8k     Kon’s pumped that Clark has brought him in to help put together Jon’s 8th birthday party. No really, he is! Just don’t ask him directly about it, or he may need to go leave the room and take a breather. Inhaling helium gas from all those balloons isn’t good for you, you know?

✦ Catching Icarus by Fantasyfire, conner & clark & justice league, 24.8k wip     A bad encounter with magic banishes Superboy into another world. Stranded, the Kryptonian clone must deal with a whole new league and a much different Superman.

✦ Nobody's Child by Kizmet, clark & conner & lois & ma kent & pa kent & cast, 18k     Superboy is deaged. While Young Justice looks for a cure Batman sticks Clark Kent with babysitting duties. BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR: ✦ Adeamus by miss_aphelion, bruce & dick & stephanie & damian & jason & tim & clark & cast, 32k     I'll always be there to catch you, Bruce had promised him once. Dick would like to believe it hadn’t been meant as a threat at the time. (or; Bruce takes over Gotham to keep his sons safe, but he’s already trained Dick too well to always protect others first)

✦ Gorgon’s eyes by Fleur_de_Violette, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cast, 9k     Dick will give time to his family. He’s just came back as Nightwing after being undercover in Spyral; he understands that they won’t forgive him immediately. Except, when an encounter with neurotoxin leaves him completely paralyzed, he has no choice but to rely on them.

✦ bad signal by prismatical, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & cast, 38.4k     The rescue mission went well. Nightwing is safe. Everything should be alright. Right?

✦ And The Crown Will Sing by ScarlettSwordMoon, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cast, read the tags, 84.7k wip     After an encounter with alien technology, Bruce re-evaluates some previously held ideals. Gotham doesn’t need a Knight, she needs a King. Bruce will do whatever it takes to secure his rightful place as ruler of Gotham. He will do whatever it takes to keep his sons by his side. Even if it means breaking them in first. [Dark Bruce Wayne, eventual Dark Batfam]

✦ borderline by TheResurrectionist, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph, 22.7k wip     A mysterious force connects the Batfamily's minds together.

✦ Parting is all we Know of Heaven by Sword_Kallya, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & amy, suicidal ideation, 11.9k     Three months after Batman returns from the timestream, Dick Grayson has disappeared.

✦ Behind Granite and Lime by JeanjacketCarf, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cass & cast, read the tags, 18k wip     Cassandra had noticed. Of course, she noticed. That was the problem, she couldn’t turn it off. She always had to see, always had to know. So she knew when Dick came back from his mission that something was wrong. Or something is off with Dick. Hopefully, it doesn't have anything to do with those murders.

✦ A Little Out of the Ordinary by dizarys, tim & dick & conner & slade & cast, 1.5k     A boot scraped against stone at the same time pain seared through Tim’s chest, radiating from one sharp, jabbing point. With a gasping wheeze, he tried to grab at it. But his arms refused to move.

✦ Override Two: Family Protocol by zombiesbecrazy, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cass & cast, talon!dick, 78.3k     When faced with an impossible and inescapable situation, Dick does the only thing left that he can do to save his family. Surrender himself to the Court of Owls to become their Talon in exchange for their lives.

✦ Weekend Commute by CKBookish, bruce & dick & jason & tim & donna & wally & cast, 7.4k     Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

✦ What These Hands Have Done by WinterSky101, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & alfred & cast, 14k     Dick is mind controlled into attacking his family. Unsurprisingly, he takes the whole thing very badly.

✦ birdsong by ScarlettSwordMoon, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & steph & cast, 22.7k     After getting a face full of Scarecrow’s newest toxin, Dick isn’t haunted by his typical nightmares. No. This one has little green pixie boots. AKA Batman: Ego but make it Robin.

✦ New Krypton by Hawkstout, dick & clark & bruce & cast, read the tags, 15.9k wip     Robin is captured by the Kryptonians and put under the care of Kal-El, the man he has known as Superman. Kal-El wants to do his best for Robin and keep the boy safe and healthy. He's fond of him. They were friends once. He hopes that once Robin understands the invasion of his home is for the best that he will grow to see him as a guardian, maybe even as a father. But Robin doesn't need another father. He needs a way to escape.

✦ i was not born to drown by daringyounggrayson, bruce & dick & tim & damian & donna & wally & roy & cast, 25.2k     Or: After getting shot by Doctor Hurt, Dick develops chronic migraines.

✦ Running Headlong into My Arms by gleesquid, bruce/selina & dick & jason & tim & damian & barbara & cass & steph & alfred & cast (& some minor pairings), 54.2k     Bruce doesn’t like to credit one thing for saving his life, but if he did, it would be Haly’s Circus that Friday night in September, just as summer was beginning to die. (He'll always be a sucker for kids with sad eyes, no parents, and more fight than the world knows what to do with.) Or: in a universe where superheroes don't exist, Bruce Wayne finds his family.

✦ Waking In The Night Light by I_Have_To_Get_Off_This_Planet, bruce & dick & jason & tim & cass, 7.1k     Aside from the soft pitter-pattering of rain against the window, it’s quiet in the room. Tranquil, Bruce thinks. Or at least, as tranquil as a hospital room can get. BATFAM FIC RECS - THROW BABY DICK AT BATTISON, C'MON DO IT, IT'LL BE HILARIOUS: ✦ take these broken wings and learn to fly by fishingclocks, dick & bruce & alfred, 49.2k wip     or, How Dick Grayson Burrowed His Way Inextricably into the Heart of Bruce Wayne

✦ A Bat and his Birds by SalParadiseLost, bruce & dick & jason & tim, 3.1k     Bruce Wayne adopts a child on impulse... and then another... and then another. He doesn't know what he's doing, but somehow it doesn't end up too bad except for the fact that his kids think he's a vampire.

[draco-dormiens]

THE STRANGEST OF PLACES - Chapter Twenty Four / The Final Chapter

draco x fem!ravenclaw reader / postwar au series

a/n: so. here we are - final chapter! i really hope i’ve done this ending justice. even got a bit emosh myself. i'd just like to say a HUGE thank you to everyone that has supported this fic, whether that be reading, interacting, sharing, anything. it's been a pleasure to post this story for you ♡ now... onto my next series idea!!

warnings: nothing really, just a tad bit emotional

wc: 2944

masterlist

taglist is now closed - i’ve officially run out of tags! thank you all

The Seventh Years Graduation

As from a dream, Draco woke with an air of blissfulness. His first morning with the girl he loved was cut short, a few messy kisses and promises of tomorrow before he was faced with the dark gates of his home once more. He was ready, more now than ever, to face the music that was his parents and their wishes for his pureblood marriage.

After leaving them in a whirl of confusion the night before, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't slightly dreading the look on his mother's face once he sees her again. Draco could hear her now, scolding him for allowing his family to be shamed yet again, could picture the disapproving look his father would give him from the corner of his eye. He swallows thickly, but with the courage you had planted in him, he entered the foyer to be greeted with absolute silence. It wasn't as if being greeted by an empty home was unusual, it was just that at this moment, the silence was practically deafening.

He hesitated in calling out, but figured it would be worse if they knew he'd come home and not seeked them out first thing after yesterday's fiasco. "Mother? Father?" He called, only to be met with the slight echo of his voice in the quietness. Not even the house elf seemed to respond, and so, he wandered, cautiously, through to the drawing room they would usually reside in. When he entered, it appeared as if someone was there, a pot of tea and half drunk cup on the coffee table and the Daily Prophet sprawled out beside it.

"Hello?" He calls again, coming to a halt before the paper. The headline read "A Joyous Occasion: Returning Students to Graduate", and a rather lengthy article where Headmistress McGonagall had stated how 'utterly elated' she was for the returning seventh years after such a 'stressful and sorrowful time.' Draco flicks through a few more pages, various columns advertising products and, of course, Skeeter's addition. He huffs at her attempts, as the doorway suddenly darkens behind him.

"Draco." Lucius's voice comes at a shock against the silence of the room, Draco spinning on the spot to see his father, who, upon inspection, looked tireder than ever, "you have returned, I see."

"Father," Draco clears his throat, "is mother around?"

"I'm afraid she is not," Lucius said, gracefully crossing the room in an expensive looking gown, "She is collecting her dress for the graduation."

"Ah. Right." Draco breathes, questioning how his mother has simply continued with her graduation preparations.

With a flick of his wand, Lucius summons another tea cup, and steam begins to rise from the teapot. "Sit," he instructs his son, "there is something I wish to tell you."

Draco does as he's told, already aware that his actions had perhaps caused his mother to have a breakdown and leave his father looking like sleep had escaped him for at least a month. Lucius pours two fresh cups, and sips at the warm brew with a little satisfied hum. Draco, as if a guest in his own home, follows suit, sitting uncomfortably on the end of the couch.

"Not long after your mother and I graduated," Lucius begins, "there was an awful lot of talk about the Dark Lord and his success in becoming immortal. It was getting more and more apparent that this man was gaining an insurmountable amount of power."

Draco remained silent as his father took a pause.

"I, young and influenced, believed that following this Dark Lord was the right and just thing to do. My family held the same beliefs, as did your mother's. Swearing allegiance to him, in my inexperienced mind, made utter sense. The things I was doing... made sense. But what I've come to realise, in my doing so, I have caused undeniable pain to those dearest to me." Lucius stops, and looks Draco in the eyes, "and to you, most of all, it would seem."

"Father, I-"

"I often wondered what you may do now that the war was over and Voldemort is dead. I had pictured you following the same beliefs, marrying a pureblood and having children. Perhaps I was naive to think that those events hadn't changed you... that those around you hadn't changed you." Lucius said, ignoring Dracos interception. He could see a slight sheen over his father's eyes for the first time in his life, "what's her name, Draco?"

"Huh?" Draco sounds, a little dumbfounded, "oh, you mean Y/N? I-it's Y/N Y/L/N."

"Half blood?" Lucius asks, sipping his tea as Draco swallows another lump in this throat.

"Yeah," he nods, looking down at his cup, "her father is a muggle."

"I see." Lucius says simply, placing down his cup and saucer, "and do you love her?"

Draco almost chokes. Never did he think his father would ask him such a question, but here he was, looking at him with all seriousness. Even so, Draco's answer is strong and quick.

"Yes," he said without a beat, "more than anything."

Lucius nods yet again and rises.

"Then there is no more to be said," he announced, clearing the table with another flick of his wand, "we shall have to meet after the graduation. Perhaps over dinner."

As his father begins to leave, Draco stands from the couch, gaining his father’s attention. Confusion and elation courses through his veins.

"Is that it?" Draco challenges softly, "you're not going to scold me? Shout at me?"

"Would you still pursue this girl if I did?" Lucius asks calmly, "would you listen if I forbid you from seeing her? Even if I locked you in the highest room of this house, you would find a way to her, would you not?"

"Do I need to answer that?" Draco raises an eyebrow, and his father chuckles. The sound of it was so foreign to Draco's ears.

"Then I rest my case," Lucius holds his hands up, "your mother and I have spoken at great lengths, Draco. Your disappearance last night proved one thing - we have no right to hold you down any longer. I dare say, if someone had kept me from your mother, I may have gone insane."

"I love her," Draco finds himself saying, "and I'm going to marry her, father. No one else."

Lucius is quiet for a long moment, before cracking a slight smile.

"You seem to have found yourself," he says as he walks towards the door, and his small smile disappears from his face, "perhaps we were too blind to notice the young man before us."

Banners, flags and all manner of decorations were adorning Hogwarts the morning of the graduation ceremony. Families from all over the county had congregated to join in with the celebrations, and the grounds were practically teeming with people.

Draco had owled to request you meet him before the ceremony began, to tell you about his meeting with Lucius. It was safe to say you were surprised to hear a more positive story, since he'd ran away and left his parents and the Greengrass's in the lurch. But Draco had reassured you that his father is a serious man - he wouldn't have said those things if he didn't mean them, and especially if his mother disagreed. "I haven't seen her but," he began, looking dashing in his robes of emerald green, "something tells me father spoke for the both of them."

Outside in the courtyard, students were to be seated in their houses, with families and friends seated behind. Important individuals within the wizarding community as well as representatives from the Ministry were also present. The Daily Prophet had photographers and journalists out, capturing the eventual graduation of the returning seventh years. As the moment approached, students began walking in their respective houses to their seats, you amongst the Ravenclaws clad in striking blue robes. From the corner of your eye, you spot the emerald green of the Slytherins walking in the same direction across the entrance hall, one particular student catching your eye as she elegantly drifted across the space, brown hair cascading down her back and heels clicking along the tiled floor.

As if carried by your feet before you could think, you made a beeline across the space.

"Astoria," you call out, and the girl stops at the sound of her name, head snapping in the direction of your voice, "can I speak to you a moment?"

"Y/N," she blinks, "can I... help you?"

For a moment you weren't sure what to say. Do you thank her for letting Draco follow his heart? Do you apologise that her marriage didn't go to plan, and that she has faced just as much heartache as you in all of this? Or do you simply wish her well? Many things flitted through your mind in that moment, but one thing was abundantly clear. Despite everything that had transpired, there didn't seem to be even a glint of disdain in her eyes.

"Well, I just-"

"If it's about Draco, you should know he made his own decision," she cuts you off, smiling at the small crowd of Slytherins entering the courtyard, Draco surely among them, "I simply realised I was an accomplice in his misery. The rest was his own heart telling him what to do."

"From my understanding, you were pivotal in Draco finding his strength," you said kindly, Astoria's pretty eyes looking at you as if she was sure Draco wouldn't ever mention her name again, "and for that, I'm forever thankful, Astoria. As well as deeply sorry for the mess I caused."

She shakes her head with a smile on her face. A light chuckle escaped her lips.

"Love isn't a crime, Y/N," she says softly, "for too long, I've lived in my parent’s shadow, following their ideals and wishes. If anything, Draco, and you, have taught me a lot about thinking with your own mind. It's true I would've married happily," she pauses briefly, "but it's a long time to be miserable, don't you think? Draco deserves better than that."

You go to speak, but nothing comes out. Words fail you in this moment, and Astoria takes your hand as the band outside begin to play the entrance music for the graduating students.

"There is no need for more words," she said, and you hold her hand back tightly, "all I ask is that you take care of him. Merlin knows he needs it. Now, what do you say we walk out together, hm? As a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin, for the last time."

Arm in arm, you emerge from the large doors and into the courtyard, following the groups of other students. The two of you split ways once arriving at your designated spots, and part with a smile. You find your place beside Luna, and settle in, a buzz of excitement and fresh, new beginnings in the air. Headmistress McGonagall rises to the lectern, as students, staff and guests all stand. A round of applause is made, and the ever elegant professor quieted the crowd with a gentle wave of a hand, urging everyone back into their seats.

"Thank you," she begins, her voice magically amplified, "It is my greatest pleasure, as Headmistress of our school, to see such wonderfully gifted pupils embark on their next chapter, not only as high achieving students, but as young men and women." She scans the crowd, and with a wipe of her handkerchief under both eyes, continues, "and most of all, it is an honour to send off those returning seventh years whose final year at Hogwarts was tainted by sorrow and loss, into greener and brighter pastures, as free witches and wizards. The world is indeed your oyster, and I expect great things from each and every one of you."

Professor Flitwick hurries along the stage, wand levitating a large pile of scrolls, each tied with a coloured ribbon of the students respective house, closely followed by Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Now," McGonagall announces, "as we call your name, house by house, please rise to collect your graduation certificate, prestigiously presented by our good Minister, Mr Shacklebolt."

Students from each house proudly took the stage and their graduation certificates, shaking hands with the Minister and posing for a photograph. Gryffindor first, then Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and eventually, Ravenclaw. As your name is called, with slight jelly legs and a nervous but exciting feeling in your stomach, you walk the aisle to the stage, passing the other houses. Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt hands a scroll to you, blue ribbon tied in the centre in a neat and perfect bow, and then shakes your hand in a firm but gentle way.

"Congratulations," he says quietly to you, as the camera takes a photograph your parents are no doubt planning on placing above the fireplace. You take the chance to look out over your fellow students and families, noticing your mother waving at you from the back rows. A small wave back and she's taking her own photos, and even from the stage you could see your father urging her to sit down so the others behind could see. Then, your eyes fall on the rows of emerald green, to a kind face, with white hair shining in the sun, and a smile that makes your knees a little weak.

He winks, and you can't help but feel flustered in front of the hundreds of faces looking up at you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

"Thank you," you mutter to the Minister, and share a smile with the Headmistress as you head back to your seat. After a few words from Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt about courage, strength and the 'formidable force that is the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry', one final round of applause, and the chance to mingle begins. Your parents, mother crying and father trying to hide his emotion, are the first to find you. They chat with your professors, even the Minister, and mingle with other parents they know. Students you've known say their goodbyes and well wishes, as a little tap on your shoulder gains your attention.

"So, we've done it." Hermione says, clearly overtaken with emotion, "We've actually done it."

The two of you embrace, squealing with happiness. You hug one another tightly, evoking some tears in the process. It's been a long journey, but you've made it. From the war to your own trials and tribulations, you were both still standing. Together.

"I couldn't have made it through this year without you, 'Mione," you mumble through your tears, and you hear her giggle through hers, "I love you so much. Thank you. For everything."

She pulls back, resting her hands on your shoulders as she looks at you with adoration.

"You must stay in touch," she chokes up mid sentence, "promise me? Don't be stranger, for Merlin's sake. Tell Malfoy the same." You nod vigorously, "I love you too," she says sincerely, and then her eyes are fixed on someone behind you, "speak of the devil."

You turn on your heel to see Draco, handsome as ever in the green that so belongs on him, sheepishly waiting for you to notice his presence. Turning back to Hermione, she insists you go to him, and with one last hug, you cross the space between you. His smile grows wider the closer you get, and as soon as you're in touching distance, he takes your hand and presses a delicate kiss to your knuckles.

"You know," he begins, voice like silk, "blue really is your colour, my love."

A delightful chuckle escapes your lips, and within the next second, his other hand is cupping your jaw and bringing you in for a passionate kiss. He doesn't seem to care that hundreds of students and families surround you, including his own. All he cares about is this moment, and this declaration of his love for you. As you part, he remains close, kissing the corner of your mouth.

"I love you, darling," he whispers to you, only for you to hear, and wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

"I love you, Draco." Your voice is barely audible, but he catches it, and a toothy grin spreads across his face.

"Well then?" he then extends his arm to you, "it's time for the boats, my lady.”

With your arm laced in his, family and friends watching from the courtyard archways, the seventh years descend the stairs to the boat house for the last time, reminiscing about the first time they wandered up those same stairs to the sorting ceremony. Not many words are exchanged between you; emotions are high and his touch is enough, but as you collect on the docks of the boat house, Hermione comes to stand beside you. You take her hand, and the three of you look up towards the castle that's been your second home for eight years now. 

"Shall we?" you look between them both, and you share a silent agreement, stepping onto the boat together, symbolising the start of a new beginning, and the end of an era. As the boat is pushed from the shore, your hands are still intertwined, and your arm is still tightly around Draco's arm. If you had pictured your last trip across the Black Lake like this, you would've thought some very strange twist of fate was at play; in fact, it must be. Taking one last look back at the castle that becomes smaller and smaller the further away you get, you think how you've found many things during your time as a Ravenclaw. Friendships, courage, knowledge, and even love. Isn't it funny, you think to yourself. How life plays out, how the universe works.

How true happiness can be found…

In the strangest of places.

disclaimer: i do not own hp or any of the characters in this story

tags: @lovesanimals0000 @cappgyuccino @lightning1ce @onlygetaway @honeyyypeach @namelesslosers @ghostyv @mikadorbs @redactedhimbo @morganadpl @scarecrowscaresthomas @valkyrie418 @animeloverfreak310 @budugu @marplest @torresbarnes @bunny24sstuff @champagneesupernova @serafilms @siriusly-parker-main @lovely-maryj @i-bitch-you-bitch @astablacksword @sun-fiower-seed @tinafuentes @venusjustleft @omgitstatertot @aangsupremacy @ilovezy @leclerc16s @aslanvez @talesofadragon @3vasaur @the-skys-musical-echo @yeolsbubbles @idk-dolans @xx-kiraa-xx @sunbruized @vinkiesz @snickersmee @fandomrulesall-blog @astheraa @idkatee @marsanhwa @vintageoldfashion @63sucker @j-n-i-c-o-l-e @anarchistsons @newbooksmell777 @tangomangroves @neoteezrenyoung @l0v3lies @delusionally-loveless-by-choice @higanbanagirl @ace152435 @arcanebabe @slythermuf @hea-vin @zucchinimalfoy @carolineesnell

[violet-bruises]

Baby Lay Your Head Down

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x OFC (SSA Sophie Carter)

Warnings: Established past relationship (kind of), mild suggestive language, mentions of grief, mentions of death and almost death, mentions of suppressing emotions, excessive longing, angst

Author's note: I've had ideas for Hotch swirling in my head for months years, and this is the first time I've managed to get anything down on paper. In my head, my OFC is a little more fleshed out, as is her relationship to Hotch, and their story is much larger. This is just a small blurb taken from a point in their story that was swirling in my mind recently. I hope it makes sense lol. ALSO! This is my very first time posting to tumblr, or publicly at all for that matter.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN AARON HOTCHNER AS A CHARACTER! ALL CREDIT TO THE CREATOR! (did i say it right?)

