#she does something in witch hunt right? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keeksandgigz · 8 months

Text

the witch hunt

eddie munson x witch!reader

part 2 of "the love witch"

Summary: You've been good about keeping your magic a secret from Eddie, much to your dismay, so diligent on hiding your true self. What happens when you leave your potion cabinet unattended, he drinks one of your concoctions and turns himself into stone, leaving you to turn him back, right in front of his eyes?

CW: 5k words, no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, eddie turns to stone, angsty angst angst but with a happy ending, witchy casts some serious spells in this one, mentions of witchy being depressed, eddie being a lovesick fool

thank u to my lovely @reidsbtch for beta reading I love u I love u I love u

Read part 1 here, Witchyverse masterpost here

feedback is always appreciated!

You've been good. You've been diligent. You've been following the rules of the coven.

To not share the gift with anyone, a secret kept under oath, hand over the binding of an old spell book, its surface course and rough, centuries of hands- young, old, powerful and weak, all part of the history of how that book came to be.

When you started dating Eddie, you were summoned, warned by your coven to keep the magic away from your human boyfriend, hidden under a veil of thin shame disguised as indifference.

And six months went by, then a year. You thought you were safe, you thought you'd gotten through the worst part of keeping the secret.

You deluded yourself. He loves you so much, there's no reason he would leave you, not even for a secret as big as yours. You've put protection spells around everything that involved actual magic in your house, the potion cabinet you kept in the hallways as decoration, the spell books hidden under a floorboard in your room.

Although he could not feel it, your apartment pulsated with raw magical energy in its purest form. You really thought you were safe.

A rainy November afternoon, you're tasked to bring some ingredients you've had stashed at your apartment to your aunt Hilda's house, a delivery from Janice- ingredients from Bulgaria, after your shift.

What surprises you about your aunt Hilda is that despite being a witch, she does not go unnoticed- living in one of the Painted Ladies house in the heart of San Francisco, all by herself and her cat, Arsenio.

She always invites you in for tea and a reading, so you step into her house, smelling of antique parchment, tea leaves and a mystical smell of pungent resin and wood, much different from your incense and dried flowers smell.

"I need to invite Janice over one of these days" she says in her veiled voice, pouring you a cup of jasmine tea.

"I don't know if she's going to be able to get out of Haight Ashbury, Aunt Hilda. She's like two- hundred years old or something" you laugh, rummaging through your bag for the delivery you visited your aunt for, placing the jars on the table.

She gasps in delight "You can't get those plants anywhere else, she must have paid a fortune for that blood from a vampire's fangs" she squeals, running to her cabinet to find a home for her new deliveries.

"How's your human, dear?" she asks from the kitchen, followed by clattering of glass and metal.

"Oh, Eddie's fine, he should be off work soon, maybe we'll do something after" you shrug, petting her cat, Arsenio, on your lap.

"And his handsome hunk of an uncle?" you roll your eyes at that.

"God, Aunt Hilda, gross" you groan, sinking in your seat.

"Let me know when he's back in town, I need to invite them both over one of these days, it might be nice. Shall we do a reading before I leave?" she sits back down at the small table and takes a sip of her tea, tarot cards in hand.

"Yeah, I'll ask him for his schedule" you finish your tea "Let me do a one card pull, I need to get home"

"You know, dear, you've been awfully nervous lately- so jumpy" She says, as she shuffles the laminated cards for what feels like forever,

"I'm okay, Aunt Hilda, just stressed with work" you lie, exhaling with anticipation as her wrinkled hand holds the deck. Your aunt's readings have always made you nervous.

You'd been jumpy for a while, the thought of Eddie finding out had been making you nervous, but you wouldn't dare to tell your aunt that.

She offers the deck to you, you pick a card and then give it to her. A gasp escapes her upon looking at it.

A panic rises through your body "What? What is it?" you ask, your bag already across your shoulder, holding on to its strap.

"The Tower" she mutters, destruction, unexpected change, awakening.

A shiver runs down your spine, one by one your vertebrae straighten "I just had a really bad feeling, dear. I would check in on your human boy" she places a hand on her temple, heart racing as you bolt out of your seat and leave.

On the train, panic settles in, wondering if Eddie was somehow connected to this.

A call startles you. It's him.

You tremble when nearing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, witchy, I'm at your house- I used the spare key. I just called 'cause I had a question" he says, voice dubious and vague.

"What is it, Ed? I'm on my way home"

"I was just wondering if it's normal that the cabinet in your hallway is open? I had to stop Circe from getting into it a couple times" you hear a meowing in the background, he must be holding her.

"What cabinet?" you feel your chest rise and fall at an incredibly fast pace.

"The one with the wilted flowers on them, it has a bunch of bottles. Are- are these fake potions?" There's an amused lilt in his voice, almost as if he's laughing at you. Fuck. The potion cabinet.

"Eddie don't touch anything, I'm literally here" your alarmed tone freaks him out, but he has no time to say anything as you hang up and enter your apartment building.

You run up the stairs, heart in your throat, as you reach your front door and slam it open. Eddie's head swings violently.

"Hey, witchy, what's wrong?" he stands up from the cabinet, holding Circe on one arm. You're heaving, irregular breaths, as you see he's still standing, alive, and breathing.

You close the door. "You didn't touch anything in there, did you?" you run towards the open cabinet, checking for missing bottles.

"Witchy, honey, I don't get why you're so jumpy about a couple of fake potions, they would actually be really useful for DnD" Eddie chuckles, reaching into the cabinet to grab a bottle, observing it up close. A greyish- blue liquid swirls inside the bottle.

"Eddie! Put it back! It's dangerous!" you exclaim as you reach for the bottle, but he's blocking you.

"Baby, I think you might be getting a little too carried away with this witchy stuff. There's no way you should be reacting like this over some water and dye" he swirls the bottle once again "I'll even drink it, show you it's not actually that dangerous"

A smug smile adorns his lips, as you watch helplessly while he uncorks the small vial and downs its content.

“EDDIE NO” You aren’t even sure what it is, which makes a panic set into your stomach, hoping you could reverse whatever he ingested.

“No, no, no, no, what have you done?” your head encapsulated in your hands, feeling the beady sweat on your hairline, falling to your knees with the realization. You’re going to have to tell him.

“See? Not dangerous, baby. I love you, but you need to do something about this obsession, it’s getting out of hand” he sighs “I’m hungry i’m gonna get some food” but before he can even take a step, the rumbling of stone fills the room.

You grab the empty glass vial and examine its label. Shit. He turned himself to stone.

In a panic, he looks at you.

“Witchy, what’s going on?” his eyes dart from you to his frozen legs, the stone spreading itself upward quickly “Witch-what- is that stone?” He goes still after that.

A statue. His cold, grey eyes staring up at you in a panic.

Tears brimming your eyes at the sudden realization that once you turn him back to normal he’s going to know.

His hands feel cold at the touch as you cling on to your boyfriend’s statued form. Mouth agape, eyebrows pinched in fear, it hurt you to see him like this. You were going to lose it all because of a dumb mistake.

A desperate scream bubbles inside your chest as you hold yourself flush against Eddie’s cold surface, wishing his arms could hug you back, having to come to terms with the fact that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see him in your home. You won’t ever get to hold him again.

Weak and teary- eyed you reach for your phone, wiping under your eyes as you try to stabilize yourself.

“Hello, dear?” aunt Hilda says through the phone.

“Aunt Hilda I made a really terrible mistake” you sob, shoulders shaking with the violence of your hiccups.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” the concern is palpable through her voice.

“I left- left my potion cabinet open and Eddie-” another string of violent sobs follow, rumbled deep in your chest, shaking you to your very core.

“What happened to Eddie?” The question is cautious, though unfortunately you could feel the alarm and sternness in her voice.

“He turned to stone” you sigh, exasperated, letting yourself sink into the sofa.

“Stone? How did a human man turn to stone?” ever the help, your aunt exclaims.

A dramatic exhale you feel like you’ve been holding onto “I left my potion cabinet open and he- and he has a spare key” you sob- all your fault for letting your guard down, all your fault for letting yourself care for him so mindlessly.

“He got into it thinking they were all fake, I tried to- to stop him” a siffle stops you “he was trying to be funny” a string of sobs followed, unable to speak any longer.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Hilda says, amidst your inconsolable sobs “you know how to reverse this” her voice is stern, yet shaky, she feels for you, having to let your love go.

“The mirror” you mumble.

“That’s right, get a mirror- circle of reflection, circle of protection” she reminds you “repeat those words, he’ll be okay, dear” you can tell that she is hurting, breaking the law of your coven, making you face consequences you haven't even thought of.

Would you be losing your power? Would you have to move away from him? In hindsight that would be a blessing, as you doubt he would want to stay, now that your secret is uncovered.

Hilda hangs up the phone as you scramble to get a mirror, and smear salt over his heart. Trying to reverse the spell that might have broken it.

The mirror faces your boyfriend, his features grey and scared- the last time you’ll ever see him in this lifetime.

Circle of reflection, circle of protection

The hand that is not holding the mirror is clutched on tightly to his chest, as you keep repeating the words.

The sound of rubble breaking makes your heart wrench, selfishly wanting him to stay a statue for a little longer, so you won’t have to say goodbye to him just yet, but the stone armor sheds, and his eyes are brown instead of dull and grey, and his arms move, as well as his mouth, closing in itself, breathing as if he’s come to life for the first time.

He rubs his eyes first, drowsy, like waking up from a one- hundred year old slumber. He looks around the room, it’s familiar to him, the smell of incense that was there, and then it wasn’t, blocked by the earthy smell of rubble and earth.

“What happened?” he mumbles, shaking his stiff limbs, kicking the broken suit of stone armor at his feet, your hand still on his heart “Witchy?”

His eyes are blown wide, memories of what had happened an hour before coming to the surface. The same panicked look adorns his face.

“The potion- it wasn’t” he begins, as you move your hand off of his body, much to your heart’s dismay. You shake your head.

“It wasn’t fake. None of them are fake” you mutter, staring at the floor, not even daring to look at him. There’s a quiet tension, an almost awkward silence, charged with pain and heartbreak, as Eddie realizes what you mean by ‘not fake.’

“And you brought me back from whatever I turned into” he breathes.

You just nod, head fixated on the floorboards and the rubble surrounding his feet.

“Does that make you-” he gulps. Can’t even bring himself to say it.

“A witch” you mumble under your breath “a real one,” your gaze falls on his eyes, dilated and sad, as his eyebrows curve up, a line forming on the bridge of his nose.

There’s once again an unsettling quiet between you two, as he tries to wrap his head around the news.

His chest feels hollow, where your hand had been just moments before, an unrecognizable phantom pressing down on his heart, rubbing salt in a gashing wound, hoping it would ameliorate it, only to make it bleed more.

He takes a few steps back, watching his step over the rubble, breaking his silence after what feels like hours.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” it’s a mere mumble, but the question was clear, hurt, and a little scared, maybe.

“I swore under oath that I would keep it a secret” you purse your lips, taking a step forward. Your heart shatters when he takes a step back.

His chest is stilled, breath caught in his throat, hands at his sides as he scoffs.

“You swore you’d keep it a secret? Is that why you’ve been so jumpy lately? You knew I was bound to find out and you didn’t tell me?” his head is reeling, betrayal cuts through him like a knife as more and more of looking at you twists the dagger in his chest.

“I didn’t want you to find out, Ed. I promised to my coven-”

“Your coven? There’s more of you?” you can’t do anything else but swallow on the knot in your throat, scratching and engorging with every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth, and nod.

“And you let me drink the potion, God knows what it could have been” he trembles, a shaky breath escapes him.

“I tried to stop you, Eddie!” you reach for him, hanging on the feeble hope he’ll realize that you have never meant to hurt him in the first place.

“And- and what if you spelled me, huh? What if you spelled me to make me fall in love with you? Is my love for you not real?” that hurt you more than anything else he could have said, tears brimming your eyes, escaping from their confinement as they streak down your cheeks.

“I’ve never used my magic on you,” you admit, voice thick with salty tears “my love for you is real, as yours is. I never tampered with your heart, it’s not who I am” bottom lip jutted out and trembling, feeling on the teetering edge of the end.

“I don’t know who you are” a stab to the heart would have hurt less. “You’ve been lying to me for the past year about who you are. No wonder I was so in love with you, you made me fall in love with a person that doesn’t exist, you spelled me!” he’s trembling, you can see it in the way that his fists are balled up– something he does to stabilize himself whenever he’s upset.

And now he’s upset because of you.

“Eddie–” you take a step forward, he takes a step back.

“No. Don’t- don’t come closer.” tears well at the bottom of your lash line, as you watch him turn away, leave and close the door behind him. Words trapped at the bottom of your throat. Words you’ll never get to say again.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, staring at the doorknob, hoping that it might turn, revealing Eddie once again, ready for you to explain everything to him.

But the doorknob doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open, and Eddie doesn’t come back.

You refuse to sweep the rubble from the last time he was in your apartment, hoping that the smell of him stuck to the cold stone, but there’s nothing left of him in your space.

The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break, the life force of their power fades.

So within a short span of days, you notice yourself being weakened. Simple spells become a hard feat, as you can barely make things levitate, sitting in the darkness of your room.

Days begin to merge into themselves, as you get yourself to work, then home, then work, then home. A repeating cycle you don’t intend to stop. You leave around the back side of the store, to not let Eddie see you while he’s on his smoke break, blending into the crowded streets of what once seemed like the best place in the world.

Your aunt Hilda doesn’t hear from you, and neither does anyone else. You fall off the face of the earth, hoping that your hours never coincide with Eddie’s.

But you can feel it from next door, the pain and hurt that radiates from the record store. You feel it in the way he speaks to customers, in the way he sighs as he gets off his smoke break.

You hear him ask Janice about you, she tells him that she doesn’t know, that she hasn’t seen you in a while. Respecting your wishes to let him live his life in peace.

But he wasn’t living his life in peace. In fact, Eddie was miserable.

He was miserable in the way that everything reminded him of you, in the way that if he stepped too close to your store (to make sure you were working that day), he’d smell the rose incense you’d light at your house. The one he would smell on your clothes.

The crystals that sat on his windowsill were now tightly packed and shoved away on a far up shelf that he would not be reminded of you. He burned every trace of you, the taste of betrayal bitter in his throat as he sat on his couch every night, always on the left side, because you sat on the right. A place for you was always carved in his mind, whether it was unconscious or intentional.

The smell of your shampoo lingers in the pink bottles in his shower, in the silk pillow you always slept on when you went over to his house. A silk shirt you left on his bed, gingerly placed on his pillow as he lets your smell engulf him. That’s the only way he can sleep.

There’s a fear deeply setting in, that he might just never be able to get over you. Despite the lies and the secrets, he will never be able to not think about you, not when the smell of rose incense or the color pink exist, not when long skirts and crystals and tarot cards and brocade rugs exist. Not when you exist. Not when you keep walking the earth, sadness seeping in every crevice and every crack of his walls.

He knows he can’t go on like this. Not while you roam the same streets he roams, waiting for you to turn around. Look at me, witchy, look at me.

And you’re so sad. He can see it in your eyes, in the way you don’t carry yourself like you used to– shoulders slouched, dressed in black like you’re mourning the loss of your heart. Mourning the loss of your love.

He debates going back to Hawkins for a bit. Going back to live with his uncle– leave this new world behind, just until the air has been purified of you. Until he’s no longer thinking about the witchy girl who haunts his dreams at night. Go work where his friend Steve works at, shitty, dead- end job, just for a bit.

Confine himself to the life of a hermit, just so he can allow you to live in peace.

So he goes back to Hawkins, under the guise of going home for the holidays. He picks up whatever jobs his uncle can’t do anymore because of his age, driving the beat up yellow pick- up truck in and out of town.

“I never thought I’d see the day Munson would come crawling back” he’d hear a couple of people say on the street. He’s never gone unnoticed, but now more so than before– integrated in the San Francisco scene, he did anything but blend in. And he swears he sees you a few times, walking around downtown Hawkins, your hair, your clothes, your bag. Prancing around like your life is back to normal.

Could it have been a spell? Did you spell him to not make him forget about you?

But he knows it isn’t like you. Not malicious, not even as a witch, he assumes.

He keeps himself up at night thinking about you. You’d never use magic on him. With a sound mind, he tells himself that’s true. Your love for him is real. Is his love for you real? Shivering in the freezing temperature of his uncle’s trailer he’d ponder whether what you had was real or not.

Real.

He drives himself crazy, the thought of you plaguing his mind.

Even his uncle grows worried, the purple bags under his nephew’s eyes, all the books on witchcraft Eddie could find at the Hawkins local library sitting on his desk. Staying up to read on anything and everything that could help him.

And when that doesn’t work he goes on his uncle’s shitty wifi he never uses to research anything about witches, about magic, about you.

You don’t sense him anymore. Not through the walls, not in his sardonic laugh. It’s like he’d vanished into thin air.

You find yourself stepping into the record store after a shift, asking his shitty coworkers what happened to Eddie.

And you’re so weak. So tired, it is even a feat to be able to make it through one full shift standing up, finding a stool to sit on. You’ve paled, eyes dark and lifeless.

“He’s gone back home for the holidays” one of the assholes who made fun of you says “left you stranded here all by yourself? Or did he kick you to the curb?” he smirks, and the other idiot laughs. You make a mental note to hex them for good next time.

If you don’t die first.

Eddie comes back to San Francisco after the holidays, and it’s like he’s never left.

Union Square has taken off the tree and the ice skating rink– he wanted to take you there. He thought you’d be good at ice skating. You’re good at everything. Or maybe it’s because you’re magic.

The restaurant you went to on your first date has closed down. There’s a smile creeping on his face as he remembers you laughing because he couldn’t eat with chopsticks. He misses hearing you laugh. He misses seeing you smile.

The tiny twinkle, the stars in your eyes. The way he’d braid your hair at night. Petting Circe, nestled in between you two in your bed.

He sees you for the first time since he’s been back on the porch of your shop. His heart shrinks at the sight of you. Eyes sunken in, buried in layers and layers of woolen fabric, staring blankly at the street in front of you.

The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break, the life force of their power fades.

He remembers reading that in an old looking book during the holidays. He wrote it down in his notebook.

A love witch. Thrives on being loved and being in love.

Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered.

He sees it now.

He shows up to your house after talking himself into it for a week, with the excuse of returning a shirt. The same silk shirt he’d been sleeping on top of since he left you. He had it washed for you. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.

He knocks. Is it him or are his hands always that sweaty? Is his heart beating at a normal pace? Is his hair okay? And his breath? Oh shit, he has a zit on his chin.

“Go away Aunt Hilda!” he hears you say, grumpy and grouchy. The veiled sadness in your voice creates a rift between him and the door.

So he knocks. Again. And Again.

“Aunt Hilda I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, I don’t want– Eddie” A breath gets trapped in your diaphragm, feeling your heart start picking up its pace for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“Hi” he gives you a tight smile, the silk balled up in a fist, purple with little black swirls on it.

“Hi, um, I– what are you doing here? Do you wanna come in?” you slither like a worm, that’s how you feel. The boy you’ve been pining and crying and suffering for is here. Right in front of you.

You look so much more frail than he’d remembered “I uh–” he holds up the fabric “you left this at my house”

“Oh, thanks. That’s sweet of you” Your heart drops, you really thought he was going to make amends with you?

You extend your arm, so he can give the shirt to you. So he can be on his way and be gone forever.

Hands, fingers, knuckles. He misses holding your hand.

“I heard you went home for the holidays, how was that?” you lean on the doorframe, hands crossed on your chest.

“It was good, I just spent it with my uncle. He told me to tell you happy new year, uh— even though we’re not—” he shouldn’t have said the last part, he sees you sink into yourself, gazing down at the hardwood floor. His stomach twists.

“What did you do for the holidays?” he asks. He doesn’t want it to be over, not yet.

“I just stayed in, I’ve been pretty sick lately, flu season in full swing. I’ve just been—”

“Your heart’s broken, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been so sick?” your heart drops. How does he know all this?

He reads your puzzled expression “I um— did some research. That’s what I did most of my holidays. I just wanted to understand. I know you didn’t spell me, or whatever. You’re a love witch” he takes out a piece of paper, highlighted is a sentence, in light pink.

Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered.

Your head is reeling, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He spent his holidays researching you, your kind. He knows you didn’t lie to him.

Tears begin to spill onto the old parchment, the tears you haven’t shed in the past two months resurfacing, as you violently jerk and sob in front of him. You missed him.

Eddie quickly steps into your apartment and closes the door, enveloping you in a hug. And it feels good for your heart, a soothing balm for all the cracks and wounds it’s suffered.

“It’s okay, witchy, you can let it out” he says, as you continue to sob on his shoulder. Soft shushing sounds as he caresses your hair “Shhh…shhh… I’ve got you” and it’s like he’s never left.

“I’m here now, I’m not leaving” his assurance makes your body feel whole again. He sits you both down on the couch.

“Witchy, I didn’t stop thinking about you for a second. I would see you everywhere, I thought I was going crazy” he begins, and maybe he sees a twinkle in your eye, something weak, almost like a heartbeat being revived.

“I thought going to Hawkins, just to distance myself would change things. But I’d keep myself awake thinking about you, all the time, wondering if you were doing okay.” His hand brushes yours, as you wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

“I would see you at work, or out and about and you looked so sad. And I just couldn’t explain to myself what happened to you, until I came across that book” he finishes.

And in turn, you don’t say anything, you just kiss him. It’s wet and messy with the tears and the saliva, but he immediately kisses you back, cradling your face in his hand. Your heart beats faster than it has in a while, and it’s like magically, your skin has a bit more color to it.

And Eddie sees the stars in your eyes again.

When you detach you just lay your head on his chest. You listen for his heartbeat, lulling you into a deep sleep, the best sleep you’ve had in two months. He follows you not soon after, Circe on his lap, as he falls into slumber with a peaceful smile on his face.

Once awoken from your sleep, you go make a cup of tea for the both of you.

“Witchy?” your head lifts at the nickname as you pour him his tea.

“So, are you a witch, a mage or a sorceress?”

You just roll your eyes and kiss him again.

a word about my taglist- if you ask to be put on it, and went through the trouble of filling out the form, all i ask in return is that you interact with my stuff in a meaningful way. plain likes really don't get you anywhere on here, and i am asking you in the nicest possible way. tysm <3 taglist form here

taglist: @onegirlmanytales, @sunnythevampireslayer, @cryingglightningg, @yunirgo, @reidsbtch, @neville-is-my-husband, @minorlystuck13, @keikoraven, @capricornrisingsstuff, @lavendermunson, @mandyjo8719, @str4ngergirlw0rld, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @hellfirenacht, @seexyyprincess, @goosterroose, @euphoric-rush, @everheart12, @witchwolflea @corrodedcoffincumslut, @aaasbrutus, @stqrgirl3 @starrthemushroom, @lemme-slytherin-that-dick, @fictionalsimping, @tpwkkami11, @1paire2vans @xquinn-bartonx, @bimbobaggins69, @aphrogeneias, @jamdoughnutmagician, @reysorigins, @strangereads, @strangerstilinski, @upsidedownbunnyy, @eddiesxangel, @hideoutside, @ali-r3n,

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x witchy!reader #modern!eddie x witchy!reader #modern!eddie munson #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #eddie munson au #eddie munson angst

410 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 6 months

Note

Erm.... But what if cc is the femboy yan to slasher darling........ Hear me out now....

Oh, I'm hearing you, chief- Being an incubus, Slasher Darling probably sees that witch who tore their heart into pieces in C.C as she was their first and only love - making him their prime target. C.C, bored out of his mind, decides to try out college life with a big emphasis on the parties. Pretty girls get more free drinks from his experiences so he decides to play the part dress wise. He gets a ton of attention from wandering eyes, but manages to develop a crush on his slasher of all people. Call him crazy, but something about those little "love letters" he receives strikes a different cord with him.

"You're so pretty.... Sometimes I wonder if you're that pretty on the inside too.... Would you let me check?"

"When I'm done with you I'll make sure nobody ever finds you. You'll be with me forever....I promise to take good care of you."

"You remind me so much of her.... but I think you might be prettier. Maybe that's why I want you so bad."

What a freak~♡ If Darling wants him so bad, all they have to do is climb through his window. He leaves it open for that exact reason. He has no clue who this other girl is, but he really wishes they'd stop bringing her up when they're trying to flirt - everything else they've written has been some of the most romantic shit C.C has ever read.

If Darling is ever able to get their hands on C.C, they won't be able to kill him by normal means. C.C falls more in love with Darling as they cradle his "lifeless" body in their arms. Imagine their horror when the body hidden in their apartment arrives for class the next day, and worse, walks right up to them and kisses them. C.C never paid them much attention before the "murder" because he knew it only drew them closer to him. Now that they've had such an intimate and passionate night together how can he ignore his lover?~

"You....but I..... You should be.....Was that all a dream?"

C.C pulls down the collar of his oversized sweater - purple marks kissing the pale flesh of his neck.

"Got the bruises to prove otherwise, babe. Pretty rude of you to leave me hanging after all that foreplay, but I'll forgive you if you visit me again tonight~ Maybe I can "stab" you with my knife this time?~"

Wh....What does she mean by that? It's at the same time Darling figures out that pretty girl they've been stalking cannot die that they realize....maybe he was never a girl in the first place.....and is now hunting them instead.

#C.C my oc #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere insert #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere incubus #yandere demon #femboy yan

339 notes · View notes

weirdly-specific-but-ok · 9 months

Text

pt VI good omens s1e2, a totally all-inclusive summary i remember everything

i don't, that's a lie. i lie like aziraphale, rarely and badly but with great gaslight energy.

alright well let's not dawdle for 6000 years, i'll forget what i DO remember.

An angel named Gabriel who is not Jimbriel yet, so a foetus Jimbriel, gets into Aziraphale's bookstore and yells about pornography to keep humans from following him into Aziraphale's secret back chamber.

What they do there, I do not know. It is up to speculation. They talk and Aziraphale is flustered about Crowley, I think, but that's the whole show so far.

The intro sequence remains strange. Cartoon Aziraphale is an impregnated chicken, cartoon Crowley is the baby daddy.

There are witch hunters and they want to burn Agnes Nutter alive. I don't know who Anges Nutter is yet.

We cut to Agnes Nutter and I know I will never forget her. She is beautiful and a BAMF. A MILF. An absolute bombshell.

The bombshell part is literal. They set her on fire and she explodes, killing all those in a 100 metre radius. I want to be her.

I assume it is a witch thing, but then find out she put bombs under her skirts. I want to be her, but more ardently.

There is a book. She writes prophecies in it.

There are horsemen of the apocalypse, which I forgot was still happening. We are in present day.

War kills everyone. She is pretty. She is not Warlock, the kid whom Aziraphale and Crowley raised.

Famine is a sexy beast, and runs Michelin star restaurants. He likes tiny food. He is developing foodless food.

If there are others, I do not notice. There could be. There really could be. There probably are.

There is a girl who scribbles on the book from earlier. She grows up. I think she is War. I am wrong. This is probably a good time to mention to Tumblr that I have mild issues with facial recognition, which is totally not going to affect my understanding of what is happening at all.

She is named Anathema. That could be someone else. What is real? Not Neil Gaiman.

She finds the Antichrist and the Them, and they are all playing at a witch hunt. The Antichrist does not have an aura. Yellow is fear. Yellow is joy. I lose track of what is happening for several scenes.

Newt is works in an office. There is a power cut. Newt no longer works at an office.

Newt joins a witch hunt.

There is a delivery man. I think he is Newt. I am wrong. His name is something resembling Judy. It is an easy mistake, everyone's reaction to not-Newt-maybe-Judy is the same as that to Newt, deep protective love.

Crowley and Aziraphale steal a Bentley. Find a Bentley? I am unsure. I am too busy looking at Crowley.

Crowley speeds. Crowley likes speeding. They hit a motorbike that has maybe-Anathema. They pick her up and take her to a house somewhere. The Bentley plays Queen music. Everyone is very excited about this. Beepop.

Maybe-Anathema enters the house. This could have been before she finds the Antichrist. But if the show isn't linear I don't have to be either, I decide.

Crowley and Aziraphale panic a lot, but find time to eye each other hungrily and lovingly. They have priorities, and I respect that.

Crowley yells at his plants to grow better. He pretends to kill one of them. I cannot believe I was entirely right about my interpretation of that GIF. I am filled with confused anger. Later I find out that he is projecting how heaven told him he was a disappointment and threw him out. I am no longer angry. I am sad. This is an ongoing thing when it comes to Crowley.

A major plot point is Dog, the best friend of the Antichrist, having a face off with a fat tabby cat. Dog loses. It was doomed from the start.

Aziraphale gaslights gatekeeps and girlbosses. He assures heaven that everything is under control. It is not. That is okay. I think.

Heaven asks about Crowley. Aziraphale gets flustered. This is as per usual and he assures them that he is battling Crowley, who keeps him on his toes. I not-so-privately think that Crowley keeps him on his knees, really.

Things happen. I'm too busy thinking about Aziraphale's puppy eyes. He is a bitchy sweetheart. I love him.

More things happen. I'm too busy thinking about Crowley's sexy hips and shoulders and, well, everything.

The episode ends. I am still thinking about Crowley. I am always thinking about Crowley. Everyone is always thinking about Crowley.

This... this is all I remember. Have it, Tumblr.

#good omens #good omens summary #good omens mascot #good omens fandom #crowley #aziraphale #azirowley #aziracrow #aziraley #good ineffable omens #lgbtqia #queer #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #david tennant #michael sheen #crowley's hips and hair

333 notes · View notes

underground-secret · 6 months

Text

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x F! reader

Description: When Dean gets a call from an "old friend" asking for help, old feelings resurface leaving for messy feelings and a complicated hunt.

Warnings: canon violence, feelings of unrequited love, angst, loving someone being difficult, corpses, crime scenes, cursing, mentions of racism, racist ghost truck?

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 , @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 9,251

Route 666

(Master list, Prev Ch, Next Chapter)

I lean against the expanse of the Impala, letting the bright sun shine over me. It was one of those cold but not cold days, where as long as the sun was hitting you it was perfectly right. Sam is next to me looking over the large map he has laid out on the hood of the car, trying to look for a way around a closed-off road.

I’m glad he knew what he was doing ‘cause my map and geography skills only went so far before I was lost.

Meanwhile, Dean was off to the side, his phone pressed to his ear his brows furrowed whoever he was talking to was clearly telling him something important and maybe shocking.

“Ok. I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just East of here,” Sam informs gaining my attention, “We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought.” I nod, taking advantage of his hunched-over figure to ruffle his hair, “Nice work, map man.” He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes my arm away playfully.

“Yeah. ‘Problem is, we’re not going to Pennsylvania” Dean points out, closing his phone and looking at it thoughtfully. I look at him confused, “We aren’t…?” He nods, wetting his lips, “I just got a call from an, uh, old friend. Her father was killed last night, think it might be our kind of thing.”

“What?” Sam vocalizes. “Yeah. Believe me, she never woulda called, never, if she didn’t need us” Dean clarifies. Without giving us any more information or even a chance to contemplate or counter his statement he gets in the car, “Come on, are you coming or not?”

The Impala cruises down the expanse of the road, a long beautifully green field on one side and a lake on the other. “By old friend you mean…?” Sam asks the question we were both undeniably thinking. “A friend that’s not new” Dean grumbles.

“Oh! Thanks, genius” I remark, he was being weird and that alone was not helping his case. “‘Said her name’s Cassie huh?” Sam said, trying a different angle, “You never mentioned her…”

“Didn’t I?” Dean remarks. He wasn't very good at hiding this one, the car falling silent in the wake of his stupid answer. He finally huffs, “Yeah, we went out.”

“You mean you dated somebody?” Sam asks with a snort, “For more than one night?”

“Oh come on Sammy we're all adults here, we’ve all dated before” I chime in with a smirk. He turns around in his seat, facing me with an expectant look, “Are we talking about the same person here? Dean doesn't date.” Sam exclaims and I push down the ache of that implication, “And aren’t you the least bit curious.”

“Oh no, I am,” I nod enthusiastically, laughing lightly, “I want all the details. I was just tryna be nice.”

He snickers, turning back to his brother, “You heard her, we want all the details.”

I swear Dean’s eye practically twitches, “Am I speaking a language you’re not getting here? Dad and I were working a job in Ohio, she was finishing up college. We went out for a coupla weeks.”

I want to ask how long ago this was, was it months before his dad disappeared or a year or more ago, but I hold back on my questioning. “And…?” Sam pushes. Dean shrugs slightly.

“Look, it’s terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident. I’m not seeing how it fits with what we do,” Sam reasons, “Which by the way, how does she know what we do?”

Dean doesn't answer again, silently shifting in his seat uncomfortably. The realization hits me like a brick, “Oh. My. God,” I lean forward in my seat almost getting choked out by my seatbelt, “You told her! You broke the number one hunting rule! You know, not telling anyone, ever!”

“More than that!” Sam adds, “It’s our big family rule. Number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half, I did nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a coupla times and you tell her everything?!” I try not to think about my own relationships both romantic and not that rarely ever made it past a couple of months before it ended, not only having to lie about being a hunter but a witch too. Dean stays silent, staring straight ahead, “Dean!” Sam yells.

“Yeah. Looks like,” he finally acknowledges. He continues to stare ahead, pressing his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sam shakes his head, giving his brother his classic bitchface.

“Oh. He had it bad” I laugh leaning back in my seat, ignoring the sinking and stabbing feeling in my heart. I figured I’d have to keep doing so on this hunt.

The office was dark, the bright sunlight not able to stretch upon the large room not even with the help of glass doors. The place could really open a couple of blinds, let the light shine in.

An old white man with an interesting-looking tie, one of those Western ones with the jewel and black tether, talks to two people a man and a woman their backs towards us. And the way Dean pauses, staring at the woman it isn't hard to deduce she's Cassie. She and the older black gentlemen next to her seem to be having some sort of dispute with the old white guy.

Then suddenly both of the men walk away, clearly frustrated, leaving Cassie to stand there herself. She turns around swiftly, and almost like a perfectly curated romance movie she nearly hits Dean only inches separating the two. I didn't even realize he had moved forward in the time we've been standing here.

Just looking at her I could tell why Dean fell for her, she's beautiful more than that. She could be a model with her beautiful long dark curls framing her face, full lips colored red, and big brown eyes. She must have stepped out of a magazine, everything about her screamed perfect down to her perfectly shaped eyebrows and perfect nose. “Dean,” she says, her voice smooth despite the look of slight apprehension.

He nods and grins, “Hey Cassie.” And they just stare at each other. He's looking at her in a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone before even despite the tension that hung in the air, unspoken words from however long ago.

His eyes seem to glimmer, you’d have to be a fool not to see he still has feelings for her, that they never went away in the first place. And that it’s more than just any feelings, he loves her and that is a hard pill to swallow.

He clears his throat, breaking the trance they were both in, “This is my brother Sam. And my friend Y/N.” She smiles at each of us before her gaze reverts to Dean, not that I could blame her in the slightest.

“Sorry ‘bout your dad,” he says.

“Yeah. Me too,” she answers.

Her family home was beautiful and extraordinarily large, it was a bit disturbing. Though maybe that was because it reminded me of my home before moving to Kansas, or at least what I remember of it. We sat in the sitting room on vintage settees, another reminder of that home–my mother would quite like the look of this cozy room.

Cassie finally comes back adorning a tray of tea cups and a teapot along with the little bowl of sugar and a small pouring cup of milk, could she get any more perfect and wonderful? “My mothers in pretty bad shape. I’ve been staying with her. I wish she wouldn’t go off by herself. She’s been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about Dad,” she explains.

“Why?” Dean asks as she takes a seat across from us. He was watching her every move as if dedicating it to memory, I wonder if he’s thinking ‘She moves in the same manner she used to’ or maybe that it changed. Suddenly I was not so okay with sitting between the boys even though that's almost how we always sat when talking to someone on a hunt, as it made it harder for them to fight and made them slightly more comfortable with squishing into sofas with their large frames. But now, being in the middle I could easily watch how he looked at her, studied her.

She skillfully pours tea into each cup, “He was scared. He was seeing things.”

“Like what?” He asked.

“He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him,” she responds carefully.

“A truck, did he see a driver?” I ask, diligently accepting the beautiful teacup she handed me. I take a careful sip of the black tea, of course she would know and pick the perfect tea for guests. Does she have any flaws?

“He didn’t talk about a driver,” she answers, “Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear. And, in the accident, Dad’s car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big.”

Sam accepts his cup of tea, “Thanks. Now you’re sure this dent wasn’t there before?” And as predictable as Dean was he looked at his cup weirdly before depositing it back on the tray, that man was not a tea person he’d take a coffee or a beer any day. I think the only reason he drank the tea I gave him when he was sick was because he knew how desperate Sammy and I were.

“He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn’t a scratch on that thing,” she explains, “It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from Dad’s car…leading right to the edge, where he went over.” She swallows harshly, bowing her head, “One set of tracks. His.”

Dean’s face softens, eyes filling with sympathy, “The first was a friend of your father's?” She nods, “Best friend. Clayton Soames. They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about Dad. He ‘lost control of his car.’”

I force my brain to rid itself of any thoughts of Dean and Cassie's relationship. This was like any other hunt, something weird is going on and we are here to help, nothing more.

It was weird, cars don't just drive off the road like that and then have newly made dents that match another vehicle. “Is there any reason you can think of as to why your father and his partner might've been targets? Competition?” I ask. She shakes her head, radiating certainty, “No.”