Word count: 2,474

Summary: Aaron is usually the first one in the office. Usually.

Once upon a time, Aaron loved mornings. In law school, he’d wake up while it was still dark, squeeze in an early run around campus, shower, and enjoy his coffee all before the sun ever began to show its soft colors. When he and Haley were newlyweds, he’d surprise her with breakfast in bed—which quickly grew cold as they entangled themselves in their straight from the registry sheets. And once Jack was born, Aaron would wake up just to hold him, rock him in the cushioned chair in his nursery before work. But soon, slowly and then all at once, his life grew darker. A thick shadow cast over his days, no matter how high the sun sat in the sky. He and Haley drifted apart. He’d wake many mornings to an empty apartment—no longer a home, much less a house. He spent his mornings in the confines of the BAU. And then Haley died, and Jack almost did; Aaron started sneaking into Jack’s room to watch him sleep just to reassure himself that his son was still here, alive and breathing.

But eventually, mornings became bearable, until they were even enjoyable again. The thick smog over his days lifted. He stopped going into the office early and started having small moments with Jack. Aaron got to enjoy his coffee again, squeeze in the occasional early run, and, for the first time ever, eat breakfast in bed, made for him. For the first time, Aaron’s small apartment felt like home; the soft colors of the sun were no match the vibrant warmth Sophie carted into his life. But clearly Aaron was cursed long ago to fulfill the same prophecy over and over again, because, just as he was finally happy again, truly and utterly, deeply and joyously, he managed to fuck that up, too.

So, once again, Aaron arrives early at the office now every morning. Some occasional mornings, he’s not the first one to wake the floor. On those mornings, he’s grateful—a pot of bitter hot coffee almost certain to be residing in the carafe, singing his name. Most mornings, however, Aaron arrives to a dark and empty bullpen, and he’ll trudge to the small kitchenette in the break room before doing anything else to start the coffee. While the coffee brews, Aaron will make his way to his office, setting down his briefcase and unloading the files on his desk. He’ll file away papers he’s finished with, creating a pile for JJ and Garcia to review. By this time, his coffee has dripped enough that he can pour himself a decent cup. Black. No cream or sugar when in the office, not that any amount could truly save the monstrosity. He’ll place the files on Garcia’s desk, then backtrack to JJ’s. Once he returns, he’ll sit at his desk, pouring over case files, old and new, as the sun rises outside and the city wakes and people begin to pour into the office, a trickle, then a flood.

The same routine for the past three months. Every morning. Everyday.

Except for today.

Today, when Aaron manages to pull himself to the seventh floor and into the BAU, he stops short. The usually quiet and dim office space is punctuated by a soft glow, right at its heart. As he approaches from the entrance, he expects someone to be occupying the lit desk, but its chair is empty. Scattered across the tabletop are case files. A file on the missing twin girls in Arizona from last week (paperwork the responsible unit chief in him is praying is finally done) is open on top, but more lie underneath. He can’t quite read the labels in the shadows that escape the desk lamp’s light. Aaron reaches his hand out to thumb through the papers.

“Oh!”

Aaron swivels to find Supervisory Special Agent Sophie Carter, sock-footed and grasping a massive cup of coffee, standing before him, clearly having just emerged from the break room. Aaron briefly, traitorously, wonders what the ratio of actual coffee to sugar to cream she’s decided on today.

“Good morning,” Aaron greets her, gruffly. He hasn’t spoken since waking up, really only just above a whisper when dropping Jack off at Jessica’s. His voice is rough with unuse. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “What are you doing here?”

“Good morning,” Sophie responds. She diverts eye contact and brushes just past Aaron to reach her desk chair. Aaron watches her. “And I work here.”

Aaron’s lips purse displeasingly. After a moment, Sophie glances up at him then sighs. “I, um, couldn’t really sleep. Figured I’d turn that into being a model employee and finally finish all of my paperwork.”

Aaron documents the subtle red tinge bloomed across her cheeks. Still avoiding his questioning and concerned gaze, she raises her coffee mug to her soft lips. I’m Down To Just 1 Cup A Day in big block letters written on the side. The mug is as big as his head.

“I wish you’d chosen that philosophy about ten years ago. Would’ve saved me a few headaches.”

Sophie finally meets his eyes again. Warm and dark, nearly midnight when cast away from the light on her desk. Aaron is reminded of the night skies that cover all of the small towns he’s seen; far enough from the city, awash with billions of tiny dots of light—stars that create impossibly beautiful and intricate patterns in the sky—the vastness could swallow him whole, and he’d welcome it with open arms.

“Ha ha,” she intones, but her eyes never lose their warmth. Aaron chuckles but doesn’t respond. Instead, he watches. Watches her shuffle through papers, write things down on a sticky note, tuck papers away in folders, pull more papers out. Finally, with tight shoulders, she turns to look up at him. “Can I help you?”

Aaron scans her face. “What are you doing here so early?”

She frowns. “I told you. I couldn’t sleep.”

Then, Sophie sighs, slumping back in her chair. Aaron knows she’s tired. But it’s not the discoloration under her eyes, or the heaviness of her lids that gives her away. It’s how quickly she caves to telling the truth. Too tired to be stubborn, Aaron muses. The fight and irritation drain from her in an instant. “I don’t know, Hotch. Genuinely, I really haven’t been sleeping well, promise. But. . . yeah, it’s been more than just a few sleepless nights.” She flops over, forehead resting on her folded arms. “I haven’t had insomnia like this since college.” Her words come out muffled and pitiful, wrought with exhaustion.

“How long has it been this bad?”

“Um, I guess. . . since the serial in Montana.”

“That was three months ago.”

She doesn’t answer; her head stays buried. Aaron frowns, though he pretty much has been since he realized it was her desk light on in the dark office. Since his discovery, the sun has risen a tiny bit beyond the brick of the building, the sky a cornflower blue. Aaron reckons it’s about 5:30—about an hour and a half before anyone starts arriving—two and a half before the bullpen is officially alive for the day (and three before Morgan manages his way in). Aaron’s noticed Sophie’s tiredness. Of course he has. He catches her blank stares and heavy lids easily. He would’ve said something by now, but her exhaustion had, remarkably, not yet affected her job. The minute duty calls, she springs into action, like she’s been a tightly coiled spring finally allowed to burst. But, it’s more than just that that holds Aaron back. Because that wasn’t part of their arrangement, was it? Because asking her if she’s been sleeping, or feeling well, or eating okay, or taking care of herself, or seeing anyone— those questions were off limits. Wasn’t that what they’d decided? The rules they’d laid down?

Aaron never really was good at following the rules.

“C’mon.”

Sophie lifted her head, eyes wide and round. “What?”

“C’mon,” Aaron repeated, holding his hand out for her to take. She looked between him and his outstretched palm, gaze wildly skeptical.

“Aaron. . . we talked—”

“You talked, I listened, and this—this isn’t about that. This is about ensuring all of my subordinates are in appropriate shape to adequately perform their duties.”

“Last time I checked, I perform my duties far better than adequately.”

“Sophie,” he pleads. It’s a mistake and he knows it, but she broke the rule first. She called him Aaron. Not Hotch, or Agent Hotchner. His resolve was weak enough as it was; her so easily tossing around his first name like that, when he hadn’t heard it from her in months, when he had grown so used to hearing it when she lay next to him, or, when she whispered it, breathlessly, under him. “Please just. . . humor me.”

Her icy look melted, trickling down her body as exhaustion quickly crept up on her. She didn’t take his hand, but she did stand, shuffling papers in folders and stacking them neatly on top of each other. Aaron waited patiently for her to finish tidying and wondered if he’d ever unlearn her. If he ever wanted to. Arranging papers and cleaning off the desk cleaner than he’d seen it since before it was hers—she was stalling to fully accept his offer, and he knows it’s a punishment, her not giving in. For whom, he’s not quite sure.

Finally, after ages, she turns to him. Her eyebrows raise.

Aaron simply turns on his heel, slightly tipping his head for her to follow. He leads them up the short staircase and as they cross the threshold into his office. Aaron places his briefcase down on his own desk before turning to the couch pressed against the opposite wall.

“Hotch—” So she did realize her mistake, “—really, I’m fine. This isn’t the first sleepless night and early morning I’ve had. I can manage on my own.”

Aaron doesn’t respond right away, busying himself with gathering blankets and pillows.

“Hotch.”

“I am very aware that you are perfectly capable of managing on your own. But, Soph,” Aaron can see the miniscule pinch in her brows. Small, but powerful in the painful way it tugs at him. He sighs. “Friends, right? Don’t friends. . . take care of each other?”

Aaron knows, knows all too well, that an argument boils on the tip of her tongue. But he also knows the heavy dangle of her limbs and the soft glaze of her eyes means she’s close to nearly collapsing. It’s not fair, what he’s doing. He knows that and yet. . .

He watches her study the makeshift bed he’s made for her. And then, “I suppose. . . Penelope would do the same for me, too.”

Aaron suppresses a smile. “She would.”

“She’d do more, actually. Penelope would have freshly baked cookies waiting for me, too.”

“That she would.”

“Penelope is a better friend than you are.”

Aaron hears the jest in her voice, but he doesn’t smile. “That she is,” he says, softly.

Finally, Sophie drags her feet to the couch. Without meeting his gaze, she climbs under the covers and settles in. She inhales deeply as her eyes flutter shut.

It should be studied, Aaron thinks, the mercurial rush of affection that overcomes him. He wishes he could control it. Tamper it down and bury it under the crushing weight of all the other emotions he has buried and ignored. He’s usually quite good at it, actually, with years of careful experience under his belt. Though maybe that’s the problem; he’s attempting to add to something already overflowing, and the erosion of it all has chipped his self-control down to nearly nothing.

Aaron’s surety is bone deep: he’s destined to love her until the day he dies. Even if she doesn’t want him to, even if she doesn’t love him. He’d use his dying breath to confess his overwhelming and all-consuming truth. His throat grows tight.

He’s about to turn on his heel, afraid of what he’ll do if he lingers any longer, when Sophie softly calls out to him.

“Thank you,” she tells him, her eyes opening to finally meet his again. Like an electric shock, the urge to touch her races through him. To caress her warm cheek in his palm, to cradle her face and pull it closer to his own, to press his lips to hers. Aaron feels his fingers twitch under his thinning restraint.

He allows his lips to curve in a faint smile. “Of course,” he whispers.

Aaron finally retreats. With his back to her, he swears he can feel Sophie watching him, but when he turns back as he reaches his desk, Sophie has flipped onto her side, her back facing him. It’s for the best, Aaron reminds himself. If he’d caught her eye again, the ghost of his resolve would haunt his office forever.

As the hours ticked on, the BAU bullpen slowly comes back to life. Just as eight o’clock slips by and the trickling morning light catches the ends of Sophie’s hair ablaze, a knock sounds on his door. Before Aaron gets a chance to stand and answer, the door opens and Garcia swiftly steps in.

“Good morning, sir! I sent over the background profiles you requested from the Jefferson City case—”

“Thank you, Garcia. I—”

“Also, I got that police chief in Wichita to finally send over the files on that cold case Rossi needed—”

“Garcia—”

“You wouldn’t believe the sweet talking I had to do, I mean, Morgan level—”

“Garcia!” Aaron couldn’t resist glancing at Sophie, still fast asleep.

Unfortunately, Garcia caught his slip, and she followed his gaze.

“Oh!”

Garcia looked between Aaron and Sophie, once. Then twice.

“Oh, sir,” she started, much softer than when she’d entered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize!” Garcia began to back out of his office. “See! I saw her desk light on but I hadn’t seen her since I got in. I thought maybe she just forgot to turn it off, ya know, but then she didn’t respond to my text! Which I get now why, you know, given that she’s, you know—”

“Garcia.” She stopped at the entry way. “Let’s just— please don’t—”

She nodded rapidly and mimicked zipping her lips shut, locking them, and throwing away the key. “Of course, sir.”

Just before she closed the door, Garcia poked her head back in.

“Oh! Also, I brought leftover cookies I baked for the counseling center. They’re in the kitchen!” And the door clicked shut behind her.

“See,” Sophie mumbled, voice muffled by the pillows. “Told you.”

Aaron laughs. Maybe these new early mornings weren’t so bad after all.

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 10. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.8k (oh my)

Warnings: Fluff, SMUT, PIV, Vibrator fun

Summary: McLaggen gets introduced to the muggle world.

A/N: This has been through four drafts with two different storylines until I settled on this. I'm not happy with the self-insert this has become but the smut went too hard so had to just get it posted. Also 'Hen' is a little Scottish term of endearment for a young woman and Grammarly hated it LMAO.

Masterlist

Tag list: @pretendfan, @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark

Chapter 10: Electricity

Dumbledore’s death brought an immediate feeling of mourning into the castle. The loss itself was tragic in its own right - a respected Headmaster who you liked (though admittedly had never even spoken to directly) but the circumstances surrounding his murder and the intrusion of Death Eaters at Hogwarts were abhorrent. Nobody could quite come to grips with what had happened during the night.

Seventh-year graduation was cancelled. The fifth-year O.W.Ls were postponed. Padma Patil and her sister Parvati had been escorted from Hogwarts by their parents before breakfast. By lunch, Marietta’s mother had literally dragged her from the castle, barely giving you and Cho time to bid her a painful goodbye on the front steps, as you both clutched her hands, promising to write to her and meet up soon.

A few days before Dumbledore’s funeral, McLaggen had suggested, quite rightly, that your Quidditch ban would be the least of Professor McGonagall’s worries at the moment, and so the two of you spent the morning hovering in front of the goalposts, taking turns shooting penalties at each other and trying to take your mind off of what should have been a joyous end of term.

“Right,” says McLaggen, catching the Quaffle in the stomach with a grunt. “Your turn.”

As the morning sun sits high behind him, his dark blonde hair catches the bright light and you notice it looks more tousled than usual -  like he’s been running his hands through it the way you’ve seen him do when he’s brewing a particularly complicated potion in class.

You fly toward the goal and do an about-turn as he lines up to take a shot.

“Who’s that watching us? Ministry, do you reckon?” You nod at two figures at the edge of the Quidditch pitch. 

McLaggen whips around to look at the spectators and throws his head back with a groan. “Well, one of them is. They’re my parents.”

There are only two reasons why they’d be here.

McLaggen’s dad was high up in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement - maybe he was here as part of the Ministry’s preparations for the funeral.

Or maybe, like Mairetta’s mum, they were coming to force him to go back home.

Your stomach twists with nerves. You hadn’t expected to be meeting McLaggen’s parents today. You would have worn something nicer, you think as your feet touch the ground. Feeling slightly flustered, you attempt to discreetly spit your gumshield into your gloves. He grins as you do your best to smooth out your wind-swept ponytail. “You look fine - don’t worry.”

That’s easy for him to say. You’re sure they’ve seen him plenty of times in his Keeper’s gear. But it’s hardly the first impression you wanted to make. 

You walk side by side, carrying your brooms over to his parents at the side of the pitch. 

Mr McLaggen, in his tailored robes, is practically the double of his son except for the fact that he’s older, greyer and has a markedly more serious demeanour than Cormac. His lined face is handsome but marred with a stony expression.

The woman standing next to him is easily the most timelessly beautiful witch you’ve ever seen. She’s tall too, blonde and has - there’s no other way to put it - an expensive aura. The way her face glows and how she holds both her hands over her heart when she sees McLaggen means she could only be his mother.

“Dad,” says McLaggen, grasping his father’s extended hand and shaking it.

Ooh, formal.

“This is-”

He’s cut off when his mother pushes past him to wrap her arms around you and squeeze you tightly. 

“We know! We know!” She squeals, hugging you. She steps back with her hands still placed on each of your arms. “Gosh, you’re even prettier than the pictures.”

“The pictures?” You glance sideways at McLaggen who looks profoundly embarrassed by the way his mother coos at you.

“Yes! Those charming muggle photographs of the two of you. Cormac has sent us so many. You know, I might make an album.”

“Mum!” hisses McLaggen and she releases you to hug him next and plant a kiss on his cheek, covering him in red lipstick that she has to wipe off. He grumbles and flushes almost as deeply as the smudged lipstick being rubbed from his cheek.

Mr McLaggen shakes your hand and gives you a stiff nod without returning the smile you give him.

“Cormac, darling. We’ve come to take you home,” says Mrs McLaggen, finally ceasing her fawning over him. 

“I’m of age, I don’t need you to escort me home.”

“Of course, you don’t, sweetheart,” she waves a hand dismissively and turns to you. “Are your parents coming to get you soon?”

“They can’t  - they’re muggles,” you say and you can’t help but notice the way Mr McLaggen avoids your gaze. “I’m getting the train home after the funeral.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” says McLaggen plainly.

His parents stare at you. Mr McLaggen looks formidable but Mrs McLaggen just looks anxious - you can tell the idea of him being here at Hogwarts is making her worried sick.

“Go with them. I’ll go home in a few days. And you’re still gonna visit me soon, right?”

“Gregor…” starts Mrs McLaggen, looking pleadingly at her husband. 

“Eleanor, I warned you - ”

“Come and stay with us,” she addresses you before he can finish and your eyes widen in surprise. Mr McLaggen sighs resignedly and you have the distinct feeling that despite his appearance, it’s Mrs McLaggen who runs the show. “I mean for goodness sake, there were Death Eaters at Hogwarts. It’s not safe.”

“I’d love to, I really would. But I need to see my parents.” You look at McLaggen. 

“Mum, we need to talk about it. Look, we’re going to go and get changed out of our Quidditch stuff. I’ll meet you in the Entrance Hall in a bit, yeah?”

“Alright, darling.” She touches his cheek fondly much to his indignation. “Your father and I will go for a walk and reminisce.” For a split second, you think you catch Cormac’s dad giving her a hint of a smirk that makes him so resemble his son, before following her off the pitch.

“Wow…” You say, watching them walk off towards the castle grounds.

“I know, she’s a bit much.” He gives you an edgy look as he bends down to pick up both of your brooms.

“I was talking about your dad. He’s a total DILF. I see where you get it from.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“And your mum! She adores you, it’s so sweet!”

“Alright, alright. That’s enough,” laughs McLaggen, shaking his head as the two of you walk back up the gravel path towards the castle. “What do you think though?”

“Listen, you should go with them. Your mum is obviously worried about you. Cho is staying here so I’ll be fine.”

“What are you and Cho going to do if the Death Eaters come again?”

“What are you going to do if they come again?”

“Well, that’s my point. If you’re here and I’m not then I can’t protect you.”

“We slept through the whole thing last time.” It was true - by the time you emerged from your common with the rest of Ravenclaw Tower, Dumbledore was already dead and Snape had fled from the scene. “Besides, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Do a Shield Charm,” he says, stopping dead in his tracks as you reach the courtyard.

You bite your lip. “What, right now?”

“Yes, right now. Prove it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure, give me a sec - ”

He spins you to face him. “That’s the point. You don’t have a second to think. You need to react quickly - and not out of anger either. We already know you can do that at least.”

You feel slightly awkward as you look down at the singed tail of his broom.

“I don’t need a Shield Charm. I’m sure I could flirt my way out of any sticky situation,” you say, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, hoping to change the subject.

He holds your shoulders firmly, dropping his broom to the stone floor with a clatter. “Be serious for two minutes.” His stern expression makes him look so strikingly like his dad. You’ve never been intimidated by McLaggen the way that other people are but you can definitely why they would be now. 

Although you still don’t feel intimidated. 

Instead, as soon as you try to take him seriously you feel yourself faltering. Against your will, you feel a little lump in your throat. “Cormac, I don’t want to think about it. I just want to finish school and go home and have everything be… be normal.” 

“I know. But it’s not… it’s not normal any more.” He pulls you into a long hug and you press your face into his soft jumper, inhaling the comforting amber scent of his aftershave. “Come back with me. Please?” He murmurs with his chin resting on your head.

“I can’t. I need to see my mum and dad.” 

“Then promise me you’ll at least practise Shield Charms while I’m gone.”

You allow yourself a small smile. “And you’re still coming back to Scotland to see me, right?”

“Only if you promise to visit me too. If you can put up with that,” he says, before turning quickly to make sure his mother hasn’t crept up behind him.

“I can put up with that as long as you’ll be okay with my dad forcing football down your throat.”

McLaggen puts his arm around your shoulder as you walk in the direction of Gryffindor Tower and confirm your summer plans. You’ll both placate your respective parents, then McLaggen will visit you for two weeks, you’ll go to the Holyhead Harpies tryouts and then visit his family at his house. 

“And then what?” asks McLaggen, stopping outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. You don’t usually walk him this far but right now you want to prolong his departure as much as you can.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not gonna stay with our parents just visiting each other forever, are we?”

Oh.

“Things have been so mad with exams, I’ve never had the chance to think about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… what, have you thought about us… like living together?”

“I think about it all the time.”

You feel yourself melting into a puddle. 

“So you’d move to Wales with me if I make the Holyhead Harpies team?”

“If you want me to? We have plenty of time to decide - I’m not starting work at the Ministry with my dad until the end of the summer”

You chew your lip when he mentions his dad.