“And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” Sam points out.

“When you say it aloud like that…,” she sighs, “listen, I’m a little skeptical about this…ghost stuff…or whatever it is you guys are into.”

Dean huffs, “Skeptical. If I remember, I think you said I was nuts.”

“That was then,” she bites back. Then they fall back into that thing where they just stare at each other, “I just know that I can’t explain what happened up there. So I called you,” she adds, directing her words only to him. I clear my throat, weary of the bubble they seem to have put around themselves, “You were right in calling” I reasoned softly, “It is very strange and on the off chance it isn’t anything supernatural then it was certainly a cover-up.”

Her perfect eyebrows furrow but before she can respond the sound of the front door opening catches all of our attention, a middle-aged white woman enters through and I assume it's her mother. She shared her mother's eye shape and her nose, but the rest of her she must have gotten from her father.

As if we had gotten caught we all rise from the sofa. Cassie goes over to her mother, taking her arm, “Mom. Where have you been I was so…” her mother cuts her off looking at us, “I had no idea you'd invited friends over.”

“Mom, this Dean, a…friend of mine from…college. ‘His brother Sam and friend Y/N.”

“Well, I won’t interrupt you” her mother smiles nervously.

“Mrs Robinson,” Dean says suddenly, “We’re sorry for your loss. We’d like to talk to you for a minute if you don’t mind.” And as if offended she recoils, “I’m really not up for that right now.”

The morning sun is dimmer today, perfect for the scene we were walking upon. The man Cassie was standing with yesterday, Jimmy, was the newest victim. He died in the same way as the others sometime late last night. Cassie was again arguing with the old white man from yesterday. As we approached I could hear his condescending voice, “Close the man road. The only road in and out of town? Accidents do happen Cassie, and that’s what they are. Accidents.”

We stand beside her, Dean speaking up immediately, “Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy’s car, see if it was pushed?”

Without missing a beat and without looking away from Cassie the man asks, “Who’s this?”

“Dean and Sam Winchester, Y/N L/N. Family friends. This is Mayor Harold Todd” She replies smoothly. This man went from just any old white guy to a powerful old white guy, even worse. And he had two first names, you never trust someone with two first names. Reluctantly Mayor Old Guy answers Dean’s initial question, “There’s one set of tire tracks. One. ‘Doesn’t point to foul play.”

Cassie scuffs, “Mayor, the police, and town officials take their cues from you. If you’re indifferent about…”

He cuts her off, “Indifferent!”

“Would you close the road if the victims were white?” she counters.

Oh. Could she get any more iconic?!

“You suggesting I’m racist Cassie?” He spits, “I’m the last person you should talk to like that.”

“And why is that?” She counters, stepping closer to him.

“Why don’t you ask your mother” he answers before walking away. My jaw drops, what the hell is going on in this town?

I huff, blowing a piece of hair out of my face. I really didn’t want to get dressed, for as much as I’ve been trying to ignore the whole Dean and Cassie situation I was feeling horrible.

I sit on the soft motel bed in nothing but my underwear and a nice white button-down, haven given up on dressing. I feel stupid. Incredibly stupid.

Maybe Sam’s words had gotten to me, maybe I had gotten my hopes up without even realizing it.

He loves someone else, and he’s had for a while. I always thought when you love someone those feelings don’t ever truly go away, there's always a part of you with them. They wind up crossing your mind and you wonder where things went wrong. But I guess I never considered this would also apply to Dean, which is cruel to believe within itself. Which is funny too, all these years I’ve spent loving him…But Sam was right he didn’t date so I guess I assumed he never fell for anyone during his countless one-night stands.

I know death is cruel but maybe love is tied with it. Because I feel like someone took my heart and ran with it, leaving me with this void in my chest and an ache so intense that it throbs in its place. It was stupid to think I had a chance to begin with. I knew not to believe I had one in the first place, but somewhere along the line I had completely forgotten about any of that. So much for listening to my past self, if I had maybe I wouldn't be feeling so damn bad.

But I couldn't be mad. Cassie was wonderful in every possible way and you don't need to know her for long to realize that. They seemed perfect for each other really. She was feisty and had no issue putting someone in their place, which I quite admired, and I know Dean could use that every now and then. If she was a jerk I’m sure I’d have no issue disliking her, but she wasn’t! She was impossible to dislike, and it would be horrible of me to hate her just because she harbors feelings for someone that I love or the fact that he loves her back. That wasn't her fault, it was neither of their faults.

Loving someone has to be the hardest thing one could do.

I get up from the bed and put on my skirt. I couldn't sit here forever, the boys would come knocking and I wouldn't have a good excuse as to why I’m in a mood. Quickly I check myself in the mirror, at least I didn’t cry which means I don't gotta redo my makeup, even if it was minimal to begin with.

How do you stop loving someone? I could use that answer.

I knew I loved him for a long time, too long. But I suppose I didn’t realize just how bad it had gotten, how much it had flourished and I had never expected that to be possible. I love him.

I love him and it hurts so much.

How many times did I have the opportunity to tell him? It had to be in the hundreds. Maybe it was better that I didn’t, he loves someone else and I should be happy for them. I am happy for him. He deserves to be loved and be able to love. Yes, I am happy.

I approach the two older men having lunch, focusing on the wet ground and the wholesomeness that is them eating on a pier. “Hi, sorry. Are you Ron Stubbins?” I ask, taking the lead. I needed to throw myself into the work, I needed the distraction. The older man nods looking at us confused, his black cap bobbing with his head. “You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?” Dean follows up.

“Who are you?” Ron responds with, sitting up straighter. He was sizing us up, skeptical of us, which he had every right to be. “We’re Mr. Anderson’s insurance company. We’re just here to dot ‘I’s’ and cross ‘T’s’,” Dean explains, flashing his badge.

“And they needed to send three of you?” He counters. I giggle, tilting my head slightly, “Would you prefer me leaving?” I ask sweetly. And as predictable as men can be he drags his eyes across my body before shaking his head, “No. No. That won’t be necessary.” I ignore the dirty feeling that washes over me and sticks to my bones like a new layer of skin, it was necessary to do that because now he won’t bother questioning us anymore on that topic.

“We were just wondering, had the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?” Sam questions, getting back on topic. Reluctantly Ron looks away from me to look at the man who questioned him, “What do you mean, unusual?”

“Well visions, hallucinations” He elaborates.

“We’re working with local psychologists to broaden our questioning and research,” I explain, trying to clear the confusion from his face, “It’s all very standard.”

“What company did you say you were with?” Ron counters. Maybe he was more on guard than I thought. “All National Mutual” Dean answers smoothly, “Tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?”

“What the hell ‘you talking about?” Ron exclaims, “‘You even speaking English?”

Wow, what a lovely guy.

“Son this truck, a big scary monster-looking thing?” Ron's friend suddenly says.

“Yeah actually, I think so” Dean answers. The man hums to himself in thought, please let this interaction be useful. “You’ve heard of something like that?” I ask the man. “I have,” he nods, not bothering to elaborate.

“You have. Where?” Sam pushes.

“Not where,” he finally answers, “When. Back in the ‘60s, there was a string of deaths. Black men. Story goes, they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck.”

“They ever catch the guy?” I ask. He shrugs, “Never found him. Hell, not even sure they really looked. See there was a time, ‘this town wasn’t too friendly to all its citizens.”

“Thank you” Sam nods.

We walk away, heading back to the Impala. “Well, it seems like history is repeating itself,” I began, “From the lack of investigation and racism down to the–”

“Truck,” Dean says, finishing my sentence. “Keeps coming up doesn’t it?” Sam adds.

“You know, I was thinking. You heard of the Flying Dutchman?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, a ghost ship, infused with the Captian’s evil spirit. It was basically part of him” Sam answers, explaining the lore. Dean nods, “So what if we’re dealing with the same thing? You know, a phantom truck, an extension of some bastard’s ghost, re-enacting past crimes.”

“The victims have been black men” Sam continues the theory. I half-shrug, “I don't know. The town has to have more than a handful of black people, but it only seems to be going after specific people. It’s practically targeting those connected to Cassie and her family. I’m sure there’s some deeper link there.”

“That’s why I think it’s more than that,” Dean says.

“All right. Well, you work that angle, go talk to her,” Sam tells his brother specifically, clearly playing matchmaker. “Yeah, I will,” Dean agrees.

“Oh, and you might also wanna mention that other thing” Sam noted, a playful smile on his lips. Always the meddler. “What other thing?” Dean asks, either genuinely lost or faking it. “The serious, unfinished business?” Sam elaborates. I huff a laugh, “Yeah, seriously Dean it's so painfully obvious. Just talk to the girl.” It pained me to even suggest that, to motivate him in such a way but I want him to be happy, and if that means being with her then so be it.

Dean stops just as we reach the car, going obstinately silent. Sam huffs a laugh this time, “Dean, what is going on between you two?”

“All right, so maybe we were a little more involved than I said,” he finally admits. I give him a pointed look, “Yeah…that was obvious.”

He huffs, “A lot more. Maybe. And I told her our secret, about what we do. And I shouldn’t have.”

“Ah look man, everybody’s gotta open up to someone sometime,” Sam reasons, being a little too understanding compared to how we were only yesterday. “Yeah I don’t,” Dean argues, “It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended.”

I smile at him softly, hoping any sadness is concealed far behind my eyes, and I realize Sam is giving him the same look except he’s nearly beaming. “Would you both stop!” he shouts. But we don't because this is a side of Dean we’ve never seen before, and it is beautiful even if it's heartbreaking for me. “Someone blink or something!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up.

“You loved her,” I say softly, the gape in my chest deepening at the verbal declaration. Saying it aloud was so much worse. “Oh God,” he groans, turning to the Impala. “You still do!” I call after him.

“You were in love with her, but you dumped her,” Sam states, connecting the pieces. Dean goes silent, staring at the ground, then carefully glances at his brother before reverting his eyes. “Oh wow. She dumped you.”

I have to stop myself from taking in a sharp breath, there was a lot to this he wasn’t telling us. But why would she break up with him if she still has feelings?

“Get in the car” Dean demands, done being “emotional” and open, “Get in the car!”

Sam hands me my hot chocolate, but not even the sweet treat or the soft snow falling just outside can lift my mood. It makes me feel a little better but it does not fix my heart. Dean didn’t come back last night and I know it’s because he spent the night at Cassie’s. I’m happy they worked things out and hopefully had a wonderful night but again it does not fix my heart.

I held the cup tighter, welcoming the immense warmth it brought to my frozen hands as we stepped out of the small coffee shop. The air was crisp yet gentle as the light fluffy snowflakes descended onto us, the cold flakes collecting in my hair. A small smile graced my face, maybe it was making me feel better. I like the cold, preferred it even, I was cozy in my thick turtle neck and my favorite fleeced-lined jacket.

Sam and I walk in comfortable silence side by side, sipping from our cups and basking in the scenery of the unexpected snow. It was early May in Missouri, it really shouldn’t be snowing but I suppose if it could snow here a little in April then early May couldn't be that weird. Plus it was a light snow that likely wouldn't even stick. But the calming scenery is cut in half by an ambulance that speeds past us, sirens blaring. We share a questioning look but ultimately ignore it until two cop cars rush past us heading the same way. That we can’t ignore. With another shared look, we follow after the sirens.

I look out at the macabre scene, the yellow caution tape not having stopped me from investigating thanks to the use of a fake ID. The body had been bagged after countless photos were taken, but the blood of Mayor Todd still stains the streets. It was a gruesome scene, arguably worse than the others in this case his organs squished out like roadkill and, truthfully, that’s what he had become.

“L/N” Sam calls out from just a few feet behind me. I turned around swiftly, the snow whirling around me, Dean stood next to his brother. He came.

I walk over to the two boys, watching Dean’s clear expression of shock masked by annoyance, “‘You gonna ask me a bunch of questions too?” he asks. I look at him confused, “...no” I drag out slowly. His face seems to relax slightly, something unrecognizable passing in his eyes, “Good,” he nods.

“I already know you made up–made out” I add, his face drops, “Anyways, crime scene,” I point behind me.

“Every bone crushed. Internal organs turned to pudding,” Sam explains the case, catching his brother up, “The cops are all stumped, it’s like something ran him over.” The wind picks up again, swirling the snow in its own private storm, the cold will help with the case as it preserves the body longer. “Something like a truck?” Dean asks, gaining his footing in the case.

“Yeah, except of course there’s no tracks” I answer. He nods, rubbing a hand down his jaw and I have to force my eyes away from the movement, “What was the Mayor doing here anyway?”

“He owned the property. Bought it a few weeks ago” Sam says referring to the building site.

“But he’s white, doesn’t fit the pattern,” Dean points out. Sam nods, “Killings didn’t happen up on the road. That doesn’t fit either.”

I shove my hands into my pocket, taking a quick look back at the crime scene before turning back to the boys, “Then it seems like this case is one of revenge.”

I shuffle through the papers in front of me, glad that I was sent to do research at the town's main library rather than be at the newspaper office with the boys and Cassie. She was probably looking at him all sweetly and being a kind person, and I did not wish to see the loving way they looked at each other. And if avoiding that meant having my nose in dusty boxes of court records then that was okay.

I pull out my phone calling Sam directly instead of Dean, the phone rings a couple of times before he picks up, “Hi” I greet, “I got some info.”

The line goes quiet for a second before I hear his voice, “Alright you're on speaker.”

“Ok, so,” I start, balancing my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I look over the papers, “I have courthouse records here, and according to them Mr and Mrs Mayor bought an abandoned property. The previous owner was the Dorian family who owned it for, like, 150 years.”

“Dorian?” Dean repeats back. “Yes.”

His voice grows quieter but still in range enough for me to hear, “Didn’t you say the Dorian family used to own this paper?” he asks someone else in the room. “Along with everything else around here. Real pillars of the town,” Cassie answers. “Right, right” Dean responds followed by the clicking of keys.

“You got something there?” I ask, readjusting my phone.

“Think so” Sam mumbles, seemingly focused on whatever was happening over at the office.

“This Cyrus Dorian. He vanished in April of ‘63. The case was investigated but never solved. It was right around the time the string of murders was going on back then,” Dean informs, adding more information to what that man yesterday had told us.

“Well to add to that information, the Dorian place seemed to be in really bad shape when the Mayber bought it,” I add, “He bulldozed the place.”

“Mayor Todd knocked down the Dorian place?” Dean asks, presumably, Cassie. “It was a big deal” she answers, “One of the oldest houses left. He made the front page.” I huff a breath, everything connecting yet leaving so many questions at the same time. “You got a date, Y/N?” Dean calls back.

“Um,” I hum shuffling the papers around and reading over the words quickly, “‘3rd of last month.” The line goes quiet again the only sound ringing back being the sharp noise of fingers on a keyboard, “Mayor Todd bulldozed the Dorian family home on the 3rd,” Dean finally responds, “The first killing was the next day.”

Pouring the boiled water into the mug I take a quick look back, Dean kneels in front of the shaken-up Cassie rubbing her knee softly and looking at her with pure determination and adoration. I swallow roughly looking back at the mugs in front of me, nearly overspilling and burning myself.

This was not the time to grieve a love that never happened. Cassie called Dean afraid, having seen the black truck. We were here to help, I was making a soothing herbal tea for her and her mother to calm the nerves.

Finishing with the mugs I carefully carry them into the sitting room. Sam takes one from me, gently handing it to her mother. I hand the mug to Cassie, her shaky hands accepting and rattling the cup, Dean immediately moves to sit at her side but it does not stop his protectiveness if anything it amplifies it; he practically radiates it. “Maybe you should throw a couple of shots in here,” she says, half joking.

I huff a laugh, “Well while the effects of alcohol do have the capabilities of easing the central nervous system, when the effects wear off your body will be jolted back from its depressive state which would really only make you feel worse, more anxious as well as stressed.”

She gives me a half, almost awkward, smile before taking a sip from her mug. Did I say too much? Why didn’t someone stop me? Someone should’ve just cut me off, especially if I wasn’t helping.

“You didn’t see who was driving the truck,” Sam says suddenly, pulling the awkwardness out of the air. “It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast. And then it was just gone,” she explains, “Why didn’t it kill us?”

“Whoever was controlling the truck wants you afraid first,” Dean answers. This would explain why at least one of the victims had seen it and truthfully thought they were going mad. “Mrs Robinson,” Sam began, “Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died.” Mrs Robinson doesn't answer, seemingly lost in her mind as she shakes. “Mom?” Cassie says carefully, worry laced in her voice.

The older Robinson shakes her head nervously, “Oh. Martin was under a lot of stress. You can’t be sure about what he was seeing.”

“Well after tonight I think we can be reasonably sure he was seeing a truck. What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked. Ok?” Dean snaps, “Your daughter could die. So if you know something now would be a really good time to tell us about it.”

“Dean…” Cassie warns. But her mother's face contorts in emotion, something in her breaking, “Yes. Yes, he said he saw a truck.”

“Did he know who it belonged to?” Sam asks, taking a seat across from the woman. “He thought he did,” she answers cryptically. “Who was that?” Dean pushes. Her eyes get watery and she sinks into herself, “Cyrus. A man named Cyrus.”

My gaze flickers to the boys, we are all thinking the same thing, I look back at her, “By any chance was it Cyrus Dorian?” I ask carefully. Dean pulls out a newspaper from inside his coat, handing it to the woman. She doesn't shake her head or nod only replying with, “Cyrus Dorian died more than 40 years ago.”

“How do you know he died, Mrs Robinson?” Dean asks softly, “The papers said he went missing. How do you know he died?”

She hesitates, her mouth agape like a fish out of water or in reality that of a person who got caught, “We were all very young,” she says, “I dated Cyrus a while, I was also seeing Martin…in secret of course. Interracial couples didn’t go over too well back then. When I broke it off with Cyrus and when he found out about Martin, I don’t know, he, changed. His hatred. His hatred was frightening.”

“The murder,” Sam voices.

Her voice wobbles, “They were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of truck. Nothing ‘ever done,” she swallows shifting in her seat, “Martin and a…Martin and I, we were gonna be, uh, married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope as we didn’t want the attention.” She pushes her short hair out of her face, stressed. “And what became of Cyrus?” I ask.

Endless tears fall down her cheeks, “The day we set for the wedding, was the day someone set fire to the church. There was a children’s choir practicing in there. They all died.” I suppress the gasp that wishes to leave my lips, the room seems to dim with the information. What was meant to be a beautiful day was soiled by the blood of innocents.

“Did the attacks stop after that?” Sam asks softly, careful of her fragile mindset.

A sob escapes from her chest, “No! There was one more. One night that truck came for Martin. Cyrus beat him terribly. But Martin, you see, Martin got loose. And he started hitting Cyrus and he just kept hitting him and hitting him.”

“Why didn’t you call the cops?” Dean pushes. She continues to cry, “This was forty years ago. He called on his friends, Clayton Soames and Jimmy Anderson, and they put Cyrus’ body into the truck and they rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land and all three of them kept that secret all of these years.”

“And now all three are gone,” Sam acknowledges. This all confirms the theory of a vengeful spirit. “And so is Mayor Todd,” Dean adds, “Now he said that you of all people would know he is not a racist. Why would he say that?”

“He was a good man,” Mrs Robinson answers, “He was a young deputy back then investigating Cyrus’ disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done he…he did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus had done.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cassie asks, her voice hard yet full of emotion. I couldn't imagine what was going on in her head, to find out something like this–“I thought I was protecting them. And now there’s no one left to protect,” her mother reasons.

“Yes, there is” Dean counters, fiercely. His green eyes harden with determination as he looks at Cassie.

I sit on the cold hood of the Impala, gently kicking my legs back and forth watching Dean pace in front of me. Sam leans against the car next to me, his arms crossed as he too watches his brother, “Ah, my life was so simple. Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms…”

I look at him with an amused smile, “I have no idea what that last part is but it sounds fun!” That stops Dean in his tracks for just a half of a second, he points at us, “No it doesn’t. I saved him from a boring existence.”

“Yeah, occasionally I miss boring” Sam reasons. I nod enthusiastically, “Honestly, we have not had a normal day in like months. Kinda miss it.”

Dean brushes our light complaining off, “So this killer truck–”

“I miss conversations that didn’t start with ‘this killer truck’” Sam quips with a dramatic sigh. I failed to hold back my laughter, Dean laughs lightly and for a brief moment, things feel how they used to, “Well this Cyrus guy. Evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb, and his spirit was dormant for 40 years.”

“So what woke it up?” Sam asks.

“The construction on his house. Or the destruction,” Dean points out.

“Right. Demolition or remodeling can awaken spirits, make them restless” Sam recalls. His brother hums a ‘yes’, nodding.

“Like that theater in Illinois, ya know?” Sam references, and I in fact had no idea what he was talking about. “And the guy that tore down the family homestead, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus’ murder quiet and unsolved,” Dean adds, bringing it back to the case at hand.

“So now his spirit is awakened and out for blood,” Sam acknowledges.

“Yeah, I guess. Who knows what ghosts are thinking anyway” Dean shrugs.

“Wait, does this mean we have to go swimming in that swamp?” I ask. I mean if we had to salt and burn the bones then we would need said bones which are in a swamp, how nice. Dean smiles at me, I know that look. “No” I warn, pointing at him like an animal that did something wrong. “You said it” he rationalizes.

“Noooo” I whine a pout on my lips, “Do I have to do it alone?”

His wicked smile deepens, “‘Course not, Sammy’s gonna be with you.”

Sam’s shoulders drop, “Man,” he sighs.

Suddenly a familiar figure approaches, her hands tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. Dean stands up straighter, “Hey.” She smiles sadly, “Hey. She’s asleep. Now what?”

“Well, you should stay put, look after her…and we’ll be back. Don’t leave the house,” Dean explains, looking at her in that way that hurts my heart. But she smiles, any worry melting off her face, “Don’t go getting all authoritative on me. I hate it.”

Dean glances back at us, Sam looks down grinning acting as if neither of us could hear the conversation. He turns back to Cassie mumbling something I can't quite make out but whatever it was must have been good because he slowly leans in to kiss her. I drop my head and gaze at the very interesting ground, trying my best to ignore the sound of their intensifying making out. A pang of jealousy, longing, and pain shoots through my chest. If the ground wanted to just open up and consume me now I wouldn’t complain, I’d even help it and just throw myself in it wouldn’t have to work very hard. Sam clears his throat, I look up but Dean just holds out a finger to wait as he brings Cassie even closer.

I drop my eyes again.

Loving someone never hurt so bad. Loving him never hurt so bad.

Was it wrong to love him? Was this always going to be my fate? To see him evermore with other girls, loving them more than he could ever love me.

“You two comin’ or what?” Dean asks. I look up once more and this time his lips aren’t on Cassie.

I tug on the chain again, making sure it's secure, my hands getting wet in the process. I wipe my icky hands off on my jeans as I back away, “Alright he’s good,” I call out to Sam who stands feet away from me, closer to the butt of the pickup Dean was driving. He gives a thumbs up to his brother who begins to move the car forward, the pickup moving slowly in the weight of the heavy truck and water pressure.

We had already gotten it up a lot, but it had gotten stuck on the side of the swamp so we had to readjust its hold to get it the rest of the way up.

The years in the water had diminished it. The old black truck was now more like a rust bucket, remains of the swamp water spilling out from the seams. “All right. A little more…little more,” Sam leads, “All right, stop.”

The engine shuts off and Dean heads to the Impala, he pulls it open rummaging through the various weapons. “Now I know what she sees in you” Sam declares with a snap of his finger, meaning he finally understood what that look in her eyes meant. “What?” Dean asks.

“Come on man, you can admit it. You’re still in love with her” Sam clarifies. I nod even though the implications hurt, “Plus it’s not like no one else knows. So the only person you’re hiding from is yourself.”

Dean looks up from the trunk, “Uhh, can we focus please.”

I purse my lips, “Yeah…focusing has never really been our strong suit…” A container of salt is pressed into my chest, “Hold that” Dean says swiftly.

His expression hardens, all jokes put to rest as he dishes out items, “Gas” he says first, handing the large container to his brother, “Flashlights,” he lists out next filling my empty hand with one.

“Ok, let’s get this done,” he quips, closing the trunk.

We trudge back over to the rusty truck, our flashlights leading our way across the grass. Dean places his hand on the handle and I must wonder how he isn’t grossed out by just the feeling of the flaked paint and rotting metal. He glances at us in a silent ‘you ready?’ We give a nod and he opens the door.

A decaying wet corpse falls out the door and onto the soft grass, a small gush of water following its lead. I leap back like a scared cat, clasping a hand to my mouth and nose the decomposition of the body as well as its marinating in swamp water left a putrid smell. One perhaps worse than anything I've ever smelt before which was saying something considering what I’ve hunted.

“All right let’s get to it,” Dean says. Sam pours the gasoline all over the body, careful not to get it close to us and I jump in with the salt, opening the little latchet to sprinkle the small white crystals over the open-mouthed corpse. The satisfying scratch and flick of a match sounds softly beside me in the quiet night followed by the drop of the matchstick on the body. In mere seconds the remains go up in flames, the warm glow of the fire reflecting on the truck just beside it. I hoped no one would come looking over here with the whirl of smoke twirling above us, the heat powerful enough for me to take another step back.

“Think that’ll do it?” Sam voices, staring down at the burning corpse. But his question is followed by the revving of an engine and two blinding lights pointed at us. Without looking in the direction I knew it was the ghost truck. “I guess not,” Dean quips.

“So burning the body had no effect on that thing?” the younger Winchester asks. “Sure it did. Now it’s really pissed,” Dean responds. I glare at him, “I don't know if this is the time for cool jokes.”

“But Cyrus’ ghost is gone, right Dean?” Sam asks, a hint of panic in his voice as the tuck stares us down. But his brother doesn't answer right away, instead, he starts to walk away, “Apparently not the part that’s fused with the truck.”

I go on my tip toes trying to peak into the truck, maybe we missed something like a severed piece of him that didn’t spill out but before I can vocalize this Sam is calling out to his brother, “Where are you going?” I turn around, catching up to the boys, “Goin’ for a little ride,” Dean answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What?!” Sam and I exclaim in unison, “That’s a horrible idea!” I add. But he ignores our concern, “Gonna lead that thing away. That busted piece of crap, you gotta burn it.”

“How the hell are we supposed to burn a truck, Dean?” Sam asks, voice raising in volume. But being the determined man he is he shrugs, “I don’t know. Figure something out.” He rounds the car, opening the driver's door, “At least let one of us come with you, this is horribly dangerous,” I try to reason.

His eyes move up and down my face, before he settles on my eyes once more, “‘Exactly why you’re not comin’ with.” Before I can come up with a retort on how stubborn he is he settles himself into the car, closing the door behind him. I look to Sam for any support on this but he just stares at the car muttering, “Figure some–something–”

I rack my brain for ideas because Dean wasn’t going to listen and would rather be all hot and stubborn than be reasonable, “An explosion?” I suggest. Sam shakes his head, “No, that wouldn’t work. Parts would go everywhere and everything has to burn.”

I huff, frustrated, “I hate when you’re right.”

Dean reverses the Impala and takes off, the engine revering. As predictable as possible the ghost truck roars after him. I try to rack my brain for more ideas, even if we could suddenly light a truck on fire it would take too long for it to burn completely, “Sam, please tell me you got some idea rolling around in there.” He doesn't answer, lost in concentration with his bottom lip between his teeth.

My phone suddenly rings in my pocket, I pull it out swiftly seeing Dean’s name glowing. I flip it open bringing it to my ear, “You okay?” I say immediately. “Uh…yeah,” He says but I remain not convinced, “what are we doing?”

I look at Sam, panicking slightly, “Um, Sam what are we doing?”

He pulls out his phone, “You gotta give me a minute.” He presses his phone to his ear, “He says to give him a minute, I think he’s callin’ someone.”

“I don’t have a minute!” He half yells. “Dude, I don't know!” I panic, “Just…just don’t die, okay?”

“Trying here sweetheart.” I look back at Sam who has stepped away, I give him a hand motion of ‘please hurry up.’ He nods, coming closer to feed me info, “Ask him where he is.” I pull my phone away from my ear putting him on speaker instead, “Okay, Dean where the hell are you?”

“In the middle of nowhere with a killer truck on my ass!” he exclaims, “It’s like it knows I put the torch to Cyrus.”

“Listen to me, this is important” Sam orders, calmly, “I have to know exactly where you are.” Seemingly taking his advice he goes quiet for a beat, “Decatur Road, about two miles off the highway.”

“Ok. Headed East?” Sam follows up.

“Yes!”

A rattle and a bang followed by skitting noise sounds from the phone followed by cursing, “You son of a bitch!”

“Sam!” I yell, begging him to hurry up. “Ok, uhhh, turn right! Up ahead, turn right.” Again the line falls silent, “You make the turn?” Sam questions softly. My heart beats faster with each silent moment that passes. “Yeah, I made the turn!” Dean yells, “You need to move this thing along a little faster.”

“All right, you see a road up ahead?” Sam asks.

“No!... Wait. No, yes, I see it.”

“Ok turn left.”

“Wha..?” Dean half says before he goes quiet again the only sound coming from the line being more screeching and shuffled movement. “All right, now what? He finally responds.

“You need to go seven-tenths of a mile and then stop,” Sam explains. I looked at him strangely, noticing he wasn’t on the phone anymore, but what the hell was he talking about? “Stop?” Dean voices.

“Exactly seven-tenths Dean” Sam repeats.

“God, I hope you know what you’re talking about,” I tell the man beside me. “Me too” he mumbles over the sound of his brother repeating the words ‘seven-tenths.’ I look at him my mouth agape, “You wha–”

“Dean, you still there?” He cuts me off, focusing on his brother again. “Yeah,” Dean responds.

“What’s happening over there?” I ask, not knowing was killing me. “It’s just staring at me,” he answers carefully, “what do I do?”

“Just what you’re doing, bringing it to you,” Sam replies.

“Wha–” Dean began before cutting himself off, the line going quiet for the umpteenth time, “Come on. Come on,” he mumbled quietly but just loud enough for the phone to pick it up. My heart thumps in my chest, anticipation and fear running through my veins as well as something else from those two stupid words–something had to be wrong with me to find that hot now of all times.

The line is silent, for one beat, then another, then another…I grip my phone tighter, “Dean? Dean, are you there? ‘You okay?”

“Where’d it go?” he responds with a mix of shock and confusion. “Dean, you’re where the church was,” Sam explains. “What church!” he freaks.

“The place Cyrus burned down. Murdered all those kids,” Sam clarifies.

“There’s not a whole lot left,” Dean responds.

“Church ground is hallowed ground, whether the church is still there or not. Evil spirits cross over hallowed ground, and sometimes they’re destroyed, so I figured, maybe, that would get rid of it,” Sam explains. I hit his arm, “That was a hunch?!”

Dean adds in with the lecturing, “Maybe? Maybe!! What if you were wrong?!”

“Huh,” Sam hums, “Honestly, that thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

I glare at him sharply, hitting his arm again as I say, “You’re too sassy for your own good.” He laughs, a boyish grin on his face.

I wait in the back, Sam in the driver seat for Dean to say his goodbyes. I liked the back seat, more now than ever because being in the front would mean being able to see out the side mirror and watch Dean kiss the woman he loves and say a goodbye I was sure he didn’t want.

Life was being really unfair and uncool.

I bury my nose in my new book, it would be better to just escape into this world than have to deal with my feelings here in the real world. My feelings in the real world were not fun, they were depressing and hurt…a lot. But no amount of ink on paper formed into beautifully crafted words could fill the gaping hole in my heart, still, I tried as there was nothing else to do.

What is worse is knowing there will never be a chance for me to be loved by him, at least not in the way I do, because there will always be a place in his heart for her. He’ll think of her all the time, dream about her, and perhaps see her in the breeze. His heart belongs to her, and possibly always has.

I needed to accept that. The sooner I did the quicker the pain would go away. I couldn't go on believing I had a chance I needed to huff the flame out now.

No more hope. No more love. We’re friends, always have been, and always will be. That will have to be enough. I couldn’t love him anymore, not if it meant feeling this much pain. I wouldn’t accept his touches anymore for they gave me more hope than I’d like to admit.

No. I was wrong.

Worse of all is knowing that I can’t just stop loving him. Let it be the Gods' fault or the stars or whatever it is I’m meant to believe in but my heart has long been his and always will be. I could never love someone the way I love him, I wasn’t capable of that. Let it be that our love was written in the star's constellations that it was undecided by me or him for my love had to transcend the binds of that nonsense.

I loved him and he did not love me and maybe it was that which I had to accept because to stop loving him would mean to stop my heart from beating. Though even then I suspect not even the afterlife could keep me from my eternal love. And maybe that was pathetic or stupid, especially since he did not care for me in such a way, but it was the truth and no one has ever claimed truth to be a beautiful thing.

I’m brought back to reality with a bump. When did we leave and start driving? I look out the window, we had already made it to the highway…I look at the boys, but both seem fine. Ok then.

“I like her,” Sam says, and suddenly I wish to be lost back in the state I was in moments ago. I would love not to hear or be a part of this conversation. “Yeah,” Dean replies, seemingly just to get his brother to stop.

“You meet someone like her, doesn’t it make you wonder if it’s worth it? Putting everything else on hold, doing what we do?” Sam asks innocently perhaps trying to get him to understand what he had felt with his girlfriend. But something flickers in his face and suddenly he’s making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, his eyes written in apology as if it just hit him now what all of this was doing to me. It was that puppy dog look.

I smile sadly at him, giving him a curt nod in a silent ‘it’s okay.’ His gaze flickers back to the road.

Dean leans forward pulling sunglasses from the glove box, he puts them on carefully ignoring his brothers' initial question, “Why don’t you wake me up when it’s my turn to drive?” He slouches down in his seat with a sigh. I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to my book.

We were leaving Missouri and all would be well, or as well as they could be.

143 notes · View notes

strixcattus · 8 months

Text

I really enjoy looking at this still from Slay the Princess:

In the midst of all the weird imagery from the first part of the Stranger route, you see for a moment—and it is cut off at the end, so I had to be quick with my screenshot—every route laid out in front of you, paired up as the game does elsewhere, and described, interestingly enough, from what I can only believe is the Voices' perspectives, or perhaps the relationship between the Princess and the Voice of a given route.

Consumption: The Beast (Hunted), the ribcages in the bottom right. Being eaten, alive or half so, is one way or another the outcome you face in the Beast. This one seems to be the least connected to its route's Voice, though I can still see it in a relational sort of way. Betrayal: The Witch (Opportunist), the nail-studded... I can't tell what it is, but it's at the top left. Betrayal on your part is the cause of the Witch's route, and it too is inevitable in some form once you're on that route—the Opportunist is very vocal about it.

Skepticism: The Prisoner (Skeptic), the chains at the bottom. Pretty clear analogue given the name of the Voice, but not to neglect—you reach the Prisoner by taking the blade (distrust of the Princess) but ultimately using it to free the Princess (you take the time to think critically about what you're being asked to do, and decide the Narrator is less trustworthy). Blind devotion: The Damsel (Smitten), the... I can only imagine locks of hair at the top. You reach the Damsel by immediately and wholly assuming she has no ill intentions, an attitude made manifest in the Smitten.

Rivalry: The Adversary (Stubborn), the spikes to the left. The Adversary route is, so long as you embrace it, about your probably-a-metaphor-for-sex-I-mean-the-Eye of the Needle-isn't-even-trying-to-veil-it eternal fight with the Adversary, with the Stubborn in strong support. Submission: The Tower (Broken), the stone columns to the right. One of the most clear-cut "this is about the Voice" examples—the Broken has completely submitted to the Tower's will, even though the player still has a few chances to resist her.

Terror: The Nightmare (Paranoid), the eyes in the upper right. Of course, the Nightmare is all about fear, and the Paranoid is the embodiment of your fear of the Princess—the fear that made you lock her in the basement and the fear that stopped your heart when she broke free. Longing: The Spectre (Cold), the wisps in the bottom left. This one is interesting, and almost made me second-guess my "Voices" reading, as the Spectre herself is clearly a creature of longing—but then what about "Submission?" The Tower is not "submitting" to anything. That's her whole deal. Perhaps this one is connected to your desire for something other than what the Narrator calls the "Good Ending..." or perhaps it has something to do with the Cold's interest in feeling something, which he expresses in a few routes (the Greys being the most obvious).

Pain: The Razor (Cheated,) the spikes at the top. She skewers you, and you die. Over and over again she skewers you, and you die, and it is painful over and over again. I'm not sure I have much to add to this one. Unfamiliarity: The Stranger (Contrarian), the abstract DNA-like strand at the bottom. You reach the Stranger by refusing to interact with the Princess, leaving her an unfamiliar blank slate whose actions you cannot predict and thus fracture into every possible image of her.

And at the heart of it all, an emotion that can only be described as—what? The Narrator doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before you wake up in the Prisoner's basement, but I'd think the answer is obvious once you've finished the game.

After all, this is a love story.

#slay the princess #less analysis more rambling but boy did I need to get this out #anyway just. the imagery of this one.#the way the stranger is infinite potentiality #reflecting every possible version of the Princess in such a way that she cannot be any of them #and how you get the clearest glimpse into what's going on in this moment #but expressed in a way you could never hope to understand without context #it's a map of the whole game but you need to find the key yourself to make sense of it

305 notes · View notes

ipowlin · 9 months

Text

So we all know that gem and pearl together is a force to be reckoned with. They have intimidated everyone on the server and rightfully so, they do not only have the bark but also a giant bite.