“You’re definitely still going to come, right?” you blurt, finally releasing the worry in the pit of your stomach since his parents arrived. “Even if something… even if something bad happens?”

“There’s nothing that could happen that would stop me from seeing you.”

“Even if your dad tells you he doesn’t want you to?”

“What makes you think he wouldn’t want me to?” 

You raise your eyebrows - you know why McLaggen’s dad wouldn’t look at you. 

“It’s not like that. Anyway I don’t care if he doesn’t want me to, whats he gonna do? Stop me?”

You take a deep breath. “Well, if something does happen, just know that I love you.”

“I love you too. And I will see you next week.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the funeral, you and Cho got the Hogwarts Express back to London. It was an emotional last train journey - the two of you ended up in tears more than once. It should have been a final rite of passage. 

Not just a journey for two. 

You wistfully imagine another ending, in a different lifetime - where your friends all shared a compartment as the Scottish countryside became less dense, making your way across the border and down to London. You’d laugh, chat excitedly about your Holyhead Harpies tryouts, buy some snacks from the trolley witch and play exploding snap. 

Instead, you and Cho held hands across the compartment and mourned the end of an era. When it was finally time to part ways with Cho at the station, out loud you promised you’d see each other soon.

But inside you wondered if you’d ever see her again. 

You apparate home from King’s Cross and when you step into the muggle world it’s like travelling to another dimension. The grief, the loss, and the mourning of your childhood are easy to bury when your dad meets you with open arms and asks if you had had a fun year at school. 

You lie. 

You don’t break the news about the state of the wizarding world. You shove down all your fears about what Voldemort’s return and Dumbledore’s death mean for muggles.

But you do, at the very least, pluck up the courage to tell him that not only do you have a boyfriend who you’ve invited to visit but that he’s totally clueless about everything to do with the world you came from.

“What do you mean he doesn’t know football?” Grumbles your dad, dragging your trunk up the stairs to your parents’ little two-bedroom flat while you carry your owl in her cage and your broom. As usual, he refuses to let you help him by using magic.

“They don’t watch football in the wizarding world, Dad.”

“What did you say his name was again? McLaggen? Where in Scotland is he from?”

“Er, Surrey.”

“What?!” He stops on the landing of the close to hold onto the railing and catch his breath.

“He’s English.”

“With a name like McLaggen?”

You nod. You were braced for this reaction.

“Och, for fuck sake. He’s English and he doesn’t even watch the Premier League?” You shake your head and he continues heaving the trunk. “I mean I could manage if he was at least an Arsenal fan but, Christ…”

“He’s into sports. I mean, we both play Quidditch,” you say, putting your key in the door and letting him inside. 

“Is he any good?”

“Yeah, pretty good. He’s a Keeper too.”

“Not as good as you, though?”

“Never.”

“That’s my lass. You inherited your talent from the best.”

You laugh. Your dad coaches a lower-division football team and was a Goalkeeper himself in his youth. His insistence that you played football growing up is probably why you excelled at Quidditch so quickly. 

Your mum greets you in the hallway with a hug.

“And has she told you about the English boyfriend who’s coming to visit?” Your dad calls to her and you sigh.

You count down the days until McLaggen is finally due to apparate on the spare bit of ground behind your flat. Thinking that there would be a lot in the muggle world for him to take in, you timed his arrival for when your parents weren’t home so you could explain everything.

You sit on a crumbling red brick wall at the edge of the patchy grassy field behind your building, looking at your Casio watch - it works again now that you’re outside the magical boundaries of Hogwarts. Right on cue at noon, you hear a shot, like a car backfiring and McLaggen appears - broom in hand and a backpack over his shoulders.

“Made it without splinching yourself then?” 

“I dunno, are both my eyebrows still there?” He touches them with a thumb and forefinger. It’s been hardly any time at all since you saw him last but you’ve missed that stupid face.

You leap off the wall to hug him and he picks you up with ease, scooping you up with his free arm and kissing your cheek when you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Did you get taller?” You ask, stumbling when he finally puts you down.

“In a week? Unlikely.”

You offer to carry his broom but instead, McLaggen takes your hand and you walk around the side of the building to the front door. He does a double take when you use your electronic key fob to release the main door and it buzzes to let you in.

“That’s… electricity right?”

“Well remembered. Keep that in mind if there’s anything you don’t understand. It’s probably just electricity.”

“Got it.”

“My mum and dad are both at work so they won’t be back til tonight.” His broad shoulders relax slightly as he follows you up the four flights of stairs and you unlock the door to the flat with a set of keys. “I thought it would give me time to show you how some of this muggle stuff works.” You shut the door behind you and lead him down the hall.

“This is me,” you say opening your bedroom door. 

He looks stunned when he steps through the threshold to your bedroom.

“I know. It’s tiny but I’m hardly ever here, I suppose.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… really pink.”

You laugh, looking at your fuchsia walls adorned with posters of bands, the Holyhead Harpies and the football team you follow. It’s probably pretty overwhelming if you’re not used to it.

“Surprised? You ask, sitting down on your double bed that’s pushed up against the wall of your little bedroom. “Just dump your stuff anywhere by the way.”

“I was picturing blue. For obvious reasons.” He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder, not really noticing where it falls as he stands at your wall, looking closely at your peeling No Doubt poster. “It’s kind of creepy how their eyes follow you around even though they don’t move.”

“Hey, don’t call Gwen Stefani creepy in this house.”

“Does she play football?”

“Not that I know of. She’s in a muggle band. American. Most of these guys are,” you say as he looks around your room. You lean back on your elbows. “I mean, you know NSYNC, right?”

He looks at your other posters and shakes his head.

“Come off it - even Marietta knows NSYNC.”

“I’ve never heard any muggle music.”

“You’re missing out. Better than The Weird Sisters. Definitely better than Celestina Warbeck.”

“Don’t say that in front of my mum… hey, at least there’s one thing I recognise.” He wanders over to your open bedroom window where your little grey barn owl perches on the window ledge. He extends his hand to greet her. She looks at it disdainfully, turns and spreads her wings to fly off into the distance. You think she’s annoyed that you haven’t been writing to him.

“I hope that’s not a bad omen for meeting your family.”

It gives you a fuzzy feeling in your chest, seeing him in your room like this. This time last summer you’d never have thought Cormac McLaggen would be in your bedroom. Or that you’d actually want him to be here. You watch him as McLaggen looks at the photos stuck to your dressing table mirror interestedly. Polaroids of you and him, some group photos of you, Cho and Marietta, and a few of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. 

“I can bring those with me to yours, if you want? You know, for your mum’s album…”

“Oh, haha,” he says sarcastically, joining you on the bed. “There’s a picture missing though...” He scans the room before reaching over to your bedside table to open the drawer. You lurch forward and try to slam it shut.

“Don’t look in my drawers!”

“Is that picture of me in there?” 

That stupid trademark arrogant smile makes you blush furiously.

“No!” You lie, crawling over his lap to get between him and the table.

“It is!” He says with a mock gasp. “Come on, let me see!” You struggle but he dodges your grasp and opens the drawer. “I knew it!”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble as he picks out the Polaroid before you can slam it shut.

“My shoulders look great,” he smirks, admiring himself in the photo. It’s one you took at the Seventh Year party, of him at the edge of the pool, drinking a beer. 

His shoulders do look great. 

So does the rest of him. 

It’s why you keep it in your bedside drawer.

“You should have it if you like it so much.”

“Nah, I like that you like it.” He looks round to see you pursing your lips. “Alright! I’ll put it back-”

“No, wait!”

He opens the drawer again and pauses.

Shit.

“What is this?”

He’s spotted what you didn’t want him to see in the first place. A small, silicone bullet vibrator. You’re hoping he’ll have no idea what it’s for.

He holds the picture in one hand and the vibrator in the other, looking between them.

“Wait… does this go in…?” He makes a juvenile stabbing motion.

“It’s none of your business where it goes.” Your cheeks feel red hot. “Put it back.”

“You’re blushing - it does!” His face lights up with glee. 

“It does not.”

“It’s so small. No wonder you were so impressed.” 

“I told you it doesn’t go inside of me. It - ugh.” You sigh. “I hold it against me.”

“You just hold it? Does that - I mean, how does that feel good?”

You extend your palm and he drops it in your hand. It starts vibrating when you press the button at the bottom. 

His eyes go wide. “And how- ?” You raise an eyebrow. “Right, sorry, electricity.”

You turn it off and reach over him to put it back but he grabs your wrist.

“Cormac -”

“Show me.”

“What?” You look at him and feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. He’s deadly serious.

“Come on, you said I never did it right. Show me how you touch yourself”

“You know I never meant that. I was just pissed off.”

“Oh, I know you didn’t.” The confident look on his face sends a tingle down your spine - he’s always so sure of himself. “But you’re gonna pay for saying that.” Fuck. It makes you wet thinking about how he’s going to make you pay for it. How does he know exactly how to press your buttons? To make you fold like this?

McLaggen puts his picture down and leans in to kiss you. His tongue parts your lips and you welcome it, letting him roll his tongue across yours. You’ve been dying to kiss him like this again since the night in the Prefect’s Bathroom. And now, you finally have him alone.

“I missed you,” you breathe when he moves his lips to kiss your neck. 

You really have. The last time you had sex was over four months ago on Valentine’s Day. And sure, most of your Quidditch practises with him between December and March had ended up under the canvas stands getting hot and heavy - the pair of you fumbling under each other’s robes - but you haven’t even seen each other naked since February. 

“When are your parents back?”

You pull back and look at the watch on your wrist. “Like four hours.”

“Wait what is that?” He asks, looking down at the digital display.

“A watch -” You say, between kisses. “Electricity. I’ll explain later. Just kiss me. Please.”

The fuzzy feeling in your chest spreads down to your abdomen and you pull yourself onto his lap, drawing your leg over his to straddle him. 

Cormac lies back on the bed to rest on your pillows and your mouth follows his. You feel his hands move from your waist to squeeze your backside. His erection presses against you through his jeans as you suck on his bottom lip. When you trail kisses across his jaw and down his neck, you can feel the way his muscles tense as he swallows.

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt up and over your head and you urgently pull his off too. 

Fuck, he looks even better than your picture of him.

Your hands work quickly to undress him and he does the same, his strong hands yanking your jeans and underwear down as you kiss him and run your hands over his bare chest. You climb on top of him again, positioning your hips over his large, flushed cock so that the underside of him is engulfed between your wet lips. 

“Where’s that… thing?” He finds your discarded vibrator on the bed and hands it to you. “C’mon let me see how you use it.”

“What, sitting you you like this?”

“Yeah.” He raises his eyebrow, daring you to do it.

You take it and bite your lip. For some reason, you feel thoroughly embarrassed about touching yourself for him.

“Can’t we just…?” You put his large hands on your hips and grind back, along the thick length of him and feel him twitching between your folds.

“I thought you were gonna show me how all this muggle stuff worked?” Cormac’s eyes drift down your body as he guides your hand clutching the vibrator down to your clit. “I want to start by seeing how you touch yourself when you’re thinking about me.”

“You’re so sure I’m thinking about you?” You tease, switching it on. Fuck. You hold it against yourself and immediately feel your nerve endings light up under the stimulation. 

“I know you do. Maybe not as much as I think about you.”

“You do?” You squirm against the steady vibration on your clit. 

“Every fucking night.” He reaches up to cup your face. His thumb draws across your parted lips and you open your mouth to suck on it. You moan, feeling everything inch of your skin tingling.

His hand drags down your neck to your chest, groping your breast before settling on your hip again. “I - Maybe I think about you too, then,” you whisper, meeting his eyes when his hands move your body, encouraging you to keep moving back and forth. Those green eyes bore into yours - you go weak from the prolonged eye contact. 

“Don’t give me that look, fuck, I can’t take it,” he pleads.

“What look?”

“The same one you gave me when you drank that love potion. Fuck, when you were begging me to take you… you know what it does to me when you beg for me.”

The vibration on your clit and the way his cock pulses underneath you make your vision hazy.

“I’m begging you now, Cormac… please. I want you inside me.”

You tilt forward so that the tip of his cock presses against your slick entrance. Sinking back, you moan as you feel his thick length stretching you, slowly filling you up. Cormac’s tight grip forces your hips to bear down on him and you whine when he sheathes himself fully, hitting deep in your centre.

“You look so fucking pretty like this, baby.”

He watches as you lean back to brace yourself on his thigh with your free hand. You pull your hips up and sink slowly back down on him, feeling him pushing into you. The strong vibrations on your clit and how his cock presses into your G-spot make you start to see stars behind your eyelids. Using your vibrator on its own, thinking about him every night this past week felt good but fuck, you never imagined how it would feel with him here under you, inside you at the same time.

“I know it’s not right but I wanted to fuck you in that shower - so badly,” he says, running his hands up your body to squeeze your tits.

You know it wasn’t right either, but Christ, you wanted him to. Every day you spent with him at school after the seventh-year party when you could kiss him, touch him, but never fuck him made you ache. You found yourself in your dormitory late at night with the curtains of your four-poster drawn, face buried in your pillow and fingers working in your underwear, quietly making yourself cum so the other girls couldn’t hear.

“I would have let you. Shit - I’ll let you fuck me anywhere. In the shower, on the pitch… anywhere you want -” You curse when he pinches your nipples.

“Don’t say that. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

You can imagine him too, alone at night in Gryffindor Tower fucking his own hand thinking about you whimpering against his chest, rubbing your clit and pleading with him to fuck you while every fibre of his being resisted temptation.

You can hear how wet you are over the buzzing from your vibrator - the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy makes you pick up your pace, your walls squeezing around him and the intense vibrations pulsing on your clit as you chase your high. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Keep fucking yourself on my dick.”

That’s exactly what it feels like like you’re getting yourself off for him. You almost forget about his pleasure while you use his thick cock as a means to your end as he watches you riding up and down on him. 

McLaggen stares up at you, mesmerised by the way your face contorts in pleasure - your parted lips and heavy lids painting a picture of uninhibited gratification. He grabs your hips again - hard - just to watch your expression change, to see if he can make your facial muscles scrunch up and cause sweet noises to escape you.

He can.

His thumbs dig careless bruises into your hipbones driving himself deeper into you as you set a frantic rhythm, bouncing on his cock.

“Ah - fuck, Cormac. I’m gonna cum,” you whimper and his thigh tenses under your hand as you bear down on him, feeling white-hot pleasure deep in your core.

“That’s right, make yourself cum for me,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes locked on your body - staring at the way your tits bounce and your hand presses the little buzzing object against your clutch of nerves.

The heat spills over and everything clamps down on him tight as ecstasy erupts burning hot through your body. The white noise of blood rushing in your ears overwhelms you as you cum all over his cock, riding out the wave of pleasure engulfing you.

You toss the vibrator aside and slump over him, pressing your face into the juncture of his shoulder. Your chest finds his and you cling to his broad shoulders as he fucks up into you, manically jerking his hips with a pummelling force that makes you let out adoring whimpers for him, your lips pressed onto his skin.

He wraps his arms around your back, keeping his tight grip on you for leverage. Every thrust make the broken sounds from your lips pitch higher and higher. You’re not sure where your last orgasm stopped and this one is beginning. 

“Fuck, you make such pretty noises when you cum.”

His name leaves your lips over and over and over, in sync with the slamming of his hips into yours. God, he feels good from this angle. Cormac groans through gritted teeth when you say his name, and he responds by jackhammering his cock into you. You stifle your cry by biting down on his neck, not caring whether you’ll leave a bruise or not. Your mind goes blank with pleasure - no thoughts - just your body locking down so tight around him as everything implodes inside you again.

You feel his ragged grunt in your ear as he drives up into your cunt, burying himself so deep that his thighs meet the back of yours as he cums inside you. His grunting turns into low breathy moans that make him sound so wonderfully, so beautifully pathetic as his release coats your insides.

Cormac’s hips come to a halt and he brings his muscular arms around your shoulder blades. His biceps hold you close to his chest in a tight embrace as his cum leaks out of you onto your bedsheets. Post-orgasmic bliss flows between you - you feel the rise and fall of his chest in time with yours. Every inhale and exhale seems to pass between you like the tide rolling over sand. 

Lying here on top of him, you realise your legs are aching from working them so hard. You softly kiss his bitten neck and he pulls out of you so you can climb off of him, rolling onto your back to lie next to him on your pillows and staring at the ceiling, letting your heart rate decrease again.

He turns on his side and props himself up on his elbow to look down at you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” says Cormac tracing his fingertips across your chest and down the curve of your waist. It tickles pleasantly.

“Naked?” You laugh.

“That too,�� he grins. “Just… comfortable. Not sneaking around under the stands or freezing cold on a blanket.”

“For the record, I enjoyed both of those things.” You reach up to cup his handsome face and you feel the scratchy texture of his chin when he kisses your palm. “But you’re right. This is nice. Maybe living with you won’t be that bad.”

“You should bring this,” he says, picking up your vibrator and looking at it interestedly. “Is the other muggle stuff you were going to show me as good as this?”

“That depends… have you ever had vodka?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and McLaggen sit on your bed listening to music. Your head rests on his lap as you read Quidditch Through The Ages while he flicks through your copy of Rolling Stone, frequently asking questions. 

He lifts his head, listening to Oasis playing on your CD player.

“Is all muggle music just about other people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like are they all just love songs?”

You lower your book to look up at him from his lap. “I’ve never really thought about it. I guess all the good ones are.”

“Hmm.” He flips a page of your magazine nonchalantly. “It’s kind of cheesy.”

“Oh sorry, it’s not extremely cool like wizard music. All your stuff is about goblins and ghouls.”

“It is not.”

“Name a Weird Sisters track that doesn’t have a reference to magical creatures.”

He pauses, stumped.

You hear the front door unlock. “That’ll be my dad home,” you say, without looking up. Your head hits the mattress with a thud as McLaggen springs to his feet and runs a hand through his hair nervously. “It’s fine. He’s nice,” you say, putting your book down.

“Has he ever met one of your boyfriends or girlfriends before?”

“Er, no.”

“It’s different. Trust me.”

There’s a knock at your bedroom door and a pause.

“Come in,” you call.

“Alright, hen?” asks your dad and you nod. He looks at Cormac who’s standing in the middle of the room uncertainly. “You must be McLaggen.”

McLaggen extends his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr -”

“Nope, none of that,” says your dad, grasping his hand and releasing it quickly. He insists McLaggen calls him by his first name. “Look, your mum is working late. Do you fancy a kickabout before dinner? Both of you.” He adds to McLaggen.

“Dad -”

“Yeah, I’m up for that,” says McLaggen, slightly too enthusiastically and you roll your eyes. 

God, he’s such a suck-up.

“Right, get your stuff. Let’s go.”

You groan when your dad shuts the door. “You idiot - you’ve got no idea what you’ve just agreed to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

The three of you walk to the deserted park and you pull on your goalkeeper gloves as you approach the rusty old goals.

“Dad, McLaggen’s never even kicked a ball before.”

“Yeah, I have. I’m just usually mid-air, that’s all.”

“It’s a piece of piss,” says your dad, setting himself up to take a penalty as you find your line on the goal. “Plant your left foot, kick with your right, right through your laces.”

Your dad kicks the ball - you misjudge it and he scores as the ball speeds right past your feet into the net.

“How many times have I told you to practice those bottom corners?”

“There’s no ‘bottom corners’ in Quidditch. And that’s what I should be practising right now.”

“That’s not strictly true,” McLaggen pipes up. “The ball can always go in low if the Chaser’s coming from above.”

“Can you stop contradicting me for one second?” You ask, passing the ball back to your dad.

“Big mistake, lad. You can’t argue with her - she’s always right,” laughs your dad and McLaggen smirks.

You narrow your eyes, shooting daggers at them.

“Here.” Your dad passes the ball to McLaggen. “Give it a go.”

He attempts a penalty and you watch the ball soar over the goal and land miles away. You do a quick check for any muggles and pull out your wand.

“Accio ball.” 

It zooms back over to you and you knock it back to McLaggen. He kicks it again and you catch it mid-air.

“Better!”

Your dad looks unimpressed but he and McLaggen continue taking turns trying to score. Your dad gets a few more past you but McLaggen gets zero, occasionally sending the ball so far it needs to be summoned back again.

“Right, I’m burst. One of you go in,” you say, stripping off your gloves.

“Yeah, go on then,” says McLaggen, jogging over and taking them from you. “Can see if it’s as easy as you make it look.” He grins.

“Just wait.”

Your dad lines up to take a penalty but you nudge him out of the way to take the first shot. “Don’t be too hard on him,” you say under your breath and he tuts.

You punt an easy shot McLaggen’s way and he catches it. “I can send it back with my hands if I’m the keeper, right?” He asks.

Your dad nods and McLaggen rolls it with precision so it stops right at his feet. Your dad blinks down at it a few times, clearly surprised by the accuracy.

“Don’t go easy on me this time,” he calls to your dad who pulls his shoulders back, ready for the challenge. 

He kicks it with incredible force into the top corner and McLaggen saves it, catching it in his hands before rolling it back again.

“This is just typical,” you scoff and look at your dad who looks stunned. “He’s good at everything.”

With every shot, your dad seems to perk up. He’s practically beaming when McLaggen dives and manages to knock a shot away with his fingertips.

“This is great!” McLaggen says, getting to his feet with a smile. “Solid ground. Nowhere to fall.”

Your dad has a funny look on his face. 

“You alright?” You ask.

“Yeah…” He clears his throat. “Right, one more or your mum will batter us.”

He shoots, curving the ball towards the goal. Easily his best strike all evening and McLaggen saves it again with ease. He smiles as he runs back over holding the ball.

“Excellent. We should do this again tomorrow,” says McLaggen.

You look at your dad and you think you know what the funny look is. You think he’s in love.

“That was some effort, lad. Are you going pro with Quidditch too?” Your dad asks as you start walking back to the flat, suddenly interested in McLaggen now he knows he can save a ball.

“Ah, no. I’m not as good as your daughter.” He says, actually sounding modest for a change. “I’ve got a job lined up at our Ministry with my dad - Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“What, like in an office?”

McLaggen nods.

“What a waste.”

“Dad, don’t be rude -“

“Och, you know I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that a big strapping lad like yourself was made to be a goalie. If this one wasn’t so bloody intent on moving down south -“ He gives you a stern look. “I’d be trying to get you on my team. Christ, you’re better than the dozy bastard I’ve got in goals and he’s been playing all his life.”

“That’s very kind of you to -“

“Look, there’s nothing kind about it. You’re my daughter's boyfriend and I’ve got no interest in flattering you. You’ve got talent, son.”

“Thanks.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t just live here and just -  pop! Go to Wales and come back every day.”

“Dad, I’ve told you. You can’t apparate that distance twice a day. It’s dangerous.”

“What about once a week? No chance you could pop up from Surrey every weekend to play football up here?” He asks McLaggen.

“Don’t humour him, McLaggen. Dad, he’s not going to drop everything to be a keeper for your team.”

“Well, you should think about it. You’re only eighteen - plenty of time to go pro. I mean look at her - she learned Quidditch in a couple of years.”

“You’re not seriously trying to get him to become a professional footballer after one kickabout.” 

By the time you get to the flat, you’ve had to stop him from changing the conversation back to convincing you and McLaggen to move to Scotland several times.

“Oh my god,” says your mum when she hears you coming up the stairs and opens the door. “You never told us he was handsome.”

“You didn’t? I’m sure you said that’s my only redeeming quality.” The corners of McLaggens mouth twitch slightly when he sees you roll your eyes. 

This makes your mum laugh - a bit too hard. Your dad doesn’t even seem to notice. You’re surprised he hasn’t started giggling too.

After dinner, most of which was spent with your dad plying McLaggen with beer and telling him all about the inner workings of the Scottish Premiership league table while your mum asked him a million questions and giggled like a schoolgirl, you drag him to your bedroom. 

You shut your door behind you and lean against it with a sigh.

“Sorry about that.” You shake your head. “Somehow that was worse than them not liking you.”

He shrugs. “I keep telling you, I’m extremely loveable.”

“Shut up.” You sit on the bed and toss a cushion at him. “Honestly, I think my dad would like a new a son in law. And my mum. God, I think my mum would quite like a new boyfriend the way she was going on.”

He shrugs. “They’re just being nice. It almost made me forget what things were like back in the wizarding world.”

“How bad is it? I can’t bear to look at The Prophet.”

“It’s getting worse. My dad has been working late and when I do see him, he looks terrible. My mum’s just anxious all the time... I should probably write to them and let her know I’m okay here. Can I use your owl?”

He sits down at your makeup table and writes a quick note to his mum and dad.

“I sort of wish we could just stay here,” he looks up as he folds the parchment.

“What? Like in the muggle world?”

“Yeah, I mean the sex is good, music is decent, football is… actually really good.”

“Sex is good and football is ‘really good’?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You should stay here with my dad. Start a new life as a muggle footballer.” McLaggen gives you a small smile and looks down at the parchment, turning it in his hands. “So what does your dad do at Department for Magical Law Enforcement? Does he like, manage the Aurors or something?”

“No, he writes legislation, lobbies to get it through the Ministry - that kind of thing.”

“And you’re going to be doing that too?” McLaggen nods. “God help us all then. Cormac McLaggen writing the laws that shape the fabric of wizarding society.”

“First thing I’ll be doing is making the use of Incendio punishable by ten years in Azkaban.”

“Hopefully your dad likes me as much as my dad likes you. It would be handy to have someone high up in the Ministry to bust me out when you put me behind bars.”

He laughs which turns into a yawn. “Where am I sleeping, by the way?”

You look at him sceptically. “Er, here?”

“And your parents are alright with that?”

“Yeah?”

“Just to warn you, mine won’t be. They’ll want us in separate rooms.”

“Better make the most of it then,” you smile, pulling your top off and finding your cutest pyjamas in your bedside drawer. You don’t get the chance to put them on before McLaggen’s lips find yours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two weeks fly by in a blur - between Quidditch practice in a secluded field away from the outskirts of the city, McLaggen insisting on teaching you defensive spells and your dad dragging you both out to the park every night to play football you feel a lot more prepared for both your Holyhead Harpies tryouts and whatever going back to the wizarding world will bring.

On Saturday morning, as you and McLaggen pack your things getting ready to leave, there’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“Are you decent?” Comes your dad’s voice.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, come in.”

“You feeling ready, hen?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you say, bracingly, holding your broom upright.

He looks at you, glowing with pride. “They’ll be lucky to have you.”

You nod, nerves swirling in the pit of your stomach. Today’s the day.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come back here after?”

“We promised McLaggen’s parents we’d visit them. I’ll keep in touch though. I’ll send you an owl when I find out if they’re signing me.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ve decided you want a career in Scottish football, after all?”

McLaggen grins. He and your dad have been getting on so well - mostly due to the fact McLaggen’s only been getting better and better at football. “I wish. My dad would kill me if I turned down the ministry job.”

“Well, you’re welcome in our house any time, son.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and kiss your dad on the cheek goodbye.

“We’ll visit when the football season starts. McLaggen was just telling me he wants to come to one of your games.”

Your dad has that funny look again on his face. McLaggen reaches out to shake his hand but instead, your dad pulls him into a hug. “A waste. A bloody waste,” he sobs.

McLaggen looks at you over your dad’s shoulder slightly bemused and pats his back.

“Dad?” You interrupt. He pulls away, wiping his eyes. “Right, tell mum I love her and I’ll see you both soon.”

“Alright, hen. Keep her safe for me. She’s precious cargo,” he adds and McLaggen nods solemnly.

He shuts your bedroom door and you take McLaggen’s hand, ready to apparate to Holy Island.

“I think he’s going to miss you more than he’ll miss me,” you laugh.

You think hard about your destination and with a crack like a whip, the pair of you vanish from your childhood bedroom.

Chapter 11: Blood Traitor

[novelsnovelsnovels]

Chapter 3

Our hero

tw// mentions of ptsd symptoms

He was pacing again.

Every time Buck caught himself doing it he went and made another batch of herbal brew to soothe his nerves. This was the seventh one tonight, and his stomach and bladder couldn't take it anymore. He could swear his piss came out lavender-scented now. And it did nothing to calm him down. He'd have to ask Sivale for something stronger; this plant mix just wasn't helping anymore. He paused to stare at his hand. It wasn't shaking yet, thank Baar, but his unrest was growing by the hour. The temptation to go look for a bottle of his father's brandy was dangerously persuasive tonight, and only the memories of his previous drunken mishap kept him away.

Mishap. Hah! What a cute word for it.

He was already on the thinnest of ice, and one tiny blunder was all it would take to get him kicked out of Runrick permanently. If he was lucky. He'd get skewered by someone's rusty pitchfork if he wasn't. But he couldn't fault them for hating him. He deserved it, and then some. If it weren't for his mother, he probably would've thrown himself at the townfolk’s mercy, and let them punish him however they saw fit. Heavens knew there were enough mothers and fathers that wanted nothing more than to take out their anger on him. Anger he had caused. And grief. So, so much grief. It might even help him a bit with his own feelings of guilt, but he didn't think he deserved any absolution.

Common sense would dictate that he leave Runrick, preferably in the dead of night, when it was least likely that someone would be waiting for him around a quiet corner with a pocket knife. There was no future for him here. He had no friends anymore. Only a heart-broken mother and a disappointed father. And it killed him to see how the town's reproach was extended to his parents as well.

They had been nothing but supportive neighbors and productive members of this community, kind and welcoming to everyone, yet no one was willing to cut them some slack because they had the misfortune to be saddled with a useless, piece-of-shit son like him. The fact that there was a town gathering taking place right at this moment and they hadn't summoned his father was a loud testament to how ostracized their family had become. It was another blow to his father's weakened heart. He didn't know how many more he could take.

Yes, it would be in everyone’s best interest if he just left. Only…he had nowhere else to go.

Buck stared out of his window. He could see the tower of the prayhouse from here. Was the gathering still going on? It was already dark outside, and that meant the way home was more dangerous now. The thing came mostly at night, after all. Or maybe they thought it was safe now since the beast had just claimed someone and should be satiated (poor Bramby) That was a hunter logic, though. This thing wasn't an animal. A predator, yes, but from Shulffa's accursed lot. It had no distinct pattern of attack, nothing about its behavior was akin to any animal they knew; sometimes it was sighted twice in one day, sometimes it disappeared for weeks on end, then reemerged thirsty for blood at completely random intervals. And not just to eat. It often left entire carcasses behind, which meant it would also kill just for the fun of it.

It had first gone after their livestock, then started killing people, went back to cattle, and then back to humans. Even now, another assumption about the thing got turned on its head. Up until today, everyone thought it only attacked at night, but Bramber's remains were found early this afternoon. He had been seen alive this morning, which meant the creature had paid him a visit in the middle of the freaking day. And that wasn't even the worst of it. He had been ripped to pieces in his own home. So not only was it willing to hunt during daytime now, it also came after you in your own house. Bramber’s home was well away from the outskirts of town.

Maybe that's why the gathering was taking so long. Maybe people simply thought that the holy prayhouse was the only place left in Runrick that could protect them, and they were now stalling so that they could stay in it for as long as possible. If Baar's house of worship was indeed the only thing that kept the creature at bay, then he felt even worse for getting his parents shunned from it.

Deep down, though, he knew it would eventually come after them there, too. As long as the thing was alive, it would keep killing. Hiding wouldn't save them. It needed to be stopped. He believed this wholeheartedly. Even now, after his disaster of an attempt to personally rid Runrick of the monster. He also still believed that bringing together Runrick's strongest men, and going after the creature armed and prepared had been the right course of action; he just had been the wrong person to lead the party. Oh, he had looked the part, alright, and had actual military experience to boot. Sure, Buck came back a bit odd after his time on the front, had a bit of a drinking problem too, but hey, he was still good, ol' reliable Buckcrown. The rowdy but promising youngster turned Runrick's pride and joy when he had been accepted into His Majesty's army. The only man in town ever with that accomplishment.

That had to count for something.

Well, turns out, it didn't.

Buck cursed every story he heard as a child about brave and noble knights, cursed that one book he read over and over as a boy that made him dream of just wars and honorable soldiers, but mostly, he cursed his own stupid and naive younger self. Every one of his childhood friends had been content with becoming hunters and woodcutters and steelworkers. And they had all wanted to stay in Runrick. That hadn't been good enough for Buck. He had wanted more; strongly believed he was meant for more. Everybody told him so, too. So he enrolled in the army the second he found out about the war at Alcsania's border against the barbaric Borsecia nation. He wanted adventures, hoped for riches, but most of all, he desired glory. The prestige that came with a clean uniform and a shiny medal.

He came back with none of that. Instead, what he got was nightmares, an unsound mind, and a number of nervous habits that had mothers warn their children to stay away from him. The incessant pacing was only one of them.

Now that he reminded himself of it, the need to start pacing again returned. He kept still, but now his right leg started twitching. He let it. He kept staring at the tower.

There was probably nobody they wanted to see less than him right now. His campaign had been a tragedy. He had led their sons and brothers and husbands right into the creature's waiting maw. Those who hadn't perished right then and there, had come back either mauled or marked. Only him and Bramber had escaped without a scratch; Bramber, because he ran at the first sight of it, and him because he froze up. The creature ignored him in favor of screaming, squirming prey. Apparently, even monsters thought he was too pathetic to be worth their time.

Why in the world did he think he could pull off the brave leader bit?!

No, he knew why. Buck had wanted to relive the time when he had everyone's admiration and trust. A time when he stood in front of his friends boisterously, proclaimed bold dreams, and was cheered for it. He so, so desperately wanted to prove to them, to his parents, and to himself, that he was more than the sad, quiet man that drank himself under the table and then picked fights with garden fences. That the war hadn't broken him completely.

Reality had punished him for his selfish, childish aspirations once already. And he hadn't learned.

Now, the sound of firing canons in his nightmares were accompanied by the screams of his friends and the slash of overgrown claws ripping through flesh.

His breathing and heart rate was picking up. At this rate he'd lose another night of sleep. He needed to do something. He still kept staring at the tower.

They probably wouldn't even allow me in, much less listen to me.

For a while now, a semblance of a plan had been stewing in the back of his head. He had tried to snuff out the initial sparks of the idea, simply because he had failed so spectacularly with his first one. He had no right to go and form another one. Still, he had needed something productive to occupy his long, sleepless nights and so he let his mind wander. Or wander wasn't really the right word. His thoughts kept circling the same thing over and over. Fire. They had tried shooting it, stabbing it, poisoning it. Nothing worked. But they hadn't tried burning it yet. Witches and the bastards of Shulffa were tied and burned at the stake, after all. Fire had to be the answer. But how to capture the thing and keep it still long enough to light it ablaze? Well, this is where his idea turned grim. Someone needed to lure the monster inside a small structure - a shed maybe - somewhere it couldn't get out off easily, and that someone would then set the whole thing on fire with it, and himself, still in it.

That someone, of course, was supposed to be him.

As sad as it was, it made the most sense. For everyone. They'd get rid of not only the monster, but the town's useless drunkard as well. The self-sacrifice might help clear his name, his parents might be forgiven, and the aggrieved families would get their vengeance. Win-win for all.

If he presented it like that, they might listen to him.

…........

Alright, he'd give it try. What's the worst they could do to him for suggesting it?

His parents were down-stairs; they never went to sleep until they knew he was laying still in his bed. They must have heard him pacing and were now sitting at the table concerned that their son was going to have another bad night. If they saw him head out at this hour they'd just worry even more. He'd climb out of the window and return before they'd notice he was gone. He was tired of causing them heartache. This idea of his....it would hurt them too, but at least they'd have some peace afterward. He grabbed his tattered jacket and quietly opened the window.

He hadn't done this since he was a child.

Back then, he and the others would meet after night fall and have the best of times while everyone else was asleep. They'd play games; hide-and-seek was far more challenging in the dark. Or they'd go spy on the inn, the only place in town open at night, and try to listen in on what the adults spoke among themselves. Whoever brought back the most interesting gossip was the winner, whoever got caught would lose.

They'd even venture out into the woods, as a test of courage. He'd always win that one, going further and staying longer than anyone else. That game had been his idea, of course. Great Mother's mercy, had he been a stupid kid. He had been dragging his friends into danger since childhood, it seems. There weren't any monsters back then, but wolves and bears were regular visitors. The grown-ups always warned them to never go into the woods alone, but they wanted to prove they were as brave as their elders. One hungry, wayward wolf was all it took to finish a child, and it had simply been pure luck that nothing happened to anybody back then. Stupid, stupid kid. And he had stayed stupid. No one had died then, but Buck had to go and rectify that. Galb, Bolovan, Rokhau, Marou; they all had been his friends, and all were now dead. Egbrim's arm got ripped off; Mullber was still ailing in bed from his wounds; Nad lost his mind to madness after staring into the creature’s eyes for too long. The others escaped mostly intact, but with scars that would never fully heal. They were probably at the prayhouse now too. Meeting their eyes was going to be hardest part. If they could bear to hear him out just one more time, he'd promise to pay his dues to them. He took one deep breath, and stepped out.

________________________________________________________________________________

The air was brisk, the cold cutting into his flesh mercilessly. His jacket was barely of any help, but it had been difficult enough to climb down the vine even without a thick winter coat weighing him down. He walked fast with large steps, but didn't run. It was easier to pay attention to surrounding sounds this way, in case something was creeping around in the shadows. Buck had gotten used to having street lights while down in the south-western provinces. He didn't feel as comfortable as he used to be, walking around in complete darkness, monsters or not. And he wasn't the only one. He could catch the occasional flicker of the candle light inside the houses. Most buildings around here didn't even have a fireplace, and any form of electricity was completely out of the question. Before, when it got dark, people just went to bed. Now, there was at least one candle burning in each household every night, and at least one person staying up to watch over it. At least the local tallow business was getting a profit from this.

There, just one more turn around the corner. He contemplated going in through the backdoor to observe the group and the discussion secretly from the side before making his presence known. Feel the room so to speak, and assess whether or not it was safe for him to approach them. One the other hand, if he went in that way he'd might just chicken out and leave. By using the main entrance, he had no choice but to stay and face everyone.

One pause to collect himself, one more deep breath, and he swiftly turned the corner -

And stopped dead in his tracks. Blinked. Froze.

There was something moving in front of the prayhouse's entrance. It was as black as the darkness surrounding it and the only reason he was able to notice it was because of its erratic back and forth movement.

It was the creature. What else could it be?

He was right, the prayhouse wasn't any safer. The large number of people was what must have attracted it all the way over here. It found its way right to the center of town, and was about to burst in and slaughter everyone. He couldn't let that happen. He had to rush it. No, it would just kill him instantly, and that would ultimately help no one. He had to yell, as loudly as he could. Get its attention, while warning the others at the same time. Maybe enough would manage to escape by the time it was done with him. It wouldn't save all, he realized this. Some would die, but if he could help save just a few, it would be worth it.

Except he couldn't get his throat to make a sound. He couldn't even get himself to start breathing. He wanted to make noise, any noise, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Buck could feel his lips moving, trying to form words, but there was no strength in his chest to push out any sound. He couldn't even whimper.

Again. He was going to stand by and watch people die, again.

Please, please, please no.

And then it stepped forward. The prayhouse was one of the only well lit structures in town, with a large chandelier and several other candelabras illuminating the interior. Some of that light was spilling out into the street from the round glass window hanging above the double doors. As it approached the steps leading up to those doors and stood in the sallow light, Buck could finally make out its actual shape and size.

It...was a man.

He was dressed head to toe in black. Who even had threads this dark? Clothes around here tended to be either white-gray, a variation of the color brown, and the occasional dirty green. No one wore black here, not even at funerals. The beast was pitch black. The beast was the blackest thing he had ever seen; a huge, misshapen splotch of living ink with long spider-like limbs. Whenever he thought of it, the first thing that came to mind was that deep, eerie obsidian. No wonder he had thought first of the monster.

Who was that man? He wasn't from Runrick, that was for certain. He doubted anyone from Pelase would come here anymore. A traveler?

Who in the holy fuck would willingly come to Runrick? Around this time, no less.

He suddenly felt very angry at the newcomer for having scared him like that. It was silly and irrational, but with the way his insides were still quivering from the shock, he thought a little bit of unjust irritation was excusable. He was about to open his mouth and call out to the man when the man suddenly turned around and went the other way. Two, three, four large steps, and then stopped. Turned around and walked up towards the doors of the prayhouse again. This time, he reached for the handles. Stopped. And turned around again. This was what he'd been doing before too, when Buck couldn't see him clearly. Pacing nervously.

Now Buck wanted to laugh. He didn't know if it was because post-shock hysterics were setting in, or because he found this image of the jittery mystery man hilarious, but he felt like he was going to start guffawing any second now. Then the man did something even stranger. He pulled off his hood, and ran his hand a couple of times through his locks. The movement was brisk, but vigorous, and not entirely a nervous gesture. Something gave Buck the impression that the man was now feverishly wishing he had a mirror.

He still couldn't see him very well, but the sight of that rich head of dark hair seemed familiar. He was still certain the man wasn't from Runrick, but he had met him somewhere before. The military? Was he here for him? He would've started worrying if not for the fact that he couldn't quite convince himself that that's where he knew him from.

The man arranged and rearranged his locks, then pulled up his hood, pulled it off again, picked at his tresses again, and pulled up the hood, this time for good, apparently. He then started to brush and smooth his clothes with his hands. As he bent down, he seemed to just notice how muddied his boots and lower side of his pants were, and cursed. He couldn't hear him that well either, but “Shit, should've at least changed these fucking pants!” sounded like a plausible conjecture. He saw him raise his shoulders and then lower them with an audible exhale. He was bracing himself for something.

Who was inside the prayhouse that made him so anxious? The man looked at the house resolutely, and almost rushed at it. With one motion he pulled open both large wooden doors, and stepped inside – a little too dramatically, if Buck were to be honest.

He had been so absorbed in his observations of the newcomer that it took him disappearing from view to snap Buck out of it and into action. Guess he was still a little woozy from that scare earlier. Either that or the lavender was finally kicking in. He looked at the slightly ajar double doors the man just walked through. He couldn't enter that way now, so he ran back around the corner and prayed Suisel had left the backdoor unlocked. He wanted to see what this was all about first before he let anyone know he was there.