Now pearl. Pearl alone has so much potential.

She uses something that hinders her performance to her advantage, that thing is her ping.

She has the skill and strategy to solo half of the server if she went rabid again.

And that's the thing. She won't go rabid. She's kind and patient. Pearl has a potential that she couldn't show due to her loyalty and kindness.

Now you see, gem does not have a problem like that.

She's ruthless and blood thirsty whenever she feels like it. She is a leader, someone to look up to in a war. Gem brings the worst in pearl. She tells her things. She tells her to kill, to chase, to hunt. And pearl listens. She listens well.

Gem without pearl is like a warrior with nothing to fight with and for.

Pearl without gem is like a weapon without a wielder to protect and assist.

Gem knew. She knew that if she had gotten her hand on pearl she could rule the server alongside a witch with undying loyalty.

Pearl just wanted to be friends with gem because she was fun :3 she's silly like that

They've set plans, and strategies to defeat the enemy together. But before they know it, They've become each other's enemies.

Pearl asked gem

“gem. You don't want to do this, right…?”

And gem told her with a heavy heart. Knowing that there's no way that they could be together without betraying their day one alliances.

“No. I don't…”

gem ran away, feeling disappointed and betrayed as someone that promised to be her friend had attacked her without warning.

But before they could finish their conversation. A MASSIVE F[redacted]G C[redacted]T SHOT AT GEM. MAKING THEM FLEE. NICE JOB JOEL. (/Lh I love Joel beans)

And pearl, The weapon. Does what she does best and started to attack whoever her allies targets. Like a loyal wolf.

And being betrayed by pearl. That's something that happens once in a millenia.

She hid in her cherry peak as the mounders surrounded them. Gem sees pearl in the distance, stalking thought the forest to find a prey, and they locked eyes. Yet weirdly enough, none of them opened fire. Or even pulled out their bow.

They just shook their head at eachother as a symbol of peace and alliance. Friendship. Because that's what they were, they didn't want to kill eachother, they did not want to hurt one another. but their alliances. They forced them to do so. And they did, out of loyalty.

At that moment gem panics and jumped across the trees to tell both of them to stop shooting. But Scott just ignored her pleas and kept on going. Giving pearl no other option but to retaliate.

They stood their ground, looking at eachother with looks of pity before Scott pushed gem out of the way and shot at pearl. (GREAT JOB, SCOTT. 😡) She dodged before firing back at Scott.

Pearl told gem that she cannot stop what she is doing. But also that she does not have the heart to harm her either. She only wanted the Scotts.

Pearl went deeper into the inner walls of the scottages and was pummeled by arrows, yet she still presisted. impulse died without warning.

Shortly after she heard the yells of her allies and sprinted towards them. But she was too late for Scott and gem had killed them both.

Gem had thought. Maybe. Just maybe if she did not have her allies, she does not have her loyalty. And that she might join them.

Because gem knows that she could beat her. She knows that for a fact.

As she searched through the middle of the battlefield Scott ran up to her and started yelling at her to kill him. To take his heart and to not lose without a fight.

Without any other option she just did it. She stabbed him, gaining his hearts. And shortly after. Pearl came.

Not alone though, like she has hoped. She was with scar

Without any second though pearl shot at gem without mercy. Something that if un-character like of her. Pearl told her “dont make me do this, gem.”

I'm wich gem replied. Without sending her any arrows. “im not making you do anything! Why are you doing this.” as she ran away from them

Pearl chased after her. Though yelling “i don't know!”

Gem asked her “we’re friends! Why?!” and pearl repeated herself. “i don't know!!”

When they met again, pearl has not attacked gem. She tried to talk to her. To megotiate, anything that would mean not killing her. But before she could do that scar had jumped in and attacked gem again.

And what does a weapon do when given a target? They attack. So pearl ran in with her sword. And quite literally stabbed gem in the back.

Killing her.

Pearl got a wielder in the end. And it was not gem.

It was scar

#pearlescentmoon #geminitay #pearlgem #gempearl #secret life #traffic series #trafficblr #traffic smp #welcome to another episode of owl overthinks!

203 notes · View notes

destieltropecollection · 4 months

Text

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 15: Witch Magic or Curses

The Language of Wings | @tami-ryver Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,070 Main Tags/Warnings: Cursed Castiel (Supernatural), Wingfic, Angel Wings, Seraph Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Can See Castiel's Wings, Worried Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Loved, First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angel Courtship (Supernatural) Summary: Dean gasps. He can't see anything and there is something in the room with him and Cas. Something different. His hand aches to hold a knife, a gun, something to defend himself.

True Love Wins | @bookwithwings Rating: General Word Count: 1,179 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secret Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, is it established when it's secret? idk, Cursed Dean Winchester, Spells & Enchantments, fairytale trope, canonverse Summary: After coming back from a witch hunt something is seriously wrong with Dean. Cas and Sam consult Rowena for help. She has an idea what might help.

La Verdad | @thisisapaige Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,432 Main Tags/Warnings: Witch Curses,Truth Spells, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary: Castiel gets hit by a witch's spell on a hunt— a curse that compels him to speak the truth. To keep his deepest secret unsaid, all he has to do is remain silent and avoid Dean. That should be easy, right?

curse and birds | @dcforts Rating: General Word Count: 1,600 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Comedy, Love Confessions, Accidental Curse, True Love, Men of Letters Bunker, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Christmas fic Summary: Cas shows up on the third day with the french hens and the turtle doves and the partridge in tow.

Of Curses and Bee-Colored Mittens | @Destielshipper4Cas Rating: General Word Count: 3,232 Main Tags/Warnings: Witch Castiel, Strangers to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Omega Castiel, Alpha Dean, First Kiss, Alternate Universe – Magic, Familiar Dean Summary: After Castiel gets cursed by an evil witch, all his once-healing touch does is hurt people. He has learned to live with the fact that he can never touch anyone ever again. But a tenacious alpha doesn’t get the memo that being around him is dangerous.

Conjured | @Destielshipper4Cas Rating: General Word Count: 4,260 Main Tags/Warnings: Witch Castiel, Human Dean, Strangers to Lovers, Pining, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Omega Castiel, Alpha Dean, Alternate Universe - Magic Summary: Lonely and unable to fall asleep, witch Castiel conjures an alpha to cuddle with. Night after night from midnight until one a.m. Falling in love with his own spell is a bad idea on many levels. If only Dean didn’t seem so real…

With Magic All Around | @Destielshipper4Cas Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,500 Main Tags/Warnings: King Dean Winchester, Witch Cas, Commoner Cas, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Omega Castiel, Alpha Dean, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, First Kiss, Happy Ending Summary: Castiel is King Dean’s court witch. During an inventory of all magical items in the castle, he touches an enchanted golden ball and is now carrying the Winchester heir.

imagine being loved by me | @abi-cosmos Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,659 Main Tags/Warnings: Porn with feelings, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Awkward first times, Motels, Romantic angst, Canon divergence: season 5, Sexually Inexperienced Castiel, unclear feelings, Castiel gets cursed by a witch Summary: When Castiel gets cursed by a hunger spell, novelty dick-shaped waffles lead to everything that Dean Winchester wants. (Set around season five.)

Virginia is for Lovers | inkdr0p (AO3) Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 10,010 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Original Male Character(s), Case Fic, Witches, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Nearly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Prays to Castiel, Prayer, Cursed Dean Winchester, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, Diners, Dean Winchester and Food, Castiel Does Not Care About Gender Norms (Supernatural), Witch Sam Winchester, but not totally; he's just not afraid to admit that hunters do magic too, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel Drives the Impala (Supernatural), Castiel Wears Dean Winchester's Clothes, Castiel Gets New Clothes (Supernatural), Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt Dean Winchester, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester, Castiel Being Castiel (Supernatural), Idiots in Love Summary: “Oh.” Castiel reaches down and plucks something long and thick and black from the folds of Dean’s shirt, then holds his open palm up to his face, fascinated. “Cas,” Slowly, gingerly, Dean pushes himself up into a seated position, thrilled to be able to finally move but aware of how stiff he is from having lain on the cold ground all night. From his new position he can see something coiling around one of Cas’ fingers. “Forget the centipede, Cas.” “It’s a millipede.” “What?” “It’s a millipede. Centipedes have a single pair of legs per body segment, while millipedes have two." On one hand it’s very Cas of him to get hung up on a bug in the middle of a hunt, but on the other with two very noticeable corpses right nearby and the sun starting its rise in the east, they don't have the time or luxury to let this play out. ---------------- In which Dean accidentally gets himself cursed while on vacation, Cas has to help him work the case while accepting that he's not quite the angel he used to be, and Sam has to explain very basic magic to a guy who really should already know this stuff.

desire (I want to turn into you) | @alulangel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,192 Main Tags/Warnings: Cursed Castiel, Love Potion/Spell, Cosmic Horniness, opposite of cosmic horror, PWP, blasphemy, Castiel’s True Form, blow job, come sharing, anal sex, top!cas/bottom!dean, stabbing to climax, set in some indeterminate time during canon don’t worry about it Summary: When Cas and the Winchesters go after a witch, they wind up in the crosshairs of a misfired spell. Luckily it hits Cas, and surely a love spell will have no effect on an angel. But Castiel has questions. Castiel has doubts. For what might be the first time, Castiel feels... And what he feels is his fascination with Dean Winchester turn into a cosmic, unending, incomprehensible HUNGER.

A Prince's Guide To Wooing A Would-Be Wife (Without The Requisite Curse, Dragon, Kidnapping, Riddles Three, Or Traditional Peril Of Any Sort) | @an-android-in-a-tutu Rating: Mature Word Count: 11,708 Main Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, John Winchester, Naomi (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Princes & Princesses, Arranged Marriage, Curses, Enemies to Lovers, Trans Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Dean Winchester, Hair Kink, Body Hair, Feminization Summary: Dean is a Good Prince, he does what Good Princes do: Rescue Damsels and slay Dragons. As well as solve riddles, preform impossible tasks with the help of animal companions, break curses, collect golden apples, outwit ogres and trolls, and complete any number of oddball tasks (usually in sets of three.) The only thing he can't seem to accomplish is the happily ever after: at the end of the day, of all the Princesses (or Ladies, or Second Cousins twice removed of a Duke, or simple farm girls with oddly specific birth marks) he rescues, none of them ever end up riding home with him on the back of his noble steed to live with him in happily wedded bliss. It was probably only a matter of time before his parents took the issue out of his hands. It's a Fool who plays their hand against Fate, but Fate doesn't seem to be dealing to Dean, and there's the line of succession to consider. Dean hardly minds, he's a dutiful son after all, and he's used to true love passing him by. As long as he and his wife-to-be treat each other with kindness, he's sure they can figure out how to get along. If only Princess Castiel would give him the time of day, he might be able to convince her of that too.

The Hunter's Oath | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 19,895 Main Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, Celestial Castiel, Slow Build, Cabin Fic, Isolation, Castiel and Dean Have a Profound Bond, Angst Summary: Tasked with the important tradition of fulfilling an Oath to a celestial being, Dean is feeling the weight of loneliness more and more, after years of isolation on the mountain. Until one night, he is gifted a surprise: the god himself shows up with the desire to explore their bond for a time. Dean goes along with it, having no choice, and prays that nobody notices he might have failed to keep the mountain undisturbed. When he learns more about his new companion and the truth behind the legend, however, Dean finds himself picturing a different kind of life. One that isn’t as solitary. And perhaps, even more peaceful than anticipated.

It's all very complex | @artichokegarden Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20,065 Main Tags/Warnings: First Time, Porn Watching, Masturbation, Castiel Has a Sexual Awakening, Sex Pollen, Fuck Or Die, Dubious Consent, Hand Feeding, Spanking, Roleplaying, The Pizza Man, Dean Winchester Wears a Cowboy Hat, Doctor Kink, Sex Toys, Angelic Possession, Angelic Grace Sex, Sex in/on the Impala, Porn with Feelings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Humor Summary: “You don’t have to turn it off,” said Cas. “Humans get unnecessarily embarrassed about sex.” “Yeah well. Blame the bible. Angels have been known to get pretty judgy about it all.” Dean twirled the remote control distractedly. A thought seemed to strike him. He looked at Cas curiously. “Have you ever – I mean after April and all – did you ever … go on a journey of self discovery?” Cas stared at him. “Tamed the snake? Spanked the monkey? Made the beast with one back?” Cas looked at him. Dean made a small furtive gesture with his hand. Realization dawned. “No, Dean. That’s not something I ever felt the need to do.” “Right. Yeah." Dean turned away. "Well, angels are missing out.” After walking in on Dean's private time, Cas decides to do a little research and experimentation of his own and gets magically trapped in a book about sexual fantasies. And if that means Dean has to go in after him, well what are buddies for, right?

The Silence of Souls | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: Mature Word Count: 33,685 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Season 13, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Godstiel, Dean Bears the Mark of Cain, Team Free Will 2.0, Trauma, Angst, Mentioned Past AU Rowena/Sam Summary: After receiving an unexpected phone call from Patrick, a witch who Sam and Dean encountered years ago, Team Free Will 2.0 leave Dodge City behind and rush to meet him in Wichita. The reason: He claims to know a way that could help Mary cross back to their universe. His demands are reasonable and the spell is simple, but Patrick warns them that the spell is not without risks. After all, the universe always has a way of balancing itself out. Not thrilled at the idea of potentially releasing something bad into the world, they nevertheless think that Mary’s safety is worth the risk. So, the original Team Free Will cast the spell, with Jack by their side, ready to assist them against any surging danger. Unfortunately, what is unleashed upon them is far more troubling than anything they had anticipated. It’s the spell-casters’ darkest versions of themselves. Namely, Godstiel, the Boy King of Hell and Deanmon, bearer of the mark of Cain. And all three of them are determined to make themselves very comfortable in their new home.

Strawberry Moon | @casblackfeathers Rating: Explicit Word Count: 115,403 Main Tags/Warnings: bottom!dean, bottom!castiel, reunion, slow burn, friends to lovers, fluff, angst with a happy ending, familiar!dean, witch!castiel, hurt!dean, hurt!castiel, protective!dean, protective!castiel, jealous!castiel, john winchester being an asshole, soft!dean, soft!castiel, neighbors Summary: As a child, Castiel used to fall asleep with his mother telling him bedtime stories of the prophecy she had foreseen for him — how the Strawberry Moon would one day reveal the familiar he was destined to be with. However, it’s been twelve years since the heart-wrenching day Castiel last saw the one he hoped was meant for him, and at twenty-eight, with his magic quickly dwindling, he knows better than to keep believing in such foolish dreams. Castiel's resolve falters with the return of his long-ago teenage crush, Dean. The familiar’s evergreen eyes and rainbow aura are still as captivating, but his past is shrouded in mystery, one that could hold the answer to what drove them apart all those years ago. Maybe the peculiar tabby cat who seems to have taken a liking to Castiel is what it takes to make Castiel believe in the moon with shades of pink again.

#destiel trope collection #destiel trope collection 2024 #destiel #fanfic #supernatural #witch magic #curses

111 notes · View notes

sepublic · 1 month

Text

When discussing the benefits but also the dangers of fantasy in TOH, it makes me consider how this ties into Belos’ bigotry, religious superiority, white supremacy, etc. Because I see how in the parallels to Luz and the depictions of his witch hunts as a ‘game’ he played as a kid, the show is getting into the thought process behind white supremacy and the like; Specifically, by suggesting that it comes from the same core principle of “I was born special, I’m a hero.”

Because think of it this way; I was born inherently better than others, it’s in my blood, I have to defeat evils? These aren’t unlike what white supremacists believe about themselves. After all, TOH is coming off of Harry Potter, which is criticized for the “It’s in his blood” trope with the protagonist.

This is foiled by Luz, who wants to believe at first that she’s special and things will automatically come to her because of it, but then Eda has to explain; Sorry kid, but if you want things you have to work for and earn them, just like anyone else. Some things can be attributed to luck on Luz’s part, but it’s not as if she’s blind to this and saying it’s ‘destiny’ (unlike someone else), plus in general we all have a bit of privilege in some ways.

And again, that ties back into Christian white supremacy, particularly the Puritans, who believed their colony would be a "City upon a Hill." That it’s their goal to enlighten people, or else root out the evildoers; You can see how this evolves into evangelicalism in the U.S. and the right’s obsession with anything new as satanic, even if it’s something like Elvis Presley or Pokemon (which Dana grew up with, coincidentally), or more recently, furries.

(No really, this actually happened I kid you not. It seems like an exaggeration but I swear it genuinely happened and it truly is absurd that it did.)

Anyhow I think that’s important, because it’s not just the message that Christian white supremacy is bad, it’s why people even believe and buy into these things to begin with. A lot of alt-right 4channers and the like fall into these rabbit holes because they feel cheated out of the implicit, unconscious promises of white supremacy and feel as if they’re owed something; So obviously women and PoC, the queers, the ‘diversity hires’ and affirmative action, this is what’s cheated them.

And you can see the connection between white christian ideas and how that can translate into a lot of fantasy stories, hence “It’s in your blood” and “It’s destiny,” as well as Isekai Colonialism; The idea that what if another world and its inhabitants just existed for you. These tropes are inspired by outdated ideas that Christian white supremacy, an outdated belief, has plenty examples of and sometimes even inspired.

And this is why it’s important to engage with these things critically and question them… But at the same time, Luz is still allowed to love Azura, it’s just about maintaining a critical eye and being self-aware of what you internalize and don’t. Hence her learning to differentiate reality from fiction and not become delusional; Hence King doing the same!

By making that connection, it does explain this type of bigotry by framing it in a way that viewers can actually relate to, even if they also condemn it just as much, if not moreso after understanding. It ties even the genocide with tropes like the dragon slayer, the endless horde of monsters you don’t ever have to feel bad about or question killing, or the DnD Evil Race; Which on their own, these stories aren’t necessarily in advocacy for genocide of course, some of them are just inspired by previous ones without making that connection. And most people know not to let it affect how they see reality.

Because it’s one thing to let yourself be petty and find catharsis against a genuine, extreme example who has gone out of their way to hurt you (those definitely exist, alas); But it’s another to actively search for people to feel angry towards, amidst groups unrelated to you, and provoke them until they give you that ‘justification’. Because you’re not responding to anything, you are the aggressor; In essence, you are performing a witch hunt, in a need to feel like a hero enacting righteous judgment.

Because you’re desperate for the power of putting someone else beneath you, which is what the mundane bully does, out of the belief this conversely translates into you being above others; Again, the ‘chosen one’ beliefs, the Christian white supremacy. And suddenly you better understand why Evangelicals raged over something as innocuous as the Pokemon games that Dana grew up with, back when they first came out.