The backdoor led to a small antechamber located at the far side of the left wall, right next to the main shrine. He could see the entire room and entrance from there, while still remaining relatively hidden from the congregation. He didn't need to bother with being discreet though, since everyone's back was turned to him. They were all now facing the newcomer that had interrupted their exclusive gathering. Something had just been said before he came in. Buck only caught the fading echoes of someone's voice resounding in the room. He was pretty sure it belonged to the stranger. What had he said?

The room wasn't as full as he had expected, but it was still quite the turn out. Seemed like not everyone was willing to brave the darkness after all. Their small prayhouse wouldn't have been able to fit in even a fifth of their town anyway; but Buck knew that should disaster strike them, and this building was the only safe place left, it would the people present here now that would be given sanctuary before anyone else. Especially those seated on the newly added benches in front, right next to the shrine. These people were Runrick's gentry. Chief Slatrim, the priest and his wife, Olvic with auntie Eshe, Ogette and Olle, ol' man Ceric, Gulver and his whole family, Piencer and his whole family, Furcut , Utmar – anyone who was either of higher rank or a rich merchant, or a boot-licker to one of them. The rest had to stand.

Chief Slatrim was the first to speak. “Who are you?” He slowly got up from his seat, a chair placed right in the middle of the dais, right before Baar's shrine, so he could overlook the gathering. Next to him, Priest Santr chimed in. “How dare you say that name in Baar's house,” he croaked, but remained cautiously seated.

Buck heard the stranger huff in amusement. “Funny, you didn't seem to have a problem with saying that name over and over again last time I was here.”

Last time. So, Buck had been right, he had met him before. He must have visited Runrick in the past, before Buck left for the military. That voice didn't sound at all familiar, though. If he could only see the man’s face, but it was still mostly obscured by the shadows of his cowl. He was also too far away from where Buck was hidden.

He was just standing there, a dark frame hovering in front of the entrance, and seemingly uninclined to come any closer than that. There was something ominous about his presence in here, a stark contrast to the almost comical little routine Buck had witnessed out-front. The others grew more agitated too. He saw Suisel sneak up to the priest and whisper something to him. The priest then nodded, and Suisel disappeared behind the shrine. He came back out holding a shot gun and went to stand behind Santr and his wife. Chief Slatrim had his helpers with him too. Shumper and Slaop left the wall they had been leaning against to take up their positions as the magistrate's sentinels. They were large, bulky men, practically raised by Slatrim to be his personal labor dogs. “Don't make me ask again,” roared the magistrate. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“You should know, you sent for me.”

There was moment of silence as everyone looked at the magistrate, but Chief Slatrim just stared back in confusion and replied in a low, angry voice “I didn' send for no one.”

“Is that so,” the man replied with fake surprise. “Oh dear, then that letter must have been about a different town named Runrick that is being plagued by a strange, dark-furred beast. Guess you folks don't need any help, then. My mistake. I'll take my leave.”

The entire room reacted at that. Chief Slatrim squelched the racket. “We do have...a problem,” the magistrate continued hesitantly,” but I don't remember sendin' anybody any letter.” He turned to look at Priest Santr questioningly. The priest shook his head, a little too urgently, “It wasn't me. I promised, didn't I.”

“It was me.”

Every head turned to look at Olvic. The merchant stood up, his face set in grim determination, but there was a little bit of guilt marring it. “I had to. There was no reasonin’ with ya no more.”

The room was quiet again, save for the sound of someone taking in a deep breath, and then releasing it slowly and unsteadily. The magistrate was furious, and fighting back his natural urge to start yelling. Slatrim was facing away from Buck, but he could already imagine the man's jaw quivering, teeth clenched and face flushed; those beady eyes peering sharply at Olvic. Slatrim had always had a bad temper, but it had gotten so much worse with age. He didn't take too well to being disobeyed, but Olvic wasn't someone he could push around easily. The head-merchant stood his ground. “We’re bein’ killed here, Slatrim. How many more 'til ya see we can't take care of this on our own?”

“If ya don't like how I run things, leave! Take ya own damn family and go!”

“I tried!” Olvic looked away in shame. “But Pelase won't take us. Said they don't want any of us comin' there. They're afraid we will bring misfortune, as well as that thing, with us.”

The room started buzzing with hushed discussions, people clearly concerned about what the merchant had just told them. It would seem quite a few of them had considered leaving the town themselves, and the news that it was no longer an option alarmed them.

“It gets worse,” Olvic continued,” they're thinking of blocking the road, so that none of us can leave. To keep the curse contained, they said.”

The buzz grew into an agitated commotion, people now outright frightened and despairing. It was one thing to not be welcomed anywhere else, quite another to be practically trapped in with the beast. Runrick only had one road that connected them to the outside world, and that led to Pelase. If they lost that, the only other way to leave would be through the forest, on foot, and that was practically suicide now.

Some yelled their outrage, others cried and moaned, but among the uproar Buck picked up one particular sound that took him completely aback. It wasn't loud, shouldn’t have been distinguishable in all that noise, but it was the dissonance that made it stand out so garishly. Everyone else started hearing it too, and slowly quieted down to look at the newcomer incredulously. The man was chuckling. When he noticed everyone staring at him, instead of stopping, he doubled down and started laughing. Soon, all that could be heard was the stranger's chilling laughter reverberate in the room. The magistrate's ire cut in. “This funny t'ya, boy?”

The man finally quelled his fit, but he kept his smile on. No, not a smile; that was a smirk. Even with him so far away, even without seeing that specific malicious glint in the eyes, Buck knew that there was disdain behind that upturn of the man's lips. It was wide enough to show a row of pearly white teeth, and there was something about that display that made Buck's blood run cold. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man was trouble.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly. “Very. And I think neither you, or anyone else here, would hold it against me if they knew why?”

“Well, then why don't ya share it with the rest of us,” hissed the magistrate.

“Alright,” chirped the stranger.

He then started moving forward, walking casually towards them. People bustled to get out of his way, all eyes on him. He walked down the center of the nave with long, purposeful strides, right up to the magistrate. The shorter man tensed, Shumper and Sloap also ready to jump in to help their boss. The man didn't stop, didn't even slow down, as he went right passed the magistrate. The old man had wavered and stepped aside when it became clear it wasn't him the stranger had been walking towards. He casually passed between Shumper and Sloap, both towering over the hooded man, completely unfazed by their attempt to intimidate him with their fierce glower. He walked down the aisle and climbed up on the dais, looked at the chair Chief Slatrim had been sitting on, turned around, and plopped down on it. The uproar was back. The priest and his wife, who had been sitting next to the magistrate, now jumped out of their seats too. “This is insolence,” cried the priest, but made sure to get off the dais before he did so. Instead of responding, the man grabbed the now empty chair the priest had been sitting on and used it as a leg rest. Without so much as uttering a single word, the stranger had managed to insult both the magistrate and the priest more than they had ever been in their life. Not even his old teacher had ever gone so far. Buck wasn't particularly fond of either the magistrate or the priest, both having expressed their displeasure and disappointment in Buck harshly and condemning him to isolation without any remorse, but they were still his elders, and the leaders of his town. They still deserved some respect. Who is this cheeky little shit? He was close to Buck now, but the proximity didn't help any. His profile was covered by his hood, only a straight, sharp nose and a hint of lips peeking from behind it.

Chief Slatrim was still as a statue, only the muscles in his jaw twitching. He might have been a short-tempered, bitter old man, but he was shrewd enough to recognize a power play when he saw one. “Well?” he demanded. The man didn't reply immediately. Instead, he just kept staring at them. A slight rotation of the hood indicated that he was surveying the gathering, as if to take note of who was there. Buck made sure he was well hidden behind the corner of the room.

“Most of you were there that day, so you all should understand why I'm so pleased by all of this.”

The magistrate lost his patience “WELL?” he roared again. “Will ya just fucking explain yourself already?”

“Better than that,” the man chirped, “I'll show you.”

And the man pulled of his hood.

It didn't hit immediately. The anticipated reveal turned out to be underwhelming when the man's face didn't instantly tell Buck anything about his identity. But as he kept looking, it slowly came to him, bit by bit, separate pieces that he realized fit together. The more the puzzle filled out, the more familiar the image became.

The thick, black locks he had recognized outside suddenly appeared in a long-forgotten memory; a pale-faced boy sitting alone underneath a tree. The boy had deep dark eyes that always held a bit of resentment when looking at you, just like the man before him did now. The shape of the nose, the cut of his cheekbones, and everything else about his face matched a little with what he remembered. Some things were definitely different about him. He still had that same sickly complexion, but the dark circles under those eyes had disappeared, and his cheeks weren't sunken in anymore. He had filled out, you could tell. He was also radiating confidence now, to an obnoxious degree to be honest, whereas before he had been rather gloomy and skittish.

However, Buck's most glaring memory of him was that of his yellow-tinged pupils looking helplessly back at him, mouth too filled up with sharp teeth to speak properly. That memory was then followed by another one, just as vivid; the boy, bruised and beaten, was furiously yelling at them, the raw hatred in his voice and Ogette's frightened sobs spurring Buck into action. The last thing he did to Luric, before he left town to be raised and trained by one of the most prominent and powerful families in the country, was hurl a rock at his head.

“Shit.”

It was only when he saw Luric blink in surprise and begin to slowly turn his head in his direction that Buck realized he had said that out loud. And Luric had heard. He immediately pulled his head back behind the corner, twisting so that his entire backside was now plastered against the wall between them. Buck needed the support; his legs were shaking. He was breathing hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Had he been fast enough? Had Luric seen him? He tried to listen if footsteps were coming his way, but there was nothing. He didn't dare peek around the corner anymore, so he kept his ears open.

Meanwhile, recollection started to dawn on the rest of the townsfolk as well. Buck could tell by the higher pitch and urgency in their voices, and the tumult kept escalating as doubt and confusion dissipated, and realization struck; the past had come back to bite them in the ass at the worst possible time.

“It can't be him.”

“No! No, no!”

“Are ya kiddin' me?!”

“There is no way, it's not him.”

“I told ya all. I told ya he'd come back someday. I said it!”

They were getting hysterical, just moments away from running out the door. Luric was here for vengeance, they were certain of that. So was Buck. He felt like at any moment he'd change into that horrible creature and maul everyone in the room. Buck's fears would come true in the most unexpected way. Same scenario, different monster.

“QUIET,” Chief Slatrim's voice thundered, and everyone got shocked into silence. Buck leaned his head forward only slightly, just enough for the chief to appear into his line of sight, but not enough to be visible from Luric's position. At least, that’s what he hoped. The magistrate had a steely glare fixed forward, almost as if he was trying to stare Luric down. Buck heard the preacher shriek at the merchant. “Who in Baar's beard did you write to?”

“To...the Institute of Occult Science or somethin'.”

“You what?”

“I have friends in Pelase. Or I used to. Before things got too bad, I sat down with Kishker. He has a cousin' down in Ratimu, and he said that they had their own troubles with a damned creature too. They sent for someone from the Institute. They came and got rid of it. That's what they do, they send people to kill these things.”

“Ya sure 'bout that?”, the magistrate rumbled. “As I recall, they said somethin' 'bout rounding 'em up to use the damned things.”

Shut up, you stupid, pig-headed old man, Buck thought anxiously. The magistrate was set to prove that Luric didn't scare him, but the barb could cost everyone their lives. The preacher and Olvic thought so too, and hurried to move past that loaded little moment. “D-Does it matter,” stuttered the merchant,

“if they took it with'em instead? Ratimu got rid of it all the same.”

“Does this look like we're in good hands to you?”

“Well, I didn't know they'd send him, now did I?”

Great! The last thing they needed now was for the priest and the merchant to go off at each other like they always did at the alehouse. But Luric's voice cut all of that short.

“I could leave if you want.”

What?

“What?”

“You're not obligated to accept our help. You are the town officials, after all. Just say the word, and I'm gone.”

This time Buck did look all the way around at Luric. This was a taunt, it had to be. The chief thought so too. “Really, now? Ya' not here t' finish what ya started? Or watch us get eaten by one o' yours? How are we t’know this isn’t all yer doin’.”

If you suspect that, don’t say it to his fucking face! Buck wanted to punch the magistrate right in his stupid, wrinkled mug. This stubborn old man will be the end of them.

“I mean it,” Luric continued as if the magistrate’s accusation wasn’t worth wasting a single thought on. “I'll go, if that's what you want.” Another commotion, another wave of doubt and hope. Buck saw Slatrim narrow his eyes in suspicion, but opened his mouth to speak. Luric cut in before he had a chance to say anything.

“However,” he started loudly, “don't expect anyone else to come in my place. The only reason they even sent someone all the way in the middle of no-one-gives-a-fuck was because of me. Because I volunteered. No one else was interested in coming to this pigpen of a town. Your case wasn't exactly high on our list of priorities.” He leaned forward and leered at them, smirk wide again. “Now, I'm telling you to consider this carefully: You have a monster creeping around and picking you off one by one. You can't get get rid of it on your own, and you can't escape it either, now that Pelase cut you off. Winter is fast approaching too, and once you're snowed in, it's over. I assume you're not doing too well with provisions either, what with that thing killing your animals, and trade with the outside stopping completely.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, I'm asking you just once. Do you really want me to go?”

Buck was stumped. Everything Luric had just said was right. They were trapped, in more ways than one. And with a great number of Runrick's young men either dead or wounded thanks to Buck, their greatly diminished man power left them weakened not only in the face of this threat, but in the face of the merciless winter as well. What choice did they have?

Buck had come here with the intention of offering his sacrifice in exchange for their safety and forgiveness, but he doubted he'd receive more trust and jubilation than Luric. But...were Luric's motives as honest as he proclaimed? Was it wise to accept the help of someone who had once wished death upon them? He thought again of the young boy screaming at them, eyes mad and fangs bared.

“Do you speak the truth? Are you really here to save us?”

Luric looked at the priest. “I'm here to kill the monster. That’s all.”

“What can you do alone, that a dozen of our strong, young men couldn't,” yelled a brave voice from a safe distance.

Luric started laughing. “Well, I could give you all a demonstration of what it is exactly that makes me special and best suited for this job, but…I think you all already know.”

Everyone fell silent at that. Priest Santr kept glancing over at Slatrim, as if expecting him to say something. The old man was oddly silent, eyes still locked on Luric. Luric then sighed and reached inside his coat. He brought out a small hand book and tossed it at the priest's feet.

Santr hesitated but bent over to pick it up. Buck noted how he tried to touch it with only the tips of his fingers. He opened it, and his eyes grew large. He leafed through it, disgust more evident with every turn of the page. “What are these vile drawings supposed to be?”

“Those are renditions of the monsters I personally fought and killed,” Luric explained casually. “Consider that my letter of recommendation.”

Slatrim turned to look at the book then, and several other people behind them slithered closer to peek at it. Various exclamations of amazement and horror could be heard. Buck really wished he could get a look at it himself. “These things,” the priest started, “do they really roam our earth so freely?”

“Those don't anymore, but many more like them, or worse, do.”

“Great Mother of Baar!”

People whispered some more. There was a shift in the tone, Buck noted. Less trepidation, more debate. People were starting to consider.

“You'll note that most of those pages are empty. It gets filled with every monster I bring down. It depends on you whether or not the next page will have a drawing of your creature or not.”

The debate grew more heated.

Buck dared another look at Luric. There was a pensive expression on his face as he watched the townsfolk talk amongst themselves. No, not pensive; it was cold and calculating.

“Do you finally understand what it was that the Duchess meant then? Why she traveled the country to find people like me?” All attention was on him again. “What you didn't understand back then is that there is a difference between a real monster and a man that change into one at will. Unlike you, she still regarded me as human...just with extra abilities that could be harnessed for the benefit of fine people such as yourself. You all know the saying 'fight fire with fire', don't you? Well, that's what this is. What you saw as a curse, she saw as an enhancement. A fire in us that could be used against creatures like the one you have now.” A pause as Luric leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. He peered into the crowd, an almost gentle smile om his lips. “I wonder, if you hadn't made me leave,” another pause,” if I had still been around when the creature first appeared, maybe, just maybe, I could've stopped it. Maybe nobody had to die.”

The crowd erupted. Luric's words had struck their target dead-center. It was especially effective because the gathering was full of people who had lost someone to the monster, and their pain fueled the contention that was blooming in their mind. For the first time since Buck could remember, people were questioning the magistrate’s choices.

“YOU DID THIS!” Slatrim's ear-piercing roar echoed for what seemed like an eternity, promptly silencing the talk and the direction it was heading in. This had always been his method of garnering attention and securing orderliness; coerce everyone into submission with the force of his vehemency. The man was so convinced of his and everyone else's place in this community, and he bludgeoned that conviction into everyone else's head too. People questioning his decision was unfathomable, which is probably why Buck thought there was a hint of alarm in his eyes. “Ya brought this upon us! Back then, when ya cursed us. This is ya doin'! Ya just here t'see it through!”

“Didn't you listen back then, old man!? That's not how it works. I can't-”

“ I don't give am damn what that lyin' bitch told ya!”

Oh, no. Oh shit!

The magistrate was trying to bring back everyone on his side and did so with all the subtlety and finesse of a sledgehammer. Slatrim saw that he was losing ground, and the man was nothing if not territorial.

Buck held his breath and waited for hell to break loose at Luric’s hands.

“I see,” Luric said with eerie calmness. “Well, guess that settles it then. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Wait!” That was Olvic. “Don't go. It is as you said. Ya leave, it's over for us.”

“Olvic!” yelled the magistrate.

“No, Slatrim. This time YOU listen! I will not let my family die because of yer pride and stubbornness.” He then turned to the rest. “What choice do we have? We can't save ourselves, that has been made clear. Don't y'all want this to be over? To stop fearing for ya life and that of ya loved ones?” Another buzz, and then-

“Baar's beard, I do.”

“Olvic's right, this has got to stop!”

“I want it gone!”

“Kill that wretched thing! Kill it!”

“We want vengeance for our son!”

“I want t'see its fuckin' head on a spike!”

And just like that, the current turned around completely in Luric’s favor. Where before there had been only apprehension and distrust, now there was anger-fueled exaltation, and it was only growing in intensity with each interjection. Buck understood it where it was coming from. They had all been living in a permanent state of fear and despair, and this was the first whiff of true hope they had gotten in weeks. It was what had helped Buck gain support for his attempt too. They needed release for all that built-up tension, and Luric had come in and opened the flood gates. Buck could practically taste their gratitude.

There was enough common sense left in Slatrim to understand that even his iron grip couldn't hold this back, so he endured it, mutely and stone-faced. The priest, on the other hand, tried to shrink and disappear.

Buck looked back at Luric again. His gaze was directed downwards, eyes hidden behind his bangs. He was smiling again. Luric had smiled a lot since he came here. And not once had it looked kind or genuine to Buck. All of his smiles had been disquieting, but this one in particular worried him. Just as he was trying to figure out what it could mean, Olvic's shout drew his attention.

“Apologize, Slatrim! Tell 'im to stay and help us!”

Oh,dear!

Obviously encouraged by the support, Olvic rounded on Slatrim. There was another power play becoming evident now, Buck realized.

Then Luric's voice cut in again. “I think we're well past apologies, wouldn't you say?”

The room calmed. Luric suddenly got up, all hints of a smile gone. He stood tall and imposing, the platform he was on only adding to this air of dominance. He raised his chin slightly, and though his eyes were looking down on Slatrim and Santr, Buck knew he was addressing everyone there. “I want you to beg for my help.”

The chill in his voice sent a shiver down Buck's spine.

“B-Beg, my lord?”

“'My lord'? Wow,” Luric chuckled. “Quite a step up from 'bastard of Shulffa'. And let's not forget 'spawn of a whore', 'wretch', 'mongrel', 'sheep shit'. Some of those I think were even before we found out about my condition. Those really hurt, I tell you. But you know what hurt even more? Getting kicked and punched in the head and stomach repeatedly. Any of you remember that?”

The room was deathly still. Buck was afraid to even breath.

“I remember everything clearly. I begged. I begged you to stop, I begged you for help, I begged you for forgiveness, even though I had done nothing that warranted your forgiveness. None of you cared. You kept hitting and spitting on me. Do you remember? It happened right here.”

People were whispering again. The apprehension was back.

“So yeah, I really am fucking pleased about this. I think you're getting just what you deserved. For what you did to me and to Mr. Carshtin. And for your sake-” he eyed Slatrim and Santr, who were frozen in place “- I'd try not to spout that bullshit again about me being the one that attacked and killed him. Not in my presence. I was there, I saw who did it. I don’t know if you’ll ever admit to giving the order, but there’s never been any doubt in my mind that you were behind it.” Slatrim had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this time.

“So, you really are here for vengeance, then.”

As soon as the questions left his mouth, Buck started praying that he had yelled it loud enough for it to bounce of the walls and make it harder to discern where the voice had come from. Luric seemed caught enough in his own descant to not care about who had just spoken. He just raised his glare towards the cluster of confused faces.

“Don't worry,” Luric answered to no one in particular, “ I will only do what I was sent here to do. I will not raise my hand to hurt any of you. You're not worth the effort. Not to mention that I don't want to touch any of you. I will kill the monster and do nothing else. But as I said, only if you beg.”

There was no mistaking the malice in his voice. Buck had been right to suspect that he was here for far more than what he claimed. This was all about getting back at them. But that knowledge didn't change their circumstances in the end. Luric really was their best bet at getting rid of it, assuming of course his oath of not raising his hand against them was true. If not, Runrick's bloody plight had just gotten bloodier.

The townsfolk were restless, some already pushing for Slatrim to start begging, others still reluctant. There was no clear cohesion among the masses anymore.

Even with Luric's contempt laid so plainly before them, some were still willing to take their chances with him. Luric had dangled hope in front of their faces, and they had all taken the bait. Now they were hooked on his promise of salvation.

“I'm not beggin' for nothin'! Y'all wanna sell ya' soul to Shulffa's bastard, go ahead!” Slatrim’s stance was firm, but Buck couldn't help but notice that the fire had gone out of his voice somewhat.

“Pigheaded fool! Do our lives mean nothing t’ya?” Olivic pushed himself forward through the crowd and threw himself at Luric’s feet. “Please! I beg ya, my lord, help us! Take yer anger out on me if you wish, but help us!” It was quite the show, and the audience was clearly moved. After all, nothing garnered admiration and devotion more than the willingness to sacrifice yourself for others. Luric’s cocked one eyebrow at Olvic’s gesture, one corner of his lips slightly upturned. He seemed a little impressed, but a whole lot more amused. He saw right through it. Buck was just close enough to see him mutter something under his breath. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of, “Sly bastard.” For whatever reason, he went along with Olivic's game.

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” he said, while staring at Olvic’s bowed head. “Tomorrow, I will set out to find the thing.” He was speaking to Slatrim again. “I want you to prepare all documentation regarding the monster, so I can have a better understanding of what I am dealing with here. Expect me and my colleague around noon.” With that, he stepped down from the podium and strode towards the exit. This time even Shumper and Slaop jumped out of the way. As he passed Slatrim, Luric paused, as if he just remembered something else he wanted to say to the magistrate. “Oh, and by the way” he leaned in, voice low yet still audible in the silent room. “I know I said I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but if you ever say anything disrespectful about Lady Archvel again, I will kill you.” And without waiting for a reply, he continued towards the door. Before he walked out, he looked over at Utmar. “I’m staying at your inn, just so you know.” A screech, a loud clang, and he was gone.

Everyone stood in shocked silence.

They all had trouble wrapping their head around what had just happened. Buck too was absolutely stunned. Talk about an unexpected turn of events. So much for his attempt at redemption; how could he even compete with Luric waltzing in and stealing the show like that? If Luric really was as strong and capable as he claimed, then there was absolutely nothing left for Buck to do.

But….

Again, the image of that furious little boy flashed before his eyes, and the feeling in his gut tightened. Was it wise to leave their lives in the hands of someone who despised them so profoundly? Luric still held a burning grudge towards them, that much was clear. As long as he delivered on his promise and nothing else, then it didn’t matter, but it was hard to imagine that he’d be satisfied with simply verbally browbeating his past abusers while he was here.

Something about this just isn’t right.

When he heard the others move, Buck quietly slipped away through the back door. He needed to get home before his parents noticed his absence.

No, it was better to tell them where he’d been, and who he had seen. This way it will be easier to convince them to stay inside the house the next few days. He turned to look towards the square, in the direction he assumed Luric would be walking to get to Utmar’s inn. He swore he could still make out the blackness of his cape in the dark, right before he merged with it.

[bittersweetarts]

The Great War - Chapter 1 (Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction)

Summary: A war is brewing, but only some know this – Camyla Peake, daughter of Lord Unwin Peake, is sent King’s Landing to wed the Hand of the King. It is a shame though, that she garners the attention of his grandsons instead.

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage with Otto Hightower, sexism. 

AO3 - Spotify Playlist 

Chapter 1: The Flowering

Camyla Peake was not opposed to the prospect of being betrothed to an older man, but Lord Otto Hightower was a little older than she would have preferred.

Not that it mattered to Camyla’s father, Lord Unwin Peake, whose ambition overshadowed any fatherly concern he may have towards a child; let alone a daughter, because what utility did daughters have outside of marriage and childrearing.

It did not help that Camyla was also old by Westerosi standards, and Lord Unwin Peake had openly resented his daughter for not being wed. Most of the girls Camyla grew up with have long started families and fulfilled their duties. The Head of House Peake often moaned, usually over dinner and wine, that he regretted not arranging her betrothal when she was a child, and had long already arranged a betrothal for Myrielle, Camyla’s younger sister. Myrielle had yet to celebrate her seventh nameday.

Unfortunately for Camyla though, most considered the girl to be barren, until she finally bled for the first time, a few moons before her twentieth name day. It was a miracle really, and when the maids at Starpike Castle discovered the young noblewoman in bed, clutching her sheets, attempting to conceal her flowering. These maids went to Lord Peake right away, to inform him of this, despite Camyla’s begging. An ambitiously cunning man, Lord Unwin Peake set out right away to arrange an advantageous match for his eldest living daughter, and this sadly did not surprise the young woman in the slightest.

What Camyla Peake least likes about herself is how much she takes after her father. Like her siblings, Camyla takes after him physically, with abundantly ash hair and dull gray-brown eyes. Unlike her brothers and sisters though, Camyla was clever and shrewd, like her father. She was not always like this though.

When Camyla was young, she thought herself to be a princess. Her father, an affluent lord, was not affectionate, but her mother, Lady Amyra Tyrell, had compensated for this, bathing her children in love, and impressing upon them their value. Her elder siblings, Titus and Taliya, used to be her playmates, and together, they pretended to rule an imaginary Eighth Kingdom, which was unseen to the common eye; Titus was the gallant King, Taliya was his benevolent Queen, and Camyla was the Princess which their common folk adored. There were no dragons or mean fathers in their Kingdom, and it was Camyla’s favourite place in the realm. Too quickly though, these games became too childish for her siblings, who had to grow up and leave home. Titus was sent to serve their grandsire Lord Redwyne, in Arbor, and Taliya was wed to one of Lord Frey’s sons.

Camyla still lived in her fantasies though, and remained tender hearted. Though her siblings stopped playing, Camyla never did when she was younger, and would imagine countless tales which took place in their imaginary world.

But when their mother had died giving birth to her youngest sister, Myrielle, Camyla became changed. Ten and three, Camyla had to learn to take care of her babe sister, for her father did not.

And when Taliya died giving birth to her first child, while still a girl herself, a part of Camyla died as well. This was when Camyla changed, and as the years passed, Camyla grew to become more like her father, which is why she was not shocked when her father, mere days after her flowering, hastily declared during their supper.

“The Hand of the King. That is who you are to impress when you leave for King’s Landing on the morrow. For your own sake, you should secure this betrothal, for you will not have a home here no more. I have cared for you long enough.”

And that was it. It only took some blood for Camyla Peake’s life to be completely changed. As her father demanded, Camyla spoke her farewells to her younger sister and home at Starpike, and departed on her weeks-long journey, leaving with only what could fit in a carriage and the stern Septa Maris, who would watch over her conduct at the Red Keep (and inevitably report her every movement to her father). Camyla expected sadness to consume her, for she was leaving the only place she had ever known, home not only to her, but to the memories of her mother and older sister; but no sorrow took hold. Camyla only felt empty.

It was not easy to astound Aemond Targaryen, but when his brother, Aegon, declared one afternoon that their grandsire was about to wed a girl half their mother’s age, Aemond Targaryen was truly astounded. Surely this could not be true, because why would the wise Lord Otto Hightower betroth himself now, especially to a girl younger than some of his grandchildren?

No. The one-eyed Prince could not believe it, it must be a malignant lie. His grandsire would not get betrothed for companionship; that was what whores were for, Aemond heard him say once. No, his grandsire would not bind himself to a girl, but rather to her House. But marrying a girl so young, at his age, was a shocking notion, and Aemond could not be the only one astounded by this. It must be a misunderstanding.

But Aegon declared it to be true, and jovially asked the Hand about it over supper the very same evening, in the presence of their mother, the Queen Alicent, and their father, the King Viserys Targaryen.

“It is true.” Lord Otto Hightower answered plainly. Aemond immediately noticed how his mother was silent and did not touch her food, and he noticed how his father appeared rather pleased that evening, weakly raising his goblet while coughing.

“Congratulations, friend. What House does the blessed woman hail from? And when is the wedding to be? We must host a tourney and have a grand feast. It has been long since joy has been spread in these halls.”

Helaena had given birth to Maelor only a few moons ago. Bitterly thought Aemond.

“Thank you, your Grace.” His grandsire tightly smiled at his father, taking a sip of his wine before answering. “It is Lord Peake’s eldest daughter, and as we speak, she should be journeying to us from the Reach. I am to meet her first, to decide whether she would be a suitable wife.”

“What could be wrong with Lord Unwin’s daughter?” Queen Alicent finally spoke, her speech devoid of emotion. Aemond’s eye was still helplessly fixed on his mother; he felt like he was the only one that cared for her behalf and hated that it was so.

Clearing his throat, the Hand answered his daughter awkwardly.

“She is not very young but has never been betrothed. I would like to see her defects for myself before accepting her.”

“Well, how old is the spinster?” The King asked, in a lighthearted tone, but choked on his wine as his Hand answered.

“Twenty.”

The conversation tensed, and their grandsire quickly tried to change the topic. Not very young? She is merely a year older than I am. The one-eyed Prince dubiously thought.

“How I love fresh meat at the Keep.” Aegon whispered crudely to Aemond, who ignored his brother’s insipid comment. Instead, the one-eyed Prince continued watching his mother, who he realised was picking on her nails yet again. His mother was not the only one he worried about, however. Glancing at Helaena, Aemond also contemplated whether she heard what Aegon had said, as she vacantly stared down at her plate.

“Sevens, the scent is revolting.” Camyla Peake declared, pinching her nose.

“Camyla!” Austerely chastised Septa Marris, sharply glaring at Camyla. The middle-aged woman who was not overly fond of her, as of yet. “The Seven’s name should not be said in vain!”

The carriage carrying them was slowing down now, having passed through River Gate. They were not far from the Red Keep now, but Camyla could not see anything beyond its silhouette yet.

“Apologies Septa.” Camyla responded nonchalantly, looking out the window again. The smell really was awful, but at least Blackwater Bay was a better sight. The sky was dull, despite the rising of the sun, and the waters were devoid of colour, but Camyla preferred it to staring at Septa Marris’s scowling face concentrating on her boring needlework.

The journey had taken weeks, and Septa Marris made for poor company, in Camyla’s opinion at least. To pass the time, Camyla tried reading, but it only made her nauseous, and so, with nothing to do, Camyla just sat in silence during their travels. Consequently, there was nothing to distract the brunette from her thoughts.

Camyla was not nervous about being wife to Lord Otto Hightower, for she already knew what her duties would entail: play the role of a nice little bride, and birth a child or two. Camyla also understood her fate all too well – it was to be a pawn, either at her father or soon-to-be husband’s hands. Frankly though, Camyla did not care all that much, or rather, could not be bothered to care. Though the prospect of her life in King’s Landing, being caged in a loveless marriage and the walls of the Keep, bored her, Camyla was also not interested in her father’s games. All he wanted was to make House Peake the greatest in Westeros, but what was so great about it? Most of her family were cruel, bigots, or cruel bigots, and her father was no exception. Moreover, her father did not respect her, simply because she was born without a cock between her legs, so why should she try to vie for his approval?

No, Camyla would not try, not anymore. The young woman had decided that she would not be trying to create a life with Lord Otto Hightower for her father. Should he agree to the betrothal, Camyla would try to pursue some semblance of a happy marriage, only for herself, and if that fails, then she would hopefully have at least a child who she could love. There was the concern that she would not bleed as a woman again, and that she was indeed barren, but Camyla chose to ignore this. It was an irrational fear, for no other woman in her family was barren, so why would she be the first?

Camyla also no longer wanted to return to Starpike, nor did she want to live with her unkind father. Though she missed Myrielle, Camyla did not miss Unwin Peake and the way he ‘showed love’. There was something in Camyla’s stare, defiant by nature, which seemed to infuriate Lord Peakem, and when he had a lot of wine, he would ensure that Camyla knew his fury.

King’s Landing never was where Camyla imagined her home to be, but she welcomed the notion of it. The idea of being a lady wife to an important man was appealing, and her new life at the Keep would be hers to forge. All she had to do was please Lord Otto Hightower well enough. Surely it should not be too difficult. Thought Camyla as she stared at the moving sea waters.

Upon arriving at the Red Keep, Lady Camyla Peake and Septa Marris were greeted by Lord Otto Hightower, rather indifferently, in front of a large crowd of unfamiliar faces.

Camyla did not expect warmth or affection from the Hand of the King, and was actually surprised; not by his attitude, but by his physical appearance. Camyla had expected a man bearing in resemblance to her father, in that the Hand’s countenance would be heavier and more rounded. Instead, Camyla came to meet a tall slender man with a kind face, which made her feel at ease, that is until she actually got to speak to him more directly.

Following his cold welcoming, Lord Otto Hightower practically demanded that Camyla meet him in the Gardens during the afternoon, so that they could properly speak to each other. Camyla wondered what he thought of her. She knew that she was no great beauty, with a wider figure, pale skin and darker hair, but maybe her youth was appealing to him. However, when Septa Marris proceeded to fret over her appearance the entire morning while she unpacked Camyla’s belongings in the guest quarters, Camyla became grow irritated. Why was her beauty the only quality that mattered?

“You were a mess upon arrival – How could I let you meet Lord Hightower like that!”

“It matters not.” Camyla chimed in a bored tone, staring out of the window. The view overlooked the pillars of the Keep and King’s Landing, which was intimidatingly grand. Starpike Castle scarcely compared in scale.

“Of course it matters! Lord Hightower is judging you in everything. He is Hand of the King for a reason.”

Sighing, Camyla snapped back, in a mildly irritated tone. “It matters not to me. If we do not get betrothed, it will not be the end of times, no matter how much my Lord Father tries to make us believe otherwise. I am doing as he demands, but I cannot force the hand of Fate as well.”

Again, Septa Marris chastised Camyla and ranted to her about the importance of acting agreeable and soft-spoken, especially to Lord Hightower and all who are important at King’s Landing. But Camyla quickly grew bored of the speech, and ignored Septa Marris as she began intricately plaiting her thick hair.

Eventually, a comfortable silence lulled over the quarters, and Camyla became distracted with other thoughts. She wondered about court life at the Red Keep. As far as Camyla was aware, the King’s children were the only people close to her age (disregarding anyone not of noble blood), but the young woman hoped she was wrong about this, because otherwise, her life at King’s Landing would be rather solitary and lonely, for Camyla did not expect that the Princes and Princess would be keen to befriend the young wife of their grandsire. Perhaps there were some Lords at the Keep, maybe part of the King’s Small Council, who had daughters living with them. Or perhaps the Princess has some ladies-in-waiting close to her age. Camyla could only hope.

Naturally, Camyla knew of the members of House Targaryen, as well as their reputation. Of Queen Alicent’s children, Prince Aegon, was infamous in Westeros for his unpleasantness, and shamefully indecent past times, meanwhile his sister-wife, Princess Helaena, was often described in conversation as kind, but peculiar in character. Camyla has heard little about Prince Aemond’s character or attitude, but the story of how he had lost an eye when he was little, in exchange for Vaghar, a fierce dragon that had aided in Aegon’s Conquest of Westeros, was well-known. Camyla Peake expected that Prince Aemond would bear some similarity to his older brother in character, and she knew it better to avoid both.

The only Targaryen children that Camyla did not expect to meet was Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daeron. Princess Rhaenyra, heir to the Iron Throne, is a woman grown, with her own family, and she lived away from King’s Landing. Prince Daeron, though younger than his siblings, resides in Oldtown, serving as a cupbearer and squire for Lord Ormund Hightower; at least that is what Camyla’s father had said once during dinner with guests, a few moons ago. Either way, Camyla did not expect to meet either of them tonight, which she was fine with. In fact, Camyla wished she did not have to meet anyone from House Targaryen, for none of them, if shown by history, were good companions if one valued their life.

When Camyla finally greeted Lord Otto at the Gardens, the sun was harsh and unforgiving, and the young brunette regretted Septa Marris’s choice of attire for the walk; a hugging, heavy fabric gem-coloured gown, which seemed to trap the heat. Camyla tried to keep her cool, but it was rather difficult.

“Your father and I have known each other for decades. He has never mentioned you to me before now.” The Hand stated simply, his hands clasped behind his back as he strode ahead of Camyla, who walked more slowly, lifting her gown to appear more lady-like.

“I do not why.”

Actually, Camyla did know why, but she would not make Lord Otto privy to that knowledge. Camyla’s answer did not satisfy the Hand though, who stopped walking and turned to face the young woman, his brows furrowed.

“I am going to ask you plainly, and it will be without consequence for our arrangement. You have my word. All I ask is the truth. Have you given up your chastity to another already?”

Camyla’s eyes widened, taken aback by Lord Otto’s forwardness, and immediately responded, her low voice in shame.

“Of course not.”

As she spoke, Camyla’s gaze wandered to her feet. She knew that her age would be an issue, but she did not realise that others would suppose she was unwed because she had whored herself out. Lord Otto Hightower, on the other hand, seemed satisfied in her response, perceiving it to be truthful, and continued to walk, not waiting for the young girl to follow.

“So why has Unwin not wed you off yet?”

Glancing back up, Camyla rushed to keep pace with the Hand, her sight still set to the ground.

“I cannot speak for my father. He is the one who decides on these matters.” Camyla uttered a response. She did not want to lie, but she did not want to reveal the truth to Lord Otto either. Thankfully, he did not press upon the subject anymore, and began to speak to her about his expectations (they were as Camyla anticipated: remain silent, be faithful, and to do as he says). Camyla found that her input was rarely asked, that Lord Otto preferred to speak instead of listen, and Camyla tried to not to be irritated by this. Eventually, his conversation ceased, and he turned to face her again.

“My family dines together most evenings. You are expected to attend tonight’s supper. You will be in the company of the King, my daughter and their children. Dress appropriately and behave as expected.”

Pressing her lips together, Camyla nodded, and this seemed to satisfy Lord Otto Hightower.

“At sunset, I will send for a knight, Ser Arryk, to escort you. You are to be ready by then.”

Having spent some time with Lord Otto Hightower, Camyla formed some semblance of a judgment on him. Similar to her father, Lord Otto was proud and brusque, and Camyla knew how to act around men like that. They preferred women to be quiet and unseen, and Camyla could do that just fine. But did she wish to? Camyla Peake was undecided.

Camyla also knew that Lord Otto Hightower had once been dismissed from his post as Hand, but she did not know why. Did it matter? Camyla did not foresee a close companionship with Lord Otto as her husband, and while this was disappointing, it more importantly meant that she had to look out for herself, because Lord Otto would not. He gave her no reason to trust him. While she could ensure that their betrothal did not happen, what better prospects did Camyla have?

As demanded, Camyla was ready by sunset. Septa Marris had helped get her ready again, and Camyla sat in silence as her hair was undone; it was decided that having her curled locks loose but secured away from her face would best present her features. Septa Marris had also ranted how Camyla should act during the dinner, and to be careful about what she ate, as her hips made her appear wider than most other ladies; this greatly tested Camyla patience. Septa Marris had also tried to get Camyla to profess a detailed account of her conversation with Lord Otto Hightower, but Camyla stubbornly kept her descriptions short and vague. Camyla was no idiot. She knew that Septa Marris would quickly send a letter to her imposing father detailing everything, and Camyla intended to make this difficult, simply out of spite.

After Septa Marris finished getting Camyla ready, the young woman found herself idle with nerves. The sun had long set, but no one had come to get the young woman, and Camyla had no idea where to go. When Ser Arryk finally arrived to escort Camyla, the brunette felt like she could finally breathe again, despite her tight crimson gown, which was sinched to the waist too forcefully for comfort.

Camyla was normally quite forward, but Ser Arryk was intimidatingly large in stature, and despite his friendly face, he was in a seemingly bad mood, so Camyla did not try to ask about why he had arrived so late, and the pair walked silently, for seemingly forever. Camyla was amazed by how large the Red Keep was, and by the time they reached to the dining room, Camyla felt tired and her feet slightly ached.

“You are late.”

A voice echoed the room as Camyla entered. The room was dim, illuminated by candlelight in the hundreds. Camyla had always been drawn to flames and found herself momentarily distracted as she entered, not expecting the room to be set so beautifully.

“Nonsense, Otto. She is right on time – Come sit, Lady Peake.”

Despite his cheerful tone, Camyla went speechless, having been addressed directly by King Viserys, a character previously confined to her books and her father’s conversations. In all honesty, Camyla felt almost stricken just by the notion of the Targaryen King being aware of her existence.