So Luz understands; She does understand, better than some people, in fact. She understood the Collector. But just because she understands, doesn't necessarily mean Luz approves or excuses; She still has every right in condemning Belos because she never let herself go that far, and this behavior would be condemned even by those trying to make up for it; It’s why they try to make up for it. And the fiction Luz wants to happen for herself (which isn’t the same as the fictions one enjoys) isn't centered around there being hidden bad actors amongst the populace to constantly root out; Luz is only going to react, not act, and consistently, predominantly sees the best in others.

In the end, Belos latched onto Caleb marrying Evelyn, and then the Grimwalkers, and finally Luz, as a way of a proving a point to himself; That wiping out witches WAS in service of humanity, it would actually help them, by showing how he 'rescued' a human from temptation. I'm sure he genuinely loved Caleb, but in an extreme form of Luz's Wing it like Witches, at some point he subsumed Caleb's input and agency to instead make him into a docile trope to make decisions for.

And when Caleb didn't go along with that story, pointed out how it didn't fit the reality of the situation; Philip killed him! His priorities shifted from doing it for Caleb's sake, for the sake of HIS fantasy; He saw an opportunity to live out the Witch Hunter story and it mattered more to him than actually helping someone, or realizing in relief he didn't have to.

Hence the Titan saying Belos "fears what he can't control" due to "his need to be the hero in his own delusion." It’s a quote applicable to real life conservatives who look for things to outlaw, because hating makes them feel like righteous saviors; Remember Pokemon? Gotta save people from themselves and any potential temptations… Belos couldn't control Caleb, and the Grimwalkers? Belos' way of re-attempting his 'side quest' to again, prove that what he's doing is for the sake of humanity, in the absence of actual humans to work with.

Not that he cares about this for fear of hurting others, but because he fears it means he isn't the special hero. Note that Belos doesn't feel guilt over any witches and demons he killed in For the Future, it's telling; As is the assumption that even if he was treated with hostility when arriving in both Gravesfield and the isles, Belos still understood that murdering the colony was wrong… Yet ignores this lesson when it comes to demons because of hypocrisy, choosing to go after the world that was canonically accepting and would be much harder to attack.

And when Luz shows up, Belos abandons Hunter (showing how much he really cared) because Luz is a real human to save, even if she's technically a queer girl of color; But if you remember how Americans kidnapped Native children and assimilated them into Christian society and culture, it actually makes perfect sense because it's another form of genocide. And it's just as racist and insincere as the murder. And just like many homophobic Christians, Belos selectively chooses what to apply from the Bible because he knows it speaks contrary to what he does and he fears that, it’s something he can’t control despite his attempts to.

#the owl house #emperor belos #Philip wittebane #meta

61 notes · View notes

lover-of-mine · 1 month

Text

Okay, so, I'm fully aware of the platform I accidentally created with the whole network, and I love being the place people come for information and a good laugh about the madness. But I am a person. I am also only one person. I get a whole lot of asks in a day, I try to answer as many as I can but sometimes my life gets in the way and sometimes the things I'm getting kill my vibe and make me less inclined to sit through my inbox for hours. I filter as much as I can, sometimes the sheer volume of asks filter things too. I'm just the messenger. I'm not gonna let you use me to rage bait because I'm the one who takes the heat for it. Is my name attached to the asks. I don't condone with what's been happening, the blogs who take things too far or whoever it was who wrote that fic. I don't know who wrote it, if it was an angry buddie shipper or a disturbed bucktommy one or someone outside of the mess who wants to have fun putting us against each other, but I know that I don't want anything to do with that individual or individuals. But to act like they somehow speak for the whole buddie fandom is messed up. To expect every buddie fan to public denounce them is messed up. Unfortunately, there has always been fucked up fics posted to ao3. Are we gonna chase down everyone who wrote fics where Chim is abusive towards Maddie, or where Eddie is Buck's Doug, or the very disturbing Ana bashing fics that include shit ranging from her kidnapping Chris to her raping Buck too then? We've seen a bt shipper say that Eddie should kill himself because Ryan's experience would make the scene realistic, but I never expected anyone to apologize for her behavior because I know she's not the norm and she's the only one responsible for the shit she says. No one here speaks for anyone. But dissecting why a character acts the way he does when he has a canon past of bigotry does not give anyone the right to say that the only reason something disturbing is happening is because I said something mean about Tommy. That fic is fucked up. But the only person responsible for it is whoever wrote it. If I knew who that was, trust me, I would be putting them on blast, but I don't. Some of you need to get off your high horse. No one can control fandom, and a witch hunt just because someone found a burner account that may or may not be responsible for shit and attacking everyone because they are being followed by them is not it. It's not gonna solve anything. To try and make anyone who said something negative about Tommy responsible is not it. I'm a real person. I know y'all only see a hockey player's picture and a 5sos song url, but I'm a person. I am not a newspaper and I'm also not the spokesperson for the buddie fandom who needs to make a statement about these awful things happening. I'm not the one creating the unsafe space. My shit is properly tagged, I stay in my blog, I don't go chasing people I don't agree with just to pick a fight. But y'all do love dragging me into shit I have nothing to do with. What happened is fucked but can we stop blaming the whole fandom for the actions of a very small portion of it?

#911 #thoughts thoughts thoughts #tw suicide mention

59 notes · View notes

justsomewritingblog · 2 months

Text

The Right Thing

Request: Nope

Requested By: Nobody

Prompt: "Don’t patronize me for something you were too scared to do!"

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!OC/reader

Summary: Hunt's best friend, Draco Malfoy, accepts the Dark Mark. She doesn't approve.

Warnings: violence (battle), mentions of death, mentions of blood

A/N: THIS IS SOOOO LATE. Holy moly, where does the time go?

Word Count: 12K+

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

I walked through Hogwarts’ doors, looking up and marveling at the scale of the place.

“First years, follow me, please,” a woman- I assumed a witch- instructed before leading everyone up a staircase. She wore a large pointy hat and green robes.

I followed her, grimacing as I bumped shoulders with a few other children.

“The sorting ceremony is your initiation at Hogwarts,” the woman explained, leading us through large double doors.

A big room with four long tables was revealed to us. They were nearly full with teenagers. Another table was at the end of the room, many adults sitting at it. Candles floated in the air, casting a pleasant warm glow.

As we were led further into the room, I could see a stool with something sitting atop it in front of the adults’ table.

The witch turned to face us, gesturing to the space in front of her. “Wait here, please. Before we begin, Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words.”

A man with long white hair and beard stood from his seat at the middle of the adult table. “I have a few start-of-term notices I wish to announce.” He paused. “The first years, please note…that the Dark Forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Also, our caretaker,” he gestured to the doors, “Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you… that the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone that does not wish to die a most painful death.”

I cocked an eyebrow.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore smiled before sitting back down.

The witch that led us in pulled out a scroll, opening it. “Now, when I call your name, you will come forth… I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head,” she lifted the hat, “and you will be sorted into your houses.” She looked down at the scroll she held in her right hand before looking back towards the crowd of first years. “Hermione Granger.”

A girl near the front of the group slowly moved forward, sitting on the stool. The hat was placed on her bushy hair. A few seconds later it shouted out “Gryffindor!”

One of the long tables erupted into cheers and applause.

I assumed that was the Gryffindor table.

Granger got off the stool, moving to sit at the table.

At the call of my name, I turned to the witch and eyed the hat in her hand before moving towards the stool, sitting down atop it.

“Ahh,” the hat said. “What have we here? Got a bit of bravery, a good deal of loyalty to your close friends…”

I looked up as best I could, trying to see the hat.

It went on. “Smart, too. I also see a great deal of passion and ambition. You want things to go your way, and you’ll do much to get yourself there.” The hat hummed. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Wherever will benefit me the most,” I reasoned quietly, hoping that my parents would be proud no matter what house I was put in.

“Very well. I will put you in…Slytherin!”

I let out a small breath of relief as the table by the right wall grew loud with claps. The hat was lifted off my head and I moved from the stool, making my way to the end table. I slid down the empty end of the benches, sitting by another student before returning my attention to the ceremony.

The witch looked at her scroll again before lifting her head. “Draco Malfoy.”

A boy near the front moved towards the stool, his hair the whitest blond I had ever seen. He sat on the stool, turning to face the students.

The witch began to lower the hat.

“Slytherin!”

My table began clapping again.

I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t think the hat even touched his head.

The boy walked over to the Slytherin table, sitting across from me.

“Susan Bones.”

A redheaded girl stepped forward to sit on the stool, a nervous look on her face.

“My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

I turned, looking at the boy addressing me.

His hand was outstretched.

I eyed it, extending my hand to shake it as I looked back into his grey eyes. “I know.”

He cocked an intrigued eyebrow, his confident smirk growing as he returned his hand to his side. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Most pureblood families know who the Malfoys are,” I reasoned, glancing back in time to see Bones walking towards a table.

It wasn’t the Gryffindor or Slytherin ones, but I couldn’t tell if it was Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.

I turned back to the blond. “Your name was also just announced.”

“Ronald Weasley.”

I looked back, seeing a redheaded boy move towards the seat.

The hat was placed on his head and shortly shouted out “Gryffindor”.

Weasley let out a sigh of relief, moving to the table and sitting amongst several other redheads.

“How many children does one family need?”

I turned to Malfoy, noting his displeased expression.

“Harry Potter.”

My eyes widened and I spun around.

A boy with dark hair and circular glasses moved out of the crowd, looking back briefly before settling on the stool.

The hat was placed on his head. For many moments, it sat there.

Potter muttered something.

The hat finally yelled out “Gryffindor!”

Potter got off the seat and moved to the Gryffindor table as everyone greeted him with enthusiasm.

I heard a scoff and looked back at Malfoy.

“Precious Potter,” he said with a sneer. “I’m surprised they didn’t have a parade for him.”

I smirked. “The day’s not over, Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s frown turned into a mischievous smile. “I think you and I can be great friends, Hunt.”

My smirk grew into a grin. “I think so, too.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I stepped away from the display at the front of the bookshop, beginning to head towards the exit.

Gilderoy Lockhart was, unfortunately, selling the textbooks needed for the school year.

My parents walked behind me, talking to each other.

I lifted my gaze, seeing a mass of red hair.

Moving through the group of spectators, I approached them. “Ah, the Weasleys,” I said, looking over at them. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Some eyed me suspiciously, others in simple confusion.

“What do you want, Hunt?”

I turned to Ron. “Nothing, Weasley.” I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m just here for my books.” I looked between all of the children. “I assume you’re here to do the same?”

Lockhart moved towards the group, grabbing Potter and pulling him up to the front, making some sort of remark about them being in the newspaper.

“Something like that,” Ron said coldly.

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not your enemy, Weasley.”

“Any friend of Malfoy is an enemy of mine,” he said, looking over at me.

I straightened, my clutch on my books tightening. “I see.” Turning around to face my parents, I nodded towards another area of the shop. “I’m almost ready. I just want to look at one more thing.”

“Alright,” my mother said, smiling down at me.

I moved to a different corner of the store, eyes raking over the bindings of the books. I frowned. The book I was thinking about getting wasn’t there. I returned to my parents, nodding at them. “I’m done.”

They nodded back and began to usher me towards the door.

The Weasleys and their crew had moved towards the exit, as well.

“-Potter. You’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

I smiled at the familiar voice. Moving around the Weasleys, I made my way towards the blond. “Draco,” I greeted with a smile.

Draco lifted his gaze to me before it was immediately drawn to his father’s cane that pushed on his shoulder to move him out of the way.

Mr. Malfoy began talking to Potter as I walked behind him, heading for Draco.

“Good to see you, Draco,” I said with a smile.

He gave a forced smile back before his gaze drifted over my shoulder to look at his father.

My smile dropped of its own accord, but I managed to keep it from falling completely into a frown. Clearing my throat, I looked up at him. “Did you get your books yet?”

“I got them earlier,” he replied distractedly, only glancing down at me for a brief moment.

“I see.” Looking to the side, I huffed out a breath before looking back to the blond. “I guess I’ll see you at school, Draco.”

He nodded, his eyes still on his father.

I frowned, returning to my parents. “I’m ready to leave.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I looked around Platform Nine and Three Quarters, standing on the tips of my toes to see over people.

Parents were saying goodbye to their children before they boarded the Hogwarts Express.

My gaze landed on a head of blond hair. I smiled at the familiar shade. Feet moving into action, I made my way over, the speed of my steps increasing as I got closer. As I approached, his gaze scanned the area before landing on me.

A smile graced his sharpening features. He turned and said something to Crabbe and Goyle, who both went inside the train, before striding towards me.

“Draco,” I greeted quietly as he approached me. I met his gaze and let out a chuckle. “I have to look up at you, now.”

He smirked down at me. “Are you saying you haven’t always looked up to me?”

I rolled my eyes with a scoff. “Hardly.” We made our way into the train. I followed behind Draco as he led me through the compartments.

He looked into each window before moving on. He stopped, entering the box that Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in.

I followed, sitting opposite Goyle, Draco on my right. Raising an eyebrow, I looked between the three. “What nonsense do you think will go on at Hogwarts this year?”

Draco scoffed. “Whatever it is, you can bet Potter and his friends will be at the center of it.”

I chuckled. “Well, obviously.” I adjusted in my seat. “I swear those three look for trouble.”

The loud sound of the train’s breaks filled the air.

I winced, looking towards the window. “We can’t be at Hogwarts yet.” Turning to the door, I slid it open, sticking my head out to peer towards the front of the train. I could see other students doing the same.

“The stupid thing probably broke down,” Draco sneered.

I drew my head back in, closing the door, as I turned to my housemates.

The lights went out.

“Oh, lovely,” I muttered.

The train jostled.

I gripped the edge of the bench to steady myself. “What in the name of Salazar is going on here?”

A harsh chill fell over the room.

Ice began to form on the window.

The loud sounds of the rain hitting the still compartment filled my ears.

I reached towards the door, lowering the curtain. Sliding backwards along the bench, I kept my eyes on the only entrance as I pulled out my wand.

A figure passed the compartment, casting a cloaked shadow on the curtain.

I held my breath.

Silence stretched on for a few moments.

My gaze stayed locked on the doorway, even as the lights came back on.

“What was that,” Crabbe asked after a few more beats of quiet.

The train began moving again.

I relaxed slightly, moving slightly away from Draco to look between the three of them. “Nothing good.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception,” Professor McGonagall began, clasping her hands together as she began walking between the rows of seated students. “On Christmas Eve night, we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity.” She paused and looked around. “As representatives of the host school I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward… and I mean this literally, because the Yule Ball is first and foremost… a dance.”

Whispers broke out among the students; excited sounds from the girls, irritated sounds from the boys.

I smirked.

Professor McGonagall held up her hands. “Silence!”

The students quieted.

“The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizard world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons.” She smiled. “Now, to dance is to let the body breathe.” She turned towards us. “Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers, longing to burst forth and take flight.”

I shifted my gaze to Draco, who was sitting across the room.

His cool, grey eyes met mine.

I pointedly rolled my eyes before smirking.

He smirked back before wiping his expression, looking to the head of Gryffindor as she turned to them.

“Inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance- Mister Weasley.” Professor McGonagall walked towards him.

Ronald looked up at her, looking the most uncomfortable I’d ever seen him. “Yes,” he asked quietly.

She reached her hand down. “Will you join me please?”

Weasley got up silently as the rest of the boys laughed.

Potter gave his best friend a push, grinning at him.

The ginger met the Professor in the middle of the room.

She held up her arms. “Now. Place your right hand on my waist.”

He looked horrified. “Where?”

“My waist.”

Weasley apprehensively placed his hand on his professor’s waist.

A wolf whistle sounded from the boy’s side of the room.

The redhead turned his head towards it, pulling his hand off.

Professor McGonagall grabbed it, putting it back. “And extend your arm.” She looked over her shoulder. “Mr. Filch, if you please.”

Filch put the needle down on the gramophone.

Music filled the room.

Professor McGonagall looked back to Ron. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” She began to lead him in dance steps. “Everybody come together!”

The girls all stood in a hurry, moving onto the dance floor.

I sighed before pushing myself to my feet and joining them.

The boys sat further back in their chairs, seemingly trying to be swallowed by them.

“Boys! On your feet!”

The boys all looked around at each other.

Longbottom finally stood, making his way towards us.

The rest of the group groaned before standing and walking over.

Professor McGonagall’s voice called above the noise. “Everybody, Mister Malfoy!”

I stood on the tips of my toes, spotting the blond huff as he stood from his seat, slowly walking onto the dance floor.

His gaze raked the crowd.

I moved to make my way towards him when I bumped into someone. “My apologies,” I said, looking up into the face of a Ravenclaw.

“It’s alright,” he assured with a small smile.

I paused, looking around him to see Draco.

“I guess we’re practicing…” the Ravenclaw said. He looked down at me. “Would you mind dancing with me?”

“Well, I was actually...” I looked to where Draco was, no longer seeing him. My eyebrows furrowed. I looked back up at the Ravenclaw. “I’d… be delighted,” I said, forcing a practiced smile.

He grinned down at me, his white teeth standing out even more against his dark skin. He placed his hands where they were supposed to go before beginning to move us along the floor.

I periodically looked around, trying to find my housemate.

“You’re very good.”

I looked back at the Ravenclaw. “Thank you. Knowing how to dance was a necessity with my family.”

“Have a lot of parties?”

I smiled. “And things of similar nature.”

As soon as Professor McGonagall announced practice was over, I thanked my partner before stepping away, trying to find Draco. Having no luck, I returned to the Slytherin Common Room. “Pureblood,” I said distractedly before walking into the room.

The girls that were already there were excitedly discussing the upcoming dance.

I strode passed them, looking for the blond.

“Hunt!”

I turned around, looking at the group of girls. “Yes?”

“Are you going to the ball?”

“Who was that man you were dancing with?”

I looked between my housemates. “I don’t know, and I don’t know.” I glanced to the side before turning back to them. “Have any of you seen Draco?”

“I think he went up to the dorm rooms,” one of them said.

“Thank you.” I moved towards the steps, grabbing Goyle’s sleeve, dragging him away from whatever he was doing, and pushed him up the stairs in front of me.

I was a little too old for slides.

Once at the top, I thanked him before turning to the dorm Draco was assigned. I knocked on the door.

A few beats of silence followed before the sound of a quiet “it’s open” reached my ears.

I opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind me.

“What do you want,” Draco questioned, laying on his bed. He was staring at the ceiling.

“Well, I wanted to dance with you, but you vanished.”

Draco snapped his head in my direction. His surprised, and maybe even panicked, look quickly became masked by indifference. “You were dancing with somebody else.”

I strode towards him, standing at the foot of his bed. “I was trying to get to you,” I said, looking down at him.

He lifted his gaze to meet my eyes briefly before he lowered them again. “Who were you dancing with, anyway?”

I shrugged. “A Ravenclaw. He’s nice.”

Draco’s eyes shifted to the side.

A few beats of silence passed.