Camyla Peake, still stood by the entryway, was practically frozen in place, and Prince Aemond Targaryen, who was watching her closely, could not help but notice how similarly the young woman resembled a lamb sent for slaughter. With her dark eyes wide and her full lips slightly parted, Aemond Targaryen quickly understood that his grandsire’s future wife was incapable of concealing her emotions very well. The one-eyed Prince could have shown compassion and smiled at her when their gazes briefly met, but instead, he maintained his usual frown. Still watching her, Prince Aemond Targaryen decided that he would not show kindness to the girl, not when her very presence at the Red Keep wounded his mother so deeply.

“Come Camyla, sit.” Lord Otto Hightower spoke up again, and the young woman quickly collected herself, and rushed to the only vacant seat available, between Princess Helaena and her future husband.

Camyla. Prince Aemond Targaryen mused. The name rolled off the tongue very tenderly, and the one-eyed Prince noticed how well it suited the girl. Though her features were simple, there was a graceful humility in her stride, and Aemond Targaryen now found himself incapable of looking away.

The room was silent as the young woman seated herself. When she glanced to her right, Princess Helaena smiled at her, and Camyla forced herself to return the smile, before turning to face the King.

“Thank you, your Grace, for welcoming me into your home. I am honoured, and truly appreciate it.” Camyla lively spoke, mustering all her conviction.

Camyla Peake had thought herself to be well-prepared and did not anticipate her confidence to waver in the presence of the King and his family. Unfortunately, Camyla was wrong, found herself unprepared at the sight of all the fair-haired Targaryens gathered, as well as Lord Otto’s daughter, the Queen Alicent, whose intimidating gaze was piercing. But Camyla knew that she could not show any frailty, not now that she was alone at King’s Landing. So naturally, she attempted to hide her weakness with a lie.

“Please forgive me for my cloddish entrance. I fear that I have not been able to eat since breaking my fast this morning, and do not function well without nourishment.” Camyla spoke in a lighthearted tone, hoping that her attitude could be perceived as endearing.

“Let us begin eating right away then!” The King declared, a grin plastered on his face. Perhaps it was due to the small amounts of milk of the poppy a Maester has Viserys Targaryen consume, but the old King could almost see the face of his dear cousin, Princess Rhaenys, in the Lady Camyla. Though the young girl did not possess his cousin’s lilac eyes, they did have similar darker hair, and the King found their personas to be akin. It was comforting having her around, he decided.

“My love, a prayer before we begin?” The Queen Alicent asked, her voice soft but domineering.

“Yes, of course.” Viserys Targaryen responded nonchalantly, smiling at his wife before placing his goblet back onto the dining table, as though he was merely humouring her.

As Alicent Hightower spoke prayers, thanking the Seven for the bountiful feast that was spread before them, Camyla Peake made a few observations. Not particularly pious, Camyla did not close her eyes during the Queen Alicent’s speech, and she was not the only one.

Daring to lift her head and look across, she saw the one-eyed Prince Aemond, who was sat with his eye firmly shut and his hands devoutly clasped together. At the sight before her, Camyla felt herself flush, realising that the young Prince was actually quite handsome, in an almost rugged way. How was he still not betrothed? Camyla thought to herself, unable to tear her sight away.

Camyla Peake then became mortified, when she glanced to Aemond’s right, and saw the Prince Aegon deviously grinning at her. Immediately, Camyla shut her eyes and began listening to the Queen’s prayers.

“… as well Lady Camyla’s safe arrival to King’s Landing, and may the Mother Above, font of mercy, also bless Lord Father and Lady Camyla’s union, if it comes to be.”

As the Queen’s prayers came to an end, Camyla understood that despite the Queen’s comity, she was not pleased with her father’s choice to remarry, and Camyla could not blame her. Camyla Peake would not be ecstatic if her own father decided to marry a lady half her age.

When Camyla opened her eyes again, she was met with Prince Aemond’s stare, and immediately looked away, her breath hitched. She hoped that Prince Aegon would not tell him how she was staring at him herself during the prayers, but knew that this would be unlikely. What does it matter? It is not them that I need to impress. Camyla attempted to rationalise to herself.

Sudden rough coughing caught Camyla by surprise and the young woman instinctively turned to the head of the table, where the King sat. As she looked at the sickly King, their eyes met, and Viserys Targaryen warmly smiled at her.

“This old man knows that it is not certain yet, but humour me the privilege of a toast, my friend.”

The King turned to Lord Otto, who forced his mouth to turn upright, and nodded. It was not that Otto disliked Viserys’s attention towards him at that moment, but rather because the Hand realised something critical, which did not please him. Otto Hightower realised that the King has developed an endearment towards Camyla Peake, something he fails to show his children (aside from his first born). Otto Hightower also understood that he had to wed Camyla Peake, not only because an alliance with House Peake was imperative, but also because now, the young girl would be useful with the King.

“A toast to my Hand, Otto, and his fair future bride, the Lady Camyla.” Raising his goblet, the King took a swig and everyone else followed in suit and proceeded to eat.

Camyla turned to her left, to look at Lord Otto, and found the man ignoring her completely. Camyla sensed that the Hand was unhappy with her, which made her sigh, perhaps a little to loudly, as the Princess Helaena giggled out loud, making herself known for the first time that evening. Everyone turned to look at her, and the young Princess merely tilted her head and smiled vacantly. Dismissing Princess Helaena’s queer attitude, everyone continued to eat and talk amongst one another. Only Camyla knew why the Princess had giggled, and it felt like a little secret between them.

“I am particularly fond of lamprey pie.” Camyla said quietly, turning to face Princess Helaena, who was pleasantly surprised to be addressed to.

“Did you know lamprey consume the blood of other sea creatures?” The Princess responded, rather loudly, smiling at Camyla, whose eyes widened in shock.

“Surely not.” Camyla answered apprehensively, placing her fork down in slight revulsion. Blood and violence made the young woman feel uncomfortable, and she was not keen on eating a creature that now seemed so vicious. Her new-found disgust seemed to attract the attention of some in the room.

“My sister is correct. Lamprey fish possess many sharp teeth which they use latch onto their prey, in order to draw their blood.” Prince Aemond coolly spoke up. As he did, Camyla abruptly faced him, and found the young Prince smugly smiling at her, as if entertained by her horrified state.

“There is no need to talk about such violent matters in front a lady, brother. Surely you should know that.” Prince Aegon said amusingly, evidently no longer sober. Immediately, the one-eyed Prince’s mood darkened, as though he had stepped on horse shit.

“I was merely making conversation, brother.” The one-eyed Prince responded coldly. Perhaps because Camyla was embarrassed to be discussed about like this, her eyes were glue towards the table, and she noticed how the one-eyed Prince’s hands gripped the silverware that he held, his veins protruding.

“I am sure the lovely Lady Camyla would prefer more pleasant conversation–”

“Lady Camyla is perfectly fine. Thank you for the concern, my Prince.” Camyla interrupted, forcing her tone to remain girlishly sweet, hoping that their bickering would end. She really did feel mortified, having caused a scene yet again that evening.

“Always, my Lady. You are to become family after all, and Targaryens are very concerned with family.” Prince Aegon spoke jovially slurred, though his double meaning was blatant.

The room had gone tense, and Alicent Hightower seethed quietly, astounded and irritated, unable to comprehend how her father was ready to wife a girl who behaves like a child, just as his own grandchildren do. Aside from Camyla, who felt herself flush at Price Aegon’s implications, everyone else ignored it, as that is what they do when Aegon behaved like this. Normally Otto Hightower would intercede and force civility between his grandsons but decided against involving himself in case the conflict escalated.

And so, the evening proceeded as such. Conversation flowed like a river flood, in that it was unsteady, and at times chaotic.

Camyla Peake tried to become invisible once she understood that Lord Otto Hightower was ignoring her, but failed; the King would ask her about her upbringing and life at Starpike, as well as her father, and Prince Aegon attempted to bait her into conversation through lewd remarks. Like her father, the Queen ignored Camyla Peake’s very existence, but the young woman took little notice of this, as her thoughts were elsewhere.

For some inexplicable reason, Camyla felt herself drawn towards the one-eyed Prince, Aemond. Though they scarcely addressed each other again that evening, their eyes would frequently meet, and Camyla felt herself flush under his demanding stare.

Camyla ascertained though that she simply found the one-eyed Prince handsome, and as she drank more wine, her stare strayed towards him more frequently. Prince Aemond Targaryen did not mind it though, and in fact quite liked it. Thankfully, only Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena noticed this silent exchange.

In low side comments, Aegon attempted to bait his younger brother by teasing him about wandering eyes. Princess Helaena, on the other hand, made no mention of this at all, merely vacantly smiling at Lady Camyla and providing empty responses when the young woman attempted to make conversation. Though Lady Camyla liked Princess Helaena well enough, she did find the young Princess to be a little odd.

And as the evening drew to a close, everyone slowly began retreating to their chambers, beginning with the King and Queen, the former of whom had felt unwell. Camyla Peake was again escorted back to her bedroom by Ser Arryk, at the behest of Lord Otto, after politely bidding goodnight to the Hand and his grandchildren. As Camyla and Ser Arryk approached her quarters, Camyla felt bold, perhaps due to the wine she had, and posed a question to the Kingsguard knight, breaking their mutual silence.

“Are they good? The Hand and his family, I mean.”

Camyla’s voice softly echoed the hallway, her eyes fixed to the ground beneath her. Ser Arryk abruptly stopped walking, surprised by her question, and stared at her with his brows furrowed. He had no thoughts about the young woman, and was surprised to hear her address him, as ladies rarely ever did. The tall knight paused for a moment, thinking on his response.

“It is not important, my Lady.” Ser Arryk stated simply, and began slowly walking again, patiently waiting for Camyla to follow him.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this new story! I cannot really explain how I came up with this plot idea, and really, I am here to see how much chaos and angst I can write into it. I will be publishing chapters every week on Wednesday, to make the wait until Season 2 a little more bearable. Though ambitious, this story is going to be quite long, and it begins in 127 AC, two years before the Dance of the Dragons.

[merlinsbbeard]

Ain't No Rest for the Sloshed @jilymicrofics Prongs Party 2023. Prompts: party and alcohol, words: 547. Gifted to @uncertainwallflower.

If nothing else, Gryffindor knew how to throw a party. 

The twenty-seventh of March brought platters of ham, cheese, and pickle relish sandwiches, an enchanted record player, and clinks of Witch’s Brew bottles to the common room.

Remus had set an informal—yet persuasive—early curfew for the younger students. He chased the last of them out before the hands on the mantle touched eight; the party was at full bore by nine, and by ten James was firmly on his way to sloshed. 

“Hab birthday, mate.” A drunk hand clapped him on the shoulder. It belonged to Julius Burton in the year above him. James hadn’t had much interaction with him beyond these types of gatherings, where Julius usually ended up asleep under the coffee table. 

“Thanks,” James said, and he was offered another drink. 

He took it. Swigged it. Shuddered. The alcohol set his throat aglow and spun the room—alive with bodies and music. 

“Oi, Prongsy-poo.” Sirius appeared at his shoulder. 

“Pads! I was about to send a search party,” James jibed. Swig.

“Just had to take Wormy up for a spew; those stairs are a mare.” 

They both regarded Peter for a moment. He was teetering on the back of an armchair, his father’s blue tie—‘borrowed’ three years ago and never returned—up around his forehead. Remus, whose feet were on the floor, was failing to talk him out of crowd surfing. 

Sirius sent Peter two thumbs up. James took a swig. 

On the makeshift dance floor, a crowd was dancing and singing along badly to the Seven Sons of Zeus LP. Lily hovered at the frayed edges of the mob, left hand clutching her goblet. 

Swig. “Be right back, Pads.” 

James made his way towards her, dodging the odd flailing limb. 

Her eyes caught sight of him and she smiled hello. “Potter. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi—er—Evans. You think?”

The engorged painting of James’ face stared at them from the ceiling ironically. 

She laughed. “Good party.” 

“Thank you, I mean the boys pretty much organised it, so…” he trailed off. 

Lily smiled, lifting her goblet a little closer to her painted lips, eyeing the crowd in front. 

Swig. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” She broke the stalemate. 

James had felt like a broken record stuck in a loop all day. Thank you, thank you, thank you. His furry mind couldn’t think of anything better to say. “Thank you.” 

“Yooou’re welcome.”

James now noticed her slurred speech and slow-blinking eyes. Her rosy complexion, and her goblet that would spill any second, staining the carpet with purple. 

She was standing quite close to him. Closer than normal; close enough for his heart to flutter, his cheeks to rouge, and—

“Lily.” Mary popped up in front of them. “Hi—Potter, happy birthday—Lily, I need you this instant.” 

“MacDonald.” James tipped his goblet at her in acknowledgement. “See you ‘round,” he said to Lily.

“See you—” she managed to get out before she disappeared into the crowd, Mary dragging her by her elbow. 

“Now that—” Remus, who had shown up Merlin-knows-when, made his presence known, “—was a spectacular fail to watch.” 

“Glad you enjoyed the show,” James drawled. He took another swig, and the pair surrendered themselves to the party once more.

read on AO3

[draguta]

.a court of ash and smoke | character profiles.

🩸 read a court of ash and smoke here 🩸

🩸 Y/N 🩸

Y/N stumbles into the Spring Court from pure chance, or is it fate that leads her to the wall and the rolling hills of Tamlin's lands? Taken in by the High Lord and treated as his sister, everything changes when she is taken Under the Mountain and brought before Amarantha, who forces her to service her court members for no other reason but to anger Tamlin. But when Y/N finds herself in possession of a dark and unruly magic, she must decide whether to let that magic consume her completely in order to protect those she loves, or whether she should learn to control it, even if it means betraying everyone she holds dear, including Lucien, the only male that showed her any kindness Under the Mountain.

🩸 Lucien Vanserra 🩸

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court, emissary to the Spring Court, trusted advisor to High Lord Tamlin. As the courts of Prythian begin to fall to the reign of Amarantha, self-titled High Queen, Lucien must protect Y/N at all costs, even if it means losing the trust of his closest friend. But when that protection becomes more than a simple task, but rather something close to caring, even for the female he had once resented so much, how will he be able to ensure her safety Under the Mountain? Especially when Amarantha seems so insistent on using them against each other.

🩸 Tamlin 🩸

Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court; sweet and caring, in the beginning. When he finds Y/N wandering around on his grounds, injured and scared, he takes her in and cares for her like his sister. But when Y/N is taken Under the Mountain, Tamlin must learn to set aside his own priorities in order to help her as best he can. When Feyre is captured, Tamlin is forced to learn how to accept the torture that he sees before him, but will it change him forever in the darkest of ways?

🩸 Rhysand 🩸

Trapped Under the Mountain at Amarantha's will for fifty years, Rhysand finally sees hope in the arrival of two mortal females: Y/N and Feyre. But with Amarantha's dastardly plan brewing, will Rhysand be able to help the females, and allow them to see him without the mask of villain that he's been wearing for so long? Or will the wicked ways that he has been forced to follow for so many decades begin to rub off on him?

🩸 Feyre Archeron 🩸

Caught up in Amarantha's terrible scheme, Feyre finds herself trapped Under the Mountain, providing the Spring Court and all of Amarantha's other prisoners their only possible chance at escape. Will she be able to figure out Amarantha's riddle and complete her trials in order to save those she loves? Or will her own darkness and trauma overcome her and leave her broken?

🩸 Amarantha 🩸

Amarantha, self-titled High Queen of Prythian, holds an unyielding hatred for mortals and humans alike. When two seemingly stumble Under the Mountain and into her court, she sees them as nothing more than pawns to use in her wicked games. Will she be defeated? Will these two mortals find a way to overthrow her power and protect those that she threatened and trapped - those that they love?

[once-was-muses]

Quick guide to (some of) Antonio's relatives

The Angels are genderless but use masculine pronouns (except for Rafael, they use neutral pronouns only.) Cassiel is Antonio's grandfather, Avokadus is Antonio's older half-brother, and the rest are Cassiel's siblings.

Cassiel

The Archangel of Temperance, Speed, Tears, Solitude, and Duality. The first of God's original trio of angels. Unlike his younger siblings, Cassiel stayed close to their Creator, learning from Them and overseeing Their creation of yet more angels. He was there when Samael whispered the first lie, when Azrael stole a piece of Heaven, when the first Falls happened, so on and so forth. Over time, Cassiel drew further into himself, standing watch without really seeing as things continued to spiral, much like his Creator. In an attempt to feel something, he copied God's actions and created an angel himself, his own child. However, this child was different from his siblings, and spent much of their time on Earth rather than Heaven. This peculiar angel ultimately had two sons, Avokadus and later Antonio. But Cassiel's withdrawn complacency continued- Until the essence of his creation returned to him damaged, just shreds of what they once were and as dead as a celestial thing can be. With some poking through the remnants, Cassiel began to suspect an upheaval occurring in Hell, possibly a plan of revolt. He took it upon himself to bring his two grandsons together and guide them in putting a stop to the potential war before it even started.

Azreal Death

Once an Archangel, the second of the original three, he was much more concerned with responsibility and purpose than his siblings. He aided in the creation of humanity, and thus charged with the ends of their lives; when one died, it's Death that would ease the transition. But Death was ostracized by his siblings for the duties given to him by their Creator, whispers of malicious intent spreading from fearful lips. Independent of his sibling Samael, Death left Heaven on his own and later created himself three younger "brothers" to help him; first Pestilence, then Famine, then War. Despite his bitterness and resentment for his family, Death holds no ill will towards humans, instead employing the same compassion and comfort in his guiding as he always has- if a bit more stiff and stony nowadays.

Samael Lucifer

The youngest of the original trio of angels, and seemingly the most favored. While his older siblings kept mostly to themselves, Lucifer buzzed around the Earth and Heavens, investigating every single thing in existence. He inquired about each of them as well, entertaining their Creator. But as more angel were made, the less attention and clear expressions of love he got from Them. When humans were at last created, in Their image no less, Lucifer expressed his displeasure by telling a younger angel their Creator intended to replace them. He convinced a fair number that Azrael had been chosen to cull them when the time came, and that they had no chance at survival but to rebel with him, leading to the Falls. After this, Lucifer appointed six of his fallen brethren as princes, himself their seventh and leader. However, he has since disappeared from his throne, no sign of him being found anywhere...

Uriel

Archangel of Wisdom, Patience, Retribution, Clarity, and Secrets. He was amongst the second, far larger group of angels created after Cassiel, Azrael, and Samael. Ever shrewd and keenly observant, it was Uriel that warned his siblings against the manipulative lies of the trio's youngest and reported the brewing rebellion. He was also the only sibling Azrael directly attacked before defecting, temporarily blinding the otherwise astute sentry so as to escape with a stolen piece of Heaven. Furthermore, Uriel confirmed the infernal element in the murder of Cassiel's child, and informed him where to find his grandsons.

Raphael

Archangel of Mercy, Justice, Healing, Kindness, Hope, and Insanity. Ever since the Falls, Raphael has avoided Heaven as much as they can manage, choosing instead to walk the Earth in the guise of humankind. As such, much of their connection with their siblings and Creator have diminished; though they retain their abilities of miracles, only an omnipotent thing could determine their celestial nature without them divulging their identity. This is just as well, as they quite prefer not being recognized.

Pestilence

Death's first "brother," he possesses the arrogance of an older sibling, the desire for attention of a younger sibling, and the volatile sense of inferiority of a middle child. The scent of smoke hangs in the air around him like a cloak, some form of nicotine on him at all times- even immortal beings aren't immune to addictions. He's unpredictable, constantly evolving, more wicked than any serpent to ever slither the Earth. While he was created to help Death usher souls along to the afterlife, Pestilence has developed a taste for extinguishing human life himself, War and Famine following his example. But whereas his younger brothers are content to senselessly ravage whole areas, Pestilence much prefers to play with his prey, schmoozing many and using them to unknowingly spread his many creations.

Avokadus

With Antonio's mother being his as well, Avokadus is an angel halfbreed himself- only his other parent is an unidentified Prince of Hell. Six of the Seven Princes have tormented him with claims that they're his sire, but he staunchly refuses to believe any of them, rather suspecting the silent Lucifer. His mother kept hin isolated from the other angels for the first couple centuries of his life, until a demon- magcked into and out of Heaven- tore her to shreds. Avokadus greatly struggles with teamwork, and often butts heads with his younger half-brother, but he also considers he and Cassiel to be the only real family he has. As such, he's fiercely loyal to them- even if he shows it in questionable ways.

[jadenoryuu]

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#danielle meanwhile has never actually experienced the holidays before so shes having a blast making her excitement everyone elses problem

I miei post migliori nel 2022:

#5

Today with Grafaiai. (◉ w ◉)

(I still need to check the tag, but since Devil works fast but fanartists work faster, I'm confident that there already are. (≧∇≦) )

67 note - Postate 2 settembre 2022

#4

Asking for a friend:

If Danny was bitten by a radioactive spider (and so didn't get any ghost powers), what would his hero name be?

Because I can't vision him using "Spiderman". 🤔🤔

86 note - Postate 18 gennaio 2022

#3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types, DCU Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Bruce Wayne Characters: Danny Fenton, Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), Clark Kent, Guardians of the Universe (DCU), Arthur Curry (DCU), Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Mention of Freakshow, Batfamily (DCU), Batcave (DCU), Biological Parent Bruce Wayne, Fertility Clinic, Family Fluff, father-son bonding, ghost prince Danny, Green Lantern Rings (DCU), Episode: s02e19-20 Reality Trip, (mentioned) - Freeform, Attempt at Humor, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 6 of The Dragon's Danuary Xover 2022 Summary:

When Danny popped up unannounced at the Wayne Manor, Bruce knew that trouble was brewing at the horizon. What he couldn't have imagined was that his second youngest child would bring along something that would put the boy on the radar of an immortal alien race. Bruce Wayne was still learning "how to dad" a little more each day, but if they called him, he would always answer.

@amorpho I was almost late! Pokémon Legends: Arceus came out and along with my job, they made me lose the sense of time... (╥﹏╥)

(This is also why Danuary Seventh Day will be also delayed, I'm still a bit behind with that...)

Anyway, this one-shot heavily leaned on the prompt of this post (shout out to @five-rivers for reblogging it, making me remember the original idea and also salvage this crossover with their addition), but I definitely had fun with this story!

Maybe one day, after I read the Batfam webcomic, I could continue this, what do you think?

Wish me good luck for tomorrow, my Muse needs some prodding!

(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

97 note - Postate 28 gennaio 2022

#2

So here I am, bored out of my mind at work, and my brain travels across the ether of zoning out...

And a Crossover idea stuck!

So, do you Phans remember that animated movie that came out in 2009 called "Astroboy"?

[I mean this one.]

It was my first contact with the Astro Boy series and while I never explored the latter further, the movie amazed me and made me care (read: fear, empathize and ache) for the protagonist in ways that any other movie couldn't along with the first "How to Train your Dragon". (That's an accomplishment since after reading/watching many things I unfortunately became somewhat desensitized to plots in general. (╥﹏╥))

That being said, let's get back to the topic:

You all know how the movie premise is that Astro is the robotic replica of Toby, the professor's dead son?

What if we spin a bit of Phandom in it? <(꒪꒳꒪)>

There could be three ways to do this:

The first two have more or less the same trope = (post-movie) Natural Portal Shenanigans make either Danny or Astro cross dimension and Astro has Toby's ghost following him along for fun and only Danny can see him because he's an halfa.

The third take is the Fusion AU =

Danny as Toby dies in the same canonical accident, but the two cores instead of blue and red are green and pink/magenta ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°).

Phantom as Astro. In this Danny and Phantom are two different persons, but instead of "normal" superpowers/weapons, he's half-robot/half-ectoplasm entity (it's different than being a ghost, I still stan that ghosts are the post-mortem manifestation of the deceased's soul and you can pry this from my specter's cold hands) (Meaning: Phantom is not Danny's ghost in this).

Jack and Maddie as Dr. Tenma. They form an amazing team and something so trivial as an absentee single parent in Astro Boy canon won't stop me.

Frostbite as Dr. Elefun. I contemplated briefly Clockwork for this part, but the "supportive wise mentor" fit better with our favorite Yeti than with our cryptid stopwatch, not counting that he has already medical and technological knowledge in DP.

Jazz as Orrin (the robot housekeeper)? This one doesn't fit as well as the rest of the cast, so maybe there's no Jazz or she's in another city as studying-abroad-big-sister.

Sam as Cora. Rebellious girl with wealthy parents, who fights for her rights? Sign her in. (Not counting the teased romance between her and Astro/Phantom, that's only a plus.)

Tucker as "himself" (AKA not any particular role, just one of the orphans of the Surface). Techno-Geek that repairs robots for the Robot Fights and bonds spectacularly with Phantom.

Dani as ZOG. I know it's strange, but hear me out: ZOG was revived by Astro's core and it still keeps part of that energy, making it virtually both Astro's sibling and child! Ring a bell? Plus ZOG is a little shit when it's able to, so it's only a natural decision, really! (≧∇≦)

Cujo as Trashcan. Yep, the trashcan dog deserves the puppy counterpart.

Now that should be everyone! ...Or should it? Oh! Right! The Villains:

Freakshow as Hamegg. Who would be a better showman/ringleader than the insane circus owner who controls robots ghosts?

Vlad Masters as President Stone. Of course it was going to be him. Old friend of the protagonist's father? Check. Power hungry? Check. Wants the protagonist for one of his machinations? Triple check.

Plasmius as Peacekeeper. Pink/Magenta core explained! Who would have thought about that? (≧∇≦)

Skulker as General Heckler. Vlad's second in command and enforcer of his commands, it feels only natural.

There are so many other characters to assign, though at the moment I can't come up with what to do with the robot trio of the Robot Revolutionary Front or Valerie Gray, but this discourse made me want to re-watch the movie, so I'll probably add something tomorrow.

What do you Phans think? Is this worth considering for Danuary? (≧∇≦)

109 note - Postate 13 gennaio 2022

Il mio post numero 1 del 2022

You know what?

Here it's half-past midnight of April 3rd.

I'll cross-stitch your Danno.

473 note - Postate 3 aprile 2022

Guarda ora l'Analisi del tuo anno 2022 di Tumblr →

[lyrics365]

Bad Boy Boogie

On the day I was born the rain fell down There was trouble brewing in my home town It was the seventh day, I was the seventh son And it scared the hell out of everyone They said stop, I said go They said fast, I said slow They said yes, I said no I do the bad boy boogie Being a bad boy ain’t that bad I’ve had me more dirty women than most men ever had All you women come along with me And I’ll…

[petnews2day]

Seventh Son Brewing Co. seeks community support for “Assistant Manager Cat’s” cancer treatment

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/GeEuk

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See full article at https://petn.ws/GeEuk #CatsNews

[who-is-muses]

Quick guide to (some of) Antonio's relatives

The Angels are genderless but use masculine pronouns (except for Rafael, they use neutral pronouns only.) Cassiel is Antonio's grandfather, Avokadus is Antonio's older half-brother, and the rest are Cassiel's siblings.

Cassiel

The Archangel of Temperance, Speed, Tears, Solitude, and Duality. The first of God's original trio of angels. Unlike his younger siblings, Cassiel stayed close to their Creator, learning from Them and overseeing Their creation of yet more angels. He was there when Samael whispered the first lie, when Azrael stole a piece of Heaven, when the first Falls happened, so on and so forth. Over time, Cassiel drew further into himself, standing watch without really seeing as things continued to spiral, much like his Creator. In an attempt to feel something, he copied God's actions and created an angel himself, his own child. However, this child was different from his siblings, and spent much of their time on Earth rather than Heaven. This peculiar angel ultimately had two sons, Avokadus and later Antonio. But Cassiel's withdrawn complacency continued- Until the essence of his creation returned to him damaged, just shreds of what they once were and as dead as a celestial thing can be. With some poking through the remnants, Cassiel began to suspect an upheaval occurring in Hell, possibly a plan of revolt. He took it upon himself to bring his two grandsons together and guide them in putting a stop to the potential war before it even started.

Azreal Death

Once an Archangel, the second of the original three, he was much more concerned with responsibility and purpose than his siblings. He aided in the creation of humanity, and thus charged with the ends of their lives; when one died, it's Death that would ease the transition. But Death was ostracized by his siblings for the duties given to him by their Creator, whispers of malicious intent spreading from fearful lips. Independent of his sibling Samael, Death left Heaven on his own and later created himself three younger "brothers" to help him; first Pestilence, then Famine, then War. Despite his bitterness and resentment for his family, Death holds no ill will towards humans, instead employing the same compassion and comfort in his guiding as he always has- if a bit more stiff and stony nowadays.

Samael Lucifer

The youngest of the original trio of angels, and seemingly the most favored. While his older siblings kept mostly to themselves, Lucifer buzzed around the Earth and Heavens, investigating every single thing in existence. He inquired about each of them as well, entertaining their Creator. But as more angel were made, the less attention and clear expressions of love he got from Them. When humans were at last created, in Their image no less, Lucifer expressed his displeasure by telling a younger angel their Creator intended to replace them. He convinced a fair number that Azrael had been chosen to cull them when the time came, and that they had no chance at survival but to rebel with him, leading to the Falls. After this, Lucifer appointed six of his fallen brethren as princes, himself their seventh and leader. However, he has since disappeared from his throne, no sign of him being found anywhere...

Uriel

Archangel of Wisdom, Patience, Retribution, Clarity, and Secrets. He was amongst the second, far larger group of angels created after Cassiel, Azrael, and Samael. Ever shrewd and keenly observant, it was Uriel that warned his siblings against the manipulative lies of the trio's youngest and reported the brewing rebellion. He was also the only sibling Azrael directly attacked before defecting, temporarily blinding the otherwise astute sentry so as to escape with a stolen piece of Heaven. Furthermore, Uriel confirmed the infernal element in the murder of Cassiel's child, and informed him where to find his grandsons.

Archangel of Mercy, Justice, Healing, Kindness, Hope, and Insanity. Ever since the Falls, Raphael has avoided Heaven as much as they can manage, choosing instead to walk the Earth in the guise of humankind. As such, much of their connection with their siblings and Creator have diminished; though they retain their abilities of miracles, only an omnipotent thing could determine their celestial nature without them divulging their identity. This is just as well, as they quite prefer not being recognized.

Pestilence

Death's first "brother," he possesses the arrogance of an older sibling, the desire for attention of a younger sibling, and the volatile sense of inferiority of a middle child. The scent of smoke hangs in the air around him like a cloak, some form of nicotine on him at all times- even immortal beings aren't immune to addictions. He's unpredictable, constantly evolving, more wicked than any serpent to ever slither the Earth. While he was created to help Death usher souls along to the afterlife, Pestilence has developed a taste for extinguishing human life himself, War and Famine following his example. But whereas his younger brothers are content to senselessly ravage whole areas, Pestilence much prefers to play with his prey, schmoozing many and using them to unknowingly spread his many creations.

Avokadus

With Antonio's mother being his as well, Avokadus is an angel halfbreed himself- only his other parent is an unidentified Prince of Hell. Six of the Seven Princes have tormented him with claims that they're his sire, but he staunchly refuses to believe any of them, rather suspecting the silent Lucifer. His mother kept hin isolated from the other angels for the first couple centuries of his life, until a demon- magcked into and out of Heaven- tore her to shreds. Avokadus greatly struggles with teamwork, and often butts heads with his younger half-brother, but he also considers he and Cassiel to be the only real family he has. As such, he's fiercely loyal to them- even if he shows it in questionable ways.

[craffbeertimes]

Review of Proliferous Beer by Seventh Son Brewing #craftbeer #beer

[nijjhar]

The noble sons of the Noble Abraham would not spit at the stranger but t... The noble sons of the Noble Abraham would not spit at the stranger but the "Saltless" Tares would. Video link https://youtu.be/7HNMGI91Pnk Predictions based upon the Chosen People of Yahweh. Matt 13v24-30 is getting fulfilled. Tares would be burnt. https://youtu.be/xCP4_8JQ2ws PREDICTION BASED UPON THE "CHOSEN PEOPLE" OF THE DEMIURGE YAHWEH, BRAHMA, KHUDA, ETC. By Chaudhry Rajinder Nijjhar of the Jatt tribe M.Sc., Retired Senior Lecturer in Metallurgy, KNUST, Kumasi, Ghana, West Africa. We are very lucky to have a demonstration nation of Priests, the moral teachers, through whom we learn all the moral laws. Abram was of the Semitic race and was loved by both the black Negros and the white Aryans people and he, a Nobel Man, was picked up from the Iraq area, the cradle of humanity to settle in the Middle East as Adam, Sarah as Eve and Yahweh gave them the "Promised Land" as the Garden of Eden. So far, the generations of Abraham remained faithful to Abraham and Yahweh, the sons of Man called "Salt of the earth", they enjoyed the best fruit of the earth whilst when they had become liars and murderers, John 8v44, then the same land became barren and the unfaithful "Saltless" people were kicked out of the Promised Land called exodus remembered as "Sukkot" in which they had to leave for a foreign land (Egypt, the land of the faithful Elder son of Abraham, Ishmael) as "slaves". Jesus told this story in the Parable of the Prodigal son Isaac and how they suffered under the cruel Pheroh and Moses, the First Prophet liberated them as the repentant faithful sons of Abraham in which case, there was no more "rift" among the brethren as Moses had made them faithful to Abraham, Father bof the Faithful sons", creating "Eros, the tribal love" among them called the snakes (rifts) were lifted up in the wilderness. But this trait of the Jewish patriarchs did not vanish but became stronger at the times of Christ Jesus depicted in the "Crucification of the Most Righteous Person Jesus" by these thorough "Saltless" people on earth called the "Tares", trouble makers and their fate is foretold by Christ Jesus in the Parable of the Farmer, Yahweh, Matt 13v24-30 when the End of this Dark Age called "Kalyug" comes, I will bundle up the Tares in Israel and burn them yjrough the Atomic War expected on 14/11/2023 wjen Israel is 75 plus six months of intensive war in the name of Yahweh whilst in the Seventh Month, the Middle Candle of Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc. represented by all merciful Christ Jesus, the ATOMIC WAR in which the faithful tribal sons, Wheat Plants, that are found in Africa and the Brazillian jungles will survive. The Cycle of the Four Ages is represented by Swastika. Much more in my Youtube Videos; channel One God One Faith. All this you learn through "intuition" taught not by the humans but by God within you if you are not greedy but contented with your lot. The "Blood Money" as depicted by the Temple High Priest and his stooges especially the American Jews controlling Mammon and Media belongs to the sons of most High Satan Al-Djmar Al-Aksa who will vanish from the planet earth leaving the 144000 tribal people to enjoy the fruits of the earth. Finally, let us Glorify our Supernatural Father of our supernatural "soul" Elohim, Allah, ParBrahm, etc. by Eating the flesh of Jesus and His Second coming "Christ = Satguru Nanak", "His Word" Preached by them by lending our ears, Mouth, and take it to our heart, the Stomach and digest it by the teeth of "Logical reasoning" to Brew "Logo" and Preach it from the Rooftops called Drinking the Blood of Christ within our own heart called the "Innerman" and not the inner woman, the Disciples of Pope, Rabbis, hireling Dog-Collared Priests working for Mammon and not God that deliver the sugar-coated sermons of falsehoods far sweeter than honey that creates sectarian riots such as Catholics and Protestants. Jesus established the Church of God, One Fold, the Fellowship of the Royal Priests, headed by One Shepherd, the unbiased like the little children Christ Jesus and His Second Coming Christ = Satguru Nanak. A typical example of the Church of Satan is the Church of England headed by King Charles whose soldiers are not like the serving ones of the Salvation Army but the killers and looters. Brethren, wake up from your SLUMBER. Greatest Blasphemers and Killers Blair and Bush:- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qHdTpTXHvE&list=PL0C8AFaJhsWz7HtQEhV91eAKugUw73PW1 Blair and Bush’s blasphemies against Holy Spirit   https://youtu.be/0WBYOmpDuCs Shoe throwing at Bush by the Soldier of God Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc., a HERO. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bush_shoeing_incident#:~:text=%22Arab%20moment%E2%80%9D.-,Event,Bush. This is America - Israel in Disguise:- Grim American Jewish Reaper waving sickle to kill more in Venezuela as they did in Iraq, Libya, Syria, Ukraine, etc. www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/GrimReaper.htm   Beware of these robed people. Trinity:- www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/trinity.pdf

[ravenloftian]

The Madman Strikes!

November 14, Y356 (Game session 9/9/2023)

In the eerie darkness of Marais d'Tarascon, the adventurers embark on a journey that tests their mettle. Their quest begins within the ominous Tarascon manor. As they cross the threshold, they are met by a nauseating tableau of the dismembered and half-eaten body parts of murdered villagers.

Despite the revulsion that claws at their senses, the party steels themselves, lights some candles, and ventures deeper into the house.

They explore the dining room, parlor, and sitting room on the first floor. They are confronted by wealth and privilege everywhere they look–lavish tapestries, silverware, statues, brass candelabras, marble statues, oil paintings, and finery.

Valderiu grabs the large silver carving knife used by the ghoulish servants to carve up their human victims. Silver has magical properties, after all.

A set of pocket doors in the sitting room reveal stairs to the second floor. Upstairs, they find three bedrooms and a locked door at the end of the hall. The largest and most luxurious room is in good order with a resplendent four-poster canopied bed and a massive wooden dresser. The second bedroom is in disarray, with scattered clothing, muddy footprints, smashed mirrors, and unemptied chamber pots. The smallest bedroom is modest, with a single wooden bed and a locked footlocker.

Marcus kicks in the locked door at the end of the hall and sends it careening into a well-appointed study. The party thoroughly searches the desk drawers and the bookcases for any clue that will help them solve the whereabouts of the master of the house, Jean d' Tarascon. Percival discovers a trove of books–leather-bound classics, histories, travel journals, farming, and financial logs.

Frustrated, the paladins head back to Luc's room and force open the chest. While examining its contents, they hear a noise from the study and discover that a candelabra has been tipped over, causing a stack of papers on the desk to catch fire.

As the party douses the flames, an unexpected draft coming from behind the bookcase raises their heckles.

Val rushes downstairs, hoping to intercept the intruder, only to fall victim to a ruthless ambush. Jean d' Tarascon emerges from the shadows and backstabs the paladin, bringing him to within an inch of his life. Upon hearing Val's agonized cries, Marcus and Percival hurry downstairs to aid him. Marcus leaps over the banister in a daring feat but falters, nearly tumbling. Desperate, Percival hurls a dagger into the melee, narrowly avoiding Val and striking the robed assassin. Close to death, Val charges with his shield but slips on a puddle of his own blood.

The confrontation with the maniac unfolds in close quarters, giving the attacker the upper hand, but eventually, he succumbs to Marcus' bestial strength. The paladin cleaves the man in two, ending his reign of terror. A search of Jean's body reveals a scrollcase containing the Scroll of Hyskosa, an elegant wooden walking stick, a dagger, and a pocket filled with red licorice candy.

The Scroll of Hyskosa Reads:

These signs were foreseen by Hyskosa, a Vistani most gifted with the Sight. Spread word of these wherever you travel. Only the true-hearted can to the fall of the night of evil.

The night of evil shall descend on the land When this hexad of signs is near at hand.

In the house of Daegon the sorcerer born Though life, unlife, unliving shall scorn.

The lifeless child of stern mother found Heralds a time, night of evil unbound.

Seventh time the son of suns doth rise To send the knave to an eternity of cries.

lnajira will make his fortunes reverse Dooming all to live with the dreaded curse.

The light of the sky shining over the dead Shall gutter and fail, turning all to red.

Amid the carnage, Shaman Brucian and Constable Gremin arrive on the scene. Brucian's divine healing saves Val from the brink of death.

As the party heads to the inn, the brewing tempest turns into a storm of supernatural proportions. Thunder rumbles, and lightning crashes, illuminating the night sky with eerie brilliance. Soon after, a deluge of foul rain descends upon Marais d'Tarascon, transforming its streets into treacherous quagmires.

In the safety of the inn's hearth, amidst the hushed whispers of terrified villagers, Luc cryptically reveals a message, "Look for the scroll where the old rest fine, behind the stone where six stars shine. The finding, however, will cause much pain; beware the time of the falling rain."

As the paladins indulge in ale and stew, Brucian says, "I have a story to tell you. I do not think the worst is over in Marais d'Tarascon. Several weeks ago, Jean brought Marcel to the church on a stormy night like this. Marcel was quite dead, torn apart by terrible claw marks. I retrieved a scroll from my small collection and attempted to raise poor Marcel,” Brucian continues, “but something went wrong. Marcel remained dead, and Jean cried out in anguish. He spirited away the corpse of his brother. That was the last I saw of Marcel and the last time I saw Jean alive.”

As they listen to Brucian, a villager drops dead by the fireplace, rising moments later as a zombie. Constable Gremin and Marcus dispatch the creature just as a man rushes into the common room. The farmer is soaked, breathless, and terrified.

“The dead are approaching Marais d'Tarascon!” he manages to say between shivers and coughs. “An army of the walking dead!” The villager succumbs to a racking fit of coughs, and all he can manage in response to questions is to point toward the eastern fields.

The party hurries to the edge of the village, where they witness dozens of zombies shambling through the rain-soaked fields. The constable rushes back to the inn to warn the townsfolk and fortify against the approaching menace while Brucian and the party head to the cemetery. Val's key grants them easy access, but his singing attracts the undead.

Brucian holds up his holy symbol and banishes three zombies in the name of Ezra, clearing the way.

Luc's cryptic verses lead them to a mausoleum adorned with six stars. Inside, an undead abomination with malevolent glowing eyes attacks. The undead creature is impervious to normal weapons, and the party soon realizes they must use magic against it. Val entrusts Marcus with his newly acquired magical sword as two more zombies emerge from the darkness.

Luc's lantern goes out amidst the rain and the chaos, sending him into a frenzy. Shaman Brucian tries to prevent him from hurting himself while attempting to relight the lantern.

After vanquishing the menace, Percival discovers a stone slab concealing a tunnel within the crypt. Wishing to avoid another claustrophobic combat, they close the tunnel and head for the ancient graveyard. Marcus shatters the rusty chains with immense strength, causing the creaky gates to swing open.

With resolve, the paladins prepare to confront the evil that lurks beyond.

Excellent roleplay, investigation, and combat! Everyone gets 1000 XP this session. Grats on surviving the madman!