My eyebrow quirked up for a split second. “Are you going to the Yule Ball?”

“I don’t know.”

I hummed. “Well, if you aren’t, I’m not.”

He finally moved his gaze back to my face.

I lifted a hand to gesture. “Don’t let that affect your decision of course. Just let me know what you choose. I wouldn’t want to waste my time.” I stepped away from his bed, moving towards the door.

“You aren’t going with that Ravenclaw?”

My steps halted. “No.” I turned around to face him.

A few more beats of silence passed.

“Did you want to go?”

I pursed my lips. “I hadn’t decided.”

Another pause.

“I would only go if you did,” Draco said. “You know how to dance, and I would never be seen with someone who would embarrass me,” he quickly tacked on.

I forced myself not to smile at his response. “The choice is yours,” I said, moving towards the door. I gripped the door handle before looking back at the blond. “Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight.”

I stepped out of his room, closing the door behind me.

~~~~~~~~~~

I made my way to the Great Hall.

Students were everywhere, standing in groups.

It was odd to see everyone dressed so nicely.

It was odd to be dressed so nicely at school.

Stopping by the steps, I ran my hand over my flowy skirt before reaching up and adjusting my hair. Once I realized I had done the action I quickly dropped my hand to my side, chastising myself.

Why was I so nervous?

I fought the urge to fiddle with the jeweled silver necklace that rested at my collarbone.

Someone brushed my arm.

I turned to look at them. “Oh, I-” I paused, seeing Potter and Weasley. “Hello, boys.” I silently eyed Weasley’s dress robes.

“Hunt,” Potter said tightly.

Weasley lowered his head.

I cleared my throat, looking over at the Boy Who Lived. “Good job with the tournament so far, Potter.”

He forced a smile. “Thanks.”

Two girls walked over. “Hello, boys.”

The males lifted their heads, looking over at the pair.

Potter looked over at me. “Excuse us.”

“Of course,” I said, gesturing at their dates.

The four of them moved a few steps away and began to converse.

“I see Potter managed to find a date.”

My head whipped around to the sound of the voice.

Draco’s head was turned towards Potter and Weasley, a grimace on his face.

My eyes traced his form in his dress robes appreciatively. A twinge of horror ran through me, which I’m sure appeared on my face, before I forced the thoughts from my mind. Clearing my throat, I followed his gaze. “Yes. I imagine it’s pretty easy when you’re as famous as he is.”

Draco scoffed. “As if he wasn’t famous enough already. Now he’s a part of the tourna-” Draco looked down at me, cutting himself off. His eyes widened slightly.

I fought hard against fidgeting. Instead, I raised a challenging eyebrow, hoping that if I ignored the red color growing on my cheeks, he wouldn’t notice it. “Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?” I smirked.

He met my gaze, an irritated look on his face, opening his mouth to reply.

“Ah, Mister Malfoy, Miss Hunt.”

Draco and I turned to the voice.

Professor McGonagall stood beside us. “Please head inside the Great Hall. The students are going to welcome the tournament champions and their dates.”

Draco’s face twitched in what I knew was him trying to not sneer.

I nodded. “We will, Professor.” Taking Draco’s arm, I pulled him towards the double doors.

We walked through, standing in one of the two lines along the entrance.

Music sounded and the champions walked in.

Fleur was first with her date, followed by Victor Krum and Granger.

Cedric Diggory and Chang followed them, Potter and his date taking up the rear.

I joined the others in clapping, noting that Draco’s clapping ceased once Krum had passed.

The champions and their dates began dancing.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall stepped onto the floor after a few minutes, beginning to dance as well.

Longbottom and Ginny Weasley followed.

Draco took my hand, pulling me onto the floor. Turning to face me once he stopped, he took my hand in his, placing his other on my waist.

My heart jumped at the contact, and I fought to keep my expression from showing it, instead offering him a smile as I put my free hand on his shoulder.

We stepped in time with the music, effortlessly performing the familiar steps.

“Are you having fun yet?”

He looked down at me before his gaze drifted around the room. “It could be worse,” he said as he lifted me into the air.

I smirked up at him as he set me back down, resuming our steps. “Do I displease you that much?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He looked around. “It’s crowded. And Potter-”

“Don’t think about Potter.” I held his gaze, trying to get my earnestness across. “Not tonight, Draco. Relax and enjoy the festivities, food, and people.”

Draco scanned the room again. “I doubt I’ll get much enjoyment out of the people.”

I squeezed his hand that held mine. “Try.”

Draco sighed through his nose before nodding.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you for coming, Draco.” I smiled softly. “I hope you enjoyed yourself, at least a little.”

He shrugged one shoulder, looking to the wall. “It wasn’t totally awful.”

I hummed a chuckle.

Draco looked back at me. His grey eyes shifted between mine before flickering to my lips for a brief moment. He held my gaze. “Goodnight, Hunt.”

I nodded. “Goodnight.”

We each turned around, heading towards our dormitories.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Did you know that Professor Umbridge is looking for people for an inquisitor squad?”

I turned the page of the textbook laid out on the Common Room table. “No, I didn’t,” I replied, eyes scanning over the title of the next chapter.

“I’m going to volunteer.”

My gaze lifted from the page I was studying to meet Draco’s. “What will that get you?”

“Power. Authority.”

I wrote down something I expected would come up on a test in the near future. “Both temporary.”

“Maybe.” Draco paused. “I might even get a good reputation with the Ministry.”

My quill stilled.

Now that was interesting.

Eyes darting back and forth, I pondered the thought. Lifting my head to look at Draco, I ignored his smirk.

He knew he had me.

“How many people is she looking for,” I asked.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I stepped inside Malfoy Manor, falling into stride behind my parents.

“Lucius, Narcissa,” my father greeted, shaking their hands. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you,” Mrs. Malfoy replied, smiling.

“Have you…” Mr. Malfoy’s gaze shifted to me briefly, “informed her of the situation?”

“Not yet,” my mother said.

My eyebrows furrowed. I opened my mouth to question them, but Mrs. Malfoy walked towards me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

“I imagine you want to see Draco, dear.” She smiled down at me as she began to lead me towards their grand staircase.

“Mrs. Malfoy, what’s going on?” I looked over at her as she walked with me up the steps.

“You’ll understand soon,” she assured, though her voice seemed off.

We reached the top of the steps.

“Draco,” Mrs. Malfoy called out.

I looked back down the steps, seeing Mr. Malfoy usher my parents into the dining area.

The sound of a door opening drew my attention back to the upstairs hallway.

Draco stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him. He wore an entirely black suit, and when he turned to face his mother I could tell something was wrong.

My heart tugged and my stomach sank as I took in his furrowed eyebrows, dark circles under his eyes and prevalent frown on his face.

“-to see you, dear.”

Draco nodded, lowering his head as he cast his gaze at the floor.

Mrs. Malfoy placed her hand on Draco’s cheek for a few moments before walking back downstairs.

I waited with held breath.

Draco, without lifting his head, turned back around and went back inside his room.

The door was left ajar.

I waited a few moments, stuck in place, before forcing my feet to follow him. Walking inside his room, I stared at his back, stopping just inside as I closed the door halfway. Turning to him, I tried to fight against my nausea. “Draco,” I called out quietly. Taking a small step towards him, I asked “what’s wrong?”

He let out a shaky breath, one which I could see in his back and shoulders, and turned his head away from me slightly.

I took a couple more steps, lightly placing my hand on his shoulder.

He startled.

I moved around his right, trying to look at him, but he turned his head away further. “Draco,” I said softly.

His jaw twitched.

“Look at me,” I whispered, my eyebrows pulling together.

He hesitated before turning his head towards me slightly.

I put my right hand on his cheek, bringing his head around to face me completely.

He still wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Draco.”

A few moments passed before he lifted his head. His grey eyes were dim, filled with unshed tears.

My entire body got set on edge. “Draco-”

He let out a short noise, similar to a sob, before crushing me in a hug.

I froze.

What in the world could get the Malfoy heir so upset?

I wrapped my arms around him. “What’s wrong?” I squeezed him. “What happened?”

Nothing but muffled cries escaped him.

I tightened my hold, resting my head on his shoulder. “Shhh. It’s okay,” I tried to soothe. Running my hand along his back, I reminded him to breathe.

“Children!”

My heart stopped.

Draco froze.

I lifted my head, turning to face the doorway.

“Come downstairs!”

My attention was drawn back to my best friend when I felt him pull away from me.

He stood up tall and straightened out his suit.

His eyes were red and wet.

I frowned. “One moment,” I called back, not looking away from the boy before me.

He stared straight ahead, focused on the wall, as he wiped his eyes.

My frown deepened.

He moved around me, heading towards the door.

I quickly followed him out, needing to move fast to keep up with his purposeful steps.

Draco turned the corner, heading into the dining area.

I did the same, stopping dead in my tracks.

“Ah, Miss Hunt.”

My eyes widened.

The Dark Lord gestured at the free chairs at the table. “Won’t you sit down?”

I looked to Voldemort’s right, seeing Mr. Malfoy.

Mrs. Malfoy sat on her husband’s other side, Draco sitting down beside her.

On Voldemort’s left… my parents.

As much as I wanted to sit by Draco, I reasoned with myself that sitting by my parents would be more professional.

Lowering myself into the seat beside my mother, I shifted my gaze briefly to Draco, who sat across from me, before looking back at Voldemort.

“Did you enjoy your visit with young Mister Malfoy?”

I blinked at the question, fighting to keep my expression neutral.

Not really.

“As much as could be expected,” I replied.

“Good.” Voldemort nodded, grinning. “I wanted to discuss business.” He nodded his head towards my parents. “Your parents have already accepted the Dark Mark, as have the Malfoys.”

I glanced at Draco, seeing his head still cast downward. I looked back to the Dark Lord.

“The offer extends to you.”

All eyes turned on me, awaiting my decision.

I resisted the urge to shift in my seat. “What do I get out of it?”

Voldemort laughed.

Everyone else looked baffled.

“What else?” Voldemort grinned. “Power. The world will be yours.”

I nodded, sitting up straighter. “And if I refuse?”

Everyone’s heads whipped around to face me.

They all looked horrified.

I saw a twinge of something flash across Voldemort’s face.

He chuckled. “My dear Miss Hunt…” he clasped his hands on the table. “If you are not with me… you are against me.”

The room fell silent.

“I see.” I tilted my chin up. “May I have some time to think it over?”

Voldemort’s expression fell for just a moment before he plastered a grin on his face. “Certainly. How long do you require?”

“A week.”

Voldemort nodded. “Very well. Until then.” He nodded at me, but remained seated.

I stood. “Thank you.” Casting one last glance around the table at the people I grew up with, I walked out of the dining area.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I readjusted my grip on the bag I was carrying. Stopping in front of my motel room, I pulled out the key and opened the door, closing and locking it behind me once inside.

It was getting late, and I wasn’t looking forward to the darkness that came with it.

Walking further into the room, I moved towards the kitchen before stopping in my tracks.

A figure was standing in the shadows.

I whipped out my wand. “Stupe-”

“Expelliarmus!”

My wand flew out of my hand, hitting the floor several feet away.

I froze.

My heart skipped a beat and my stomach jumped to my throat.

Letting out a quiet sigh, I lowered my head, turning on the lightswitch.

The overhead lights illuminated the room.

I stared at a spot on the floor, not wanting to look my visitor in the eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

“Why?” I lifted my head to look at him. “How did you find me?”

Draco hesitated. “They never lost you.”

I stared at him for a few moments before walking the few steps to retrieve my wand. “So why are they only sending you now?”

“They didn’t send me.”

I turned to face him. “Then why are you here? If You-Know-Who knows where I am, why haven’t they come to kill me?”

His posture shifted. “You ask a lot of questions.”

My eyes narrowed. “Draco-”

“You’re safe.” He paused. “For now, at least.”

My eyes scanned him for a few moments, gaze settling on his sleeved arm. “I could say the same to you.” I looked up to meet his eyes. “Getting the Dark Mark won’t protect you, Draco. You’re smart enough to know he’s only going to use you until you’re no longer needed.” I marched past him and put the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t patronize me for something you were too scared to do!”

I turned around, seeing that Draco had taken a step towards me.

For the first time in the six years we’ve known each other, he was glaring at me.

I fought against the instinct to take a step backwards.

I looked him in the eyes, forcing my voice to be steady. “I think we both know who acted out of fear.”

He held my gaze for a few moments before it dropped to the floor.

I sighed quietly, turning around again to put the food away.

A few moments of silence passed.

I closed the cabinet door. “Do you want something to eat,” I asked, voice just above a whisper.

“I can’t stay.”

I frowned. Realizing I was still tense, I forced my shoulders down.

More silence.

I closed a drawer.

“Why didn’t you accept the…”

“The offer?” Without looking, I knew Draco was watching me. “Truthfully?” I turned around to face him. “I don’t want to dominate the earth. I have no desire to rule England or anything of the sort.” I walked passed him, towards the couch. “I don’t need to control a nation to get what I want in life.”

“What are your ambitions then?

My steps faltered. “I…” I spun around to face him again, seeing that he had followed me. “I would like to run a business. Be successful. Maybe get married…”

Draco’s eyes darted to the floor before looking back at me.

While his expression didn’t change much, I could see the surprise in his eyes and the slight twitch of his eyebrows.

“I don’t think ‘world dictator’ suits you, either,” I said.

“I don’t really have a choice,” he mumbled.

“Yes you do.” I walked towards him, standing less than a foot away. “Draco, this isn’t you.”

“I promised,” he said, his concerned eyes peering into mine.

“Promised? Since when have you been concerned about keeping your promises?”

“Since they involved the Dark Lord,” he whispered, irises showing his fear.

My eyes shifted between his. “Draco,” I reached down, taking his hands in mine, never pulling my gaze from his. “Run away with me. Leave this behind. You can get what you want a different way-”

“I can’t. They’re already tracking you, and I promised-”

“Draco, he’s going to kill you anyway,” I hissed. Tears formed in my eyes. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Draco’s eyes, growing wet as well, darted between my own. “I have to protect you.”

It was so quiet and under-his-breath I barely heard it.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, don’t you dare,” I muttered, the tears flowing from my eyes. Reaching forward, I pulled him into a hug, wrapping both of my arms around him as tightly as I could.

He reciprocated, clinging to me as if I were a raft on the open sea.

We buried our faces into each other’s shoulders.

I hugged him tighter.

It felt like I couldn’t get close enough.

“Draco, don’t risk your life for me,” I whispered.

His breath stuttered. His grip on me strengthened. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“Well, how do you think I feel?” I pulled away just enough to look at his face. “If you die because of me-” I cut myself off, my voice breaking.

“As long as I do what he wants, I won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” I retorted sharply.

Draco’s eyes shifted between mine for a few beats. “I should go.”

Panic bloomed in my chest. I couldn’t bear the thought of- “What if…. what if I never see you again?”

Draco stared down at me for a few tense moments. Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on my lips.

It only lasted a few seconds, and I was too in-shock to reciprocate before he pulled away.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

I swallowed hard as I stared up at him. “You, too.”

Draco nodded, pulling out his wand.

I blinked, and he was gone.

Almost as if he was never there in the first place.

My mind raced.

I was only alive because Draco promised Lord Voldemort something. Once that thing is done, whatever it is, or if Draco fails…

I took in a shaky breath, looking over at the kitchen.

What would happen if I left?

If the Death Eaters were no longer able to find me, would they have anything over Draco? Would Draco be free, or would he simply be killed?

My stomach churned.

The risk wasn’t worth it.

I forced my legs to move towards the kitchen.

I would just have to trust that Harry Potter would fulfill his role and end this, once and for all.

My steps paused.

Harry Potter.

Gripping my wand, I walked towards the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting to the Boy Who Lived turned out to be harder than I had initially imagined.

I had presumed that the Weasley family would take him to protect him.

But first, I had to get rid of my babysitter.

Diagon Alley, since the shocking news of Dumbledore’s death, had become far less crowded than it had been.

Voldemort was free to do whatever he wanted.

Rightfully, the streets were nearly abandoned.

Losing the Death Eater was going to be harder than I thought.

I turned through several alleyways, going into shops and leaving them through different doors, sneaking around as best as I could.

Swiping a coat from a store, I tugged it on, tucking my hair into a hat I grabbed. I strode out, altering my walk, as I made my way into the broom shop. I grimaced as I looked at all of them.

Such an uncivilized form of travel.

With a sigh, I grabbed one and paid for it, wrapping it before exiting the building.

I had already tried apparating to the Weasleys’, but it wasn’t letting me.

They must have put spells against it.

Potter was definitely there.

I made my way to an apparition point, quickly traveling to the middle of nowhere.

The field I stood on was vast, and the plants around me were only just starting to grow.

My gaze dropped to the broom in my hand.

Letting out a sigh, I unwrapped it and straddled the object.

My heart began to race.

I had never once been on a broom before.

I gently pulled up on the object and it rose into the air.

I wobbled and clutched the broom tighter, leaning down closer to it in an attempt to be more stable.

The broom shot forward.

I leaned down lower, gasping.

The broom sped up.

That was interesting.

With all of my willpower and bravery, I unattached myself from the broom handle, sitting upright and leaning back.

The broom stopped.

I held on tightly, grunting as I was almost thrown from the sudden action.

Heaving out breaths, I brushed some of the hair out of my face.

Sitting upright, I cleared my throat.

Time to find the Weasleys.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I slowed down the broom as the Weasleys’ house grew closer.

A flying, uninvited, object approaching them from the sky would probably not be welcome.

I lowered into the tall grass surrounding the building. Getting off the broom, I let out a relieved breath and looked around for any threats.

The Weasleys’ home was incredibly tall and skinny, almost as if whoever made it was trying to fit the whole family in there but only had a limited space to do so.

I saw some people wandering around the outside of the house. Creeping closer, I could make out Professor Lupin. My gaze lifted to one of the windows, noticing Potter walk by it, ascending a staircase.

They really should have their curtains closed.

I waited a few beats to see if anyone else was with him before apparating, landing on my feet behind the boy.

He spun around, drawing his wand.

I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m not your enemy, Potter.”

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “How do I know that?”

“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you already,” I said with fake confidence, knowing deep down that Potter was likely more proficient than me at dueling.

But he didn’t know that.

“Yeah,” he nodded his head to the side briefly, “maybe.”

Slowly lowering my hands, I kept my gaze on him as I shifted my right hand to my left arm.

He watched me carefully as I rolled up my sleeve.

My bare forearm was revealed to him.

He let out a quiet relieved breath and lowered his wand to his side. “What do you want?”

“I want to help you end this.” I pulled my sleeve back down. “I want this war to be over.” My jaw clenched. “I want my friend back.”

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

“Harry, you can’t be serious,” Weasley breathed.

“She hasn’t exactly proven herself to be one of us,” Granger said in a near whisper. “Are you sure you can trust her,” she asked, her eyes darting to me.

“Yes,” Potter looked over at me. “She doesn’t have the Dark Mark, and I believe her motivations.”

“But she’s a Slytherin.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Weasley, I think he already figured that part out.” I glared over at him. “The point is, I have an idea.”

They eyed me suspiciously.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “And that would be?”

“Missy!”

An elf appeared beside me. “Yes, Mistress?”

Potter and Weasley startled backwards slightly.

Granger gasped.

I looked down at the creature by my side. “I need you to go to Malfoy Manor.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “The Dark Lord is there with all of his followers.”

“Oh, Mistress-!”

“I need you to find out all you can,” I insisted. “Everything depends on it.”

Granger scoffed. “Of all the-!”

I ignored her.

Missy’s ears drooped. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Don’t be seen or heard. When you get information, come back here.” I looked over at Potter. “I’ll be staying for a little while.”

Harry glanced over at me and nodded once, his jaw clenching briefly.

I turned back to Missy. “Be careful.”

She nodded, her gaze on the floor. “Yes, Mistress.”

She vanished.

“You can’t be serious!” Granger glared. “Sending her to her death like that! Why don’t you do it yourself!? She’s not your slave!”

“Actually, she is,” I corrected, standing back to my full height and looking over at the Gryffindor. “But the simple fact is, Missy would have a better chance of getting in and out without being noticed.” I cocked an eyebrow, side-eyeing her. “I didn’t hear you volunteering to go in her place.”

Granger glanced away.

“Alright.” Potter cleared his throat awkwardly. He turned to his friend. “Ron, would you…?”

Weasley looked over at me. “Yeah, I’ll tell Mum…” Turning around, he walked out of the room.

Potter looked back at me. “Well,” he glanced at Granger, “would you mind sharing your room, Hermione?”

“Don’t bother.” I tilted my chin up slightly. “I’ll sleep on the couch or the floor.”

They both shifted their gaze towards me, watching me for only a few moments before nodding. “All right. We’ll, uh……” Potter pursed his lips. “We’ll see you later.”

They walked out.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My posture sank slightly and I clenched and unclenched my fist, resisting the urge to run my hand along my face.

That wasn’t proper.

In an effort to distract myself, I looked around the room.

It was cluttered.

Pictures, books, and things filled every horizontal surface in the room.

Clothes and blankets were strewn about, and I assumed this is where the rest of Potter’s protectors slept.

I wondered if they rotated someone to stay up and keep watch.

The couch looked old and worn, and I was not looking forward to laying on it.

The pattern was also a crime against all things elegant.

“Uh…..”

I turned at the sound of the voice, seeing Weasley in the doorway.

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

I raised an eyebrow.

He mumbled a very fast “supper will be ready soon.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

As he exited, I tilted my head to the ceiling.

Salazar, help me.

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

I walked into the dining area as everyone began to sit down.

There were several chairs that clearly weren’t supposed to be there crowded around the table.

It was odd; to be sitting around the dining table and eating like a family in such a time of fear and chaos.

But maybe that’s why they did it.

My gaze raked the room, spotting the only empty chair. I moved towards it, ignoring everyone’s stares. Pulling the seat out, I sat between Professor Lupin and what I assumed to be another Weasley.

This one I didn’t recognize.

The room was extremely quiet and tense as people began to get food.

I waited until everyone was served before getting some, myself.

The silence stretched on.

I swallowed the food in my mouth. “If you would prefer to talk with me out of the room, I’ll leave,” I said, not looking up from my plate as I cut some beef.

“We’re just surprised, is all.”

I looked to the head of the table at Mister Weasley. “Because I’m a Slytherin, right?” I shrugged one shoulder, looking around the room. “You all just assume I’m here to spy for You-Know-Who, don’t you? I’ve got news,” I raised an eyebrow, “not all Gryffindors are saints, either.”

Several beats passed.

I rolled my eyes, taking my napkin off my lap and dropping it on the table before awkwardly sliding my chair back away from the table.

It was so ridiculously tight in here.

Finally freed from the table, I stood up, marching out of the room and back upstairs.

I wasn’t hungry anyway.

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

Bloody Gryffindors.

Just as prejudiced as they accuse Slytherins of being.

I sighed, placing my chin on my hands as my elbows rested on my knees.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The hushed sounds of conversation- tense, but conversation- floated upstairs.

I fought tears.

It was scary to not belong.

Maybe I had become too used to belonging; too comfortable.

I always had a home to go to. Loving parents. A best friend. My best friend’s home, when I didn’t feel like being at mine…

The sound of footsteps startled me from my thoughts.

I turned, looking up from my spot on the staircase.

The Weasley that was next to me for ‘supper’ approached, stopping at the bottom of the steps.

I resisted the urge to cross my arms, instead sitting up straighter and placing my hands on my knees. I looked up at him.

It was silent for a few moments.

The Weasley cleared his throat and gestured vaguely before putting his hands in his pockets. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine.” I raised an eyebrow. Truth be told, I was a little hungry, but I would rather not eat for a few days than experience whatever that was again.

He nodded, his fang earring jingling with the action. He pursed his lips, his gaze fixed on the banister beside me. “You can come back downstairs and eat, if you want.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “No, thank you. We’re all more comfortable if I don’t do that. Besides,” I leaned back slightly, “if I’m up here, you all can discuss your plans without worrying about me hearing.” I raised a challenging eyebrow. “Although, I am surprised no one placed an Imperturbable charm.”

The Weasley nodded again, this time more slowly. His gaze shifted towards me for a few seconds before he turned around and walked back out.

My eyebrows furrowed and I turned to look out the window. What in the world-

The footsteps returned.

I whipped my head around.

The Weasley stopped by me again, handing me the plate I had earlier. He looked at me for a few beats before exiting the room.

I stared at the doorway, dumbfounded. Pulling myself from my shock, I looked down at my plate he had thrust into my hands.

I huffed a small chuckle.

He had forgotten the silverware.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days had passed since I first arrived at the Weasleys’ house; “the Burrow”, as they called it.

I had taken to referring to all of the redheads by their first names, at least when more than one was in the same room.

There were simply too many of them to all be called “Weasley”.

I marched up the stairs, pausing to look out the window.

No sign of anything.

A ‘pop’ sound filled my ears.

I spun around. “Missy!”

The elf looked up at me with her giant eyes. “Mistress!”

“Anything to report?” I gazed down at her, hoping she would have discovered something- anything- useful.

Missy looked around, clutching her hands together at her chest. She spoke in a whisper. “Missy heard You-Know-Who say something about a cup in Lestrange’s bank vault.”

I looked down at the ground in thought, mouthing ‘her bank vault’ as my eyebrows furrowed. Shaking my head, I shifted my gaze back to the elf. “Anything else?”

“He spoke a lot about Harry Potter and the elder wand,” she said, her high-pitched voice quieting even further.

My eyes widened. “The elder wand?”

Missy nodded.

“Oh dear.” I took a deep breath. “Is that everything?”

Missy paused, cocking her head as she tried to remember. One of her long, pointy ears drooped. “You-Know-Who wants to kill Harry Potter, himself. It was very important to him.” She fidgeted with her hands. “I’m sorry Missy couldn’t find out more!”

I looked down at her. “No, you did a wonderful job,” I said, somewhat distractedly. “You should head back to my parents before they get suspicious.”

She nodded.

“Thank you, Missy.”

A smile appeared on her face. Looking up at me, she snapped her fingers and vanished.

I stared at the now-vacant spot on the floor for a few seconds before turning around, hurrying to search the house.

Potter. I had to find Potter.

I stepped into the dining room- which also happened to be the plotting area- the sound of my steps drawing everyone’s attention to me. I ignored their confused looks as my eyes swept across the room.

He wasn’t here.

“Have any of you seen Potter,” I questioned.

“I think he’s with Ron,” Weasley- Bill- said. His eyebrows furrowed. “Everything alright?”

I looked over at him.

What an odd question at a time like this.

I placed my hand on the doorframe. “Is anything?” Pushing off, I spun around and ran to Ron’s room.

If my parents could see me running- to a boys’ room no less- they would have a coronary.

I frowned as I hurried up the steps, my feet heavy and loud against the wood.

They didn’t seem to care how I would react to them becoming Death Eaters.

Shaking my head, I rounded a corner and rapped assertively on Ron’s bedroom door. I only had to wait a couple seconds for it to open.

Ron stood in the doorway, his hand still on the knob. An eyebrow raised upon seeing me.

“Is Potter with you?” I fought against the urge to try to see around the redhead’s form. “I need to talk to him.”

Ron paused for a brief moment, looking me up and down- as if to inspect me- before nodding. “Yeah, he’s in here.” He took a step backwards, opening up the room for me.

“Thank you,” I said, striding in. My eyes almost instantly landed on the boy sitting on the floor. “Potter.”

“Hunt.”

I heard the door close behind me. “I need to talk to you.”

The ‘Chosen One’ sat up straighter.

Ron moved towards us, standing between me and his friend, forming a small circle.

Potter glanced at the two of us before standing, himself.

I held his gaze intently. “Missy came back.”

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

“Are you sure about this?”

I paused once I heard the voices, stopping before I rounded the corner.

“We have to look into it,” Potter said. “There’s too much at risk to ignore.”

“What if it’s a trap,” Mister Weasley asked.

“I don’t think it is.”

“What if her elf was spotted and they let the information slip to lure you in?”

When a few beats of silence followed, I moved into view.

They both turned to look at me.

“Are you leaving, Potter?”

He nodded. “The sooner this is taken care of, the better.”

Mister Weasley excused himself, walking out.

I nodded back to Potter. “Be careful.”

“Thanks.” Pausing briefly, his gaze dropped to the floor before looking back at me. “What are you going to do?”

“Probably go back into hiding; see what else I can do from the shadows.” I clasped my hands and pursed my lips, avoiding his gaze.

“Alright. Are we doin this, or what?”

I turned at the sound of Ron’s voice.

He stood in the doorway, Granger by his side.

Potter straightened his posture. “Right.” He walked passed me, towards his friends. “We’d…better say our goodbyes,” he said to them quietly.

They nodded.

Looking at me over his shoulder, Potter waved. “Thanks for all your help.” He paused. “We appreciate it.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much,” I argued. “But, you’re welcome.”

He let out a small sigh and turned to his companions. “Alright, come on.” He ushered them out of the doorway and out of sight.

I stared at the empty space where they had been standing, a sudden sinking feeling settling into the pit of my stomach.

For some reason I felt as though I’d sent them to their deaths.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night sky filled with a sudden bright light.

I looked up, squinting my now-sensitive eyes. Moving around a tree to see better, I could make out whitish-bluish flashes, similar to fireworks.

Spells.

My gaze trailed down, seeing they sparked over Hogwarts.

Something was going down.

Something big.

I frowned, turning away.

Just look the other way, Hunt. That’s not your battle, I told myself, resuming my walk to my hideout.

It was the smallest cave I had ever seen, barely big enough to fit me and a few necessities.

I sat down on the jacket I had laid on the stone ground, frowning.

I couldn’t live like this.

No one could.

But that’s how everyone would be living if Voldemort won.

My eyes narrowed. Turning my head, I glanced back at the sky, barely able to still see the flashing from my location.

Allowing myself to sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, pulling out my wand. I ran to a clearing, staring over at the school.

The school that held so many of my memories.

The blue shell around Hogwarts turned to orange and began to dissipate.

The shield was broken.

I tightened my grip on my wand.

Time to stop running.

~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was chaos.

I apparated from the shore to the school grounds, dodging a falling piece of wall.

“Get inside!”

I turned, seeing Professor McGonagall gesturing towards the castle.

People ran by me, too quickly and too numerous for me to make out any faces.

I winced as another explosion hit the wall.

She didn’t have to tell me twice.

Running with the crowd, I hurried inside, spinning around as I tried to find Potter.

Knowing him, he was going to do something incredibly stupid.

I spotted a flash of red hair and ran towards it. “Ginny!”

She spun around, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked for the source of the voice. Her gaze landed on me and her eyes widened. “Hunt?”

“Have you seen Potter?” I stopped next to her. “I’m terribly afraid he’s going to do something foolish.”

“He ran that way.” She pointed. “But-”

“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder as I took off running.

He was probably faster than me, so I had to be extra fast to catch up, but not too fast to the point where I’d miss something.

“Potter!?” I ran through the hallways, letting out a yell as I turned a corner and nearly tripped over a collapsed wall.

Debris lined this entire hallway.

I saw a figure disappear into the wall on the other side.

The Room of Requirement.

I apparated to the spot to avoid trying to climb over the rubble and jumped in just before the door closed.

Letting out a sharp exhale as I looked behind me at the closed door, I turned back to face the room.

It was extremely crowded, full of……things. Random things like chairs and dishes, tables, cupboards, and more.

“Potter?” I moved forward, looking around.

“Hunt?”

Turning my head to the right, I saw the boy by a stack of objects, looking at a box. I walked over.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help,” I said, coming to a stop alongside him.

He nodded. “It’s good to see you.”

I smiled. “You, too.” I looked around. “What are you doing in here?”

Potter nodded down at the box. “I came for this.” Opening the lid, he picked up a crown from inside. “Ravenclaw’s diadem. A Horcrux.”

I blinked at him as he stared down at it.

He began stroking the object.

I backed away slightly, further behind a stack of nonsense, eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, well.”

I froze at the sound of the voice, ducking more out of sight.

Potter snapped out of his state, looking to the right.

“What brings you here, Potter?”

Harry moved slightly more into the open. “I could ask you the same.”

“You have something of mine.” A brief pause. “I’d like it back.”

“Well, what’s wrong with the one you have,” Harry asked, gesturing vaguely.

“It’s my mother’s,” Draco answered. “It’s powerful, but it’s…not the same. Doesn’t quite…understand me.” Another pause. “Know what I mean?”

I frowned.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Potter stared ahead. “Bellatrix. You knew it was me.” He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t say anything.”

My head turned to look at Harry.

Draco did what?

I heard hushed whispers from where Draco was.

Potter reached for his wand.

I pulled mine out, ready to join the fight.

“Expelliarmus!”

Turning, I saw Granger with her wand pointed in Draco’s direction.

The sound of wood hitting the floor implied her spell was successful.

“Avada Kedavra!”

I recognized the voice of Goyle’s as a flash of green struck close to Granger.

“Stupefy!”

The diadem went flying into a couch atop one of the stacks.

Ron ran passed my hiding spot, his wand extended as he yelled. “That’s my girlfriend, you numpties!”

I stepped out of my corner as Potter and Granger began climbing, the objects wobbling from their weight. I lifted my wand. “Accio couch!”

The couch lifted from its perch, floating down to the floor.

I reached in the cushion, pulling out the crown and holding it up. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Potter and Granger exchanged a look before climbing down.

I handed the Horcrux to Harry before turning, pointing my wand at the floor. “Accio wand.”

Mrs. Malfoy’s wand flew to my hand.

I pocketed it.

A yell filled the room.

We all turned, seeing Ron running towards us, an orange glow behind him.

“Goyle set the bloody place on fire!” He ran by, grabbing Granger and pulling her with him.

“The fool!” I gestured at all the wooden furniture around. “This place will go up in a matter of minutes!”

Potter and I both turned, seeing a snake made of fire slithering towards us.

My eyes widened. “He set a Fiendfyre!?!”

“Let’s go!” Potter turned around and began running, me on his heels.

We followed Ron and Granger, turning corners as we tried to avoid fire snakes, birds and tigers.

Granger and Ron slid to a halt, Potter and I running into their backs.

“We’re cornered!” Granger yelled as fire rushed from the front.

Potter turned around, casting a shielding spell right as fire approached us.

The force of the collision sent us all backwards, Ron falling into flying brooms.

He picked them up, passing them out.

“Not again,” I muttered as I accepted one.

“Hope you know how to fly these things,” Ron said.

Granger climbed onto the broom behind him and they took off.

Potter and I followed suit.

“Come on, this way!” Ron exclaimed, nodding his head to the side.

We flew passed a tall stack.

Two figures stood atop it.

“Wait; we can’t let them die,” I yelled, trying to be heard over the fire.

Ron looked at me in disbelief. “You’re joking, right!?”

My eyes narrowed. “You know me; the jokester.” I turned around, leaning down as the broom sped towards them.

Draco and Blaise.

Using all of my courage, I let go with one hand, extending it down as I neared Draco.

He reached up.

I zipped passed him, fingers grazing his hand. “No!” I turned around as quickly as I could, seeing Potter grabbing Draco. I breathed a sigh of relief, heading towards Blaise. As I approached, I slowed my broom, helping him on.

“Let’s get out of here!” Ron turned around, leading the way out.

We all dodged the flames, a gasp leaving my throat as some fire sparked up, closer than comfortable.

Granger shot a spell, clearing a path.

Zipping through it, we neared the door, an explosion behind us pushing us through it.

We all tumbled off our brooms.

The diadem hit the ground.

“Harry!”

Potter caught something that Granger tossed to him, stabbing the Horcrux.

Black mist erupted from it.

Ron rushed forward, kicking it back into the Room of Requirement, into the flames.

Three fiery Voldemort faces yelled, rushing towards the door before it closed.

We all sat on the floor, trying to catch our breath.

I turned.

Draco and Blaise were gone.

Scrambling to my feet, I looked around.

Where on earth…?

“I’ve gotta go,” I informed absentmindedly. My eyes scanned the hallway. “Be careful, guys.” With nothing more than a sincere look at them from over my shoulder, I took off down the corridor.

They couldn’t have gotten far.

My steps slowed and I halted with a sigh.

Unless they apparated.

I spun in a circle, looking around.

They could be literally anywhere.

Okay, think, Hunt. Where would Draco go?

Somewhere he felt safe.

I apparated to the Slytherin common room.

Draco whipped around at the sound of my apparation, pointing a wand at me. His eyes widened and his poised arm lowered slightly as we made eye contact. “You’re the last person I expected to see here,” he said hesitantly.

“I’m the last person who would have expected myself to be here.” I dropped my gaze to his wand briefly before nodding at it. “Who’s is that?”

“I don’t know.” He answered quickly, with a bit of a shake in his voice.

“So you don’t know how it pairs with you…”

“I tested it.” He looked at it for a moment before looking back at me. “It’ll have to do.”

“Not necessarily.” I reached into my pocket, pulling out his mother’s wand.

His eyes softened with recognition almost instantly. He looked up at me. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

My eyes narrowed in offense. “Why would it be a trick?”

“You’re with Potter and his friends, now. That means you’re…” he paused, his expression falling. “You’re an enemy of mine.”

“I’m not here to fight you, Draco.”

“Yeah? Then what are you here for?”

“I came to keep Potter safe. I came to protect the school I grew up in.” I frowned. “I came to find you.”

“You still stand against the Dark Lord, then.”

“Of course.”

His bottom lip trembled and his jaw clenched. “I’m sorry.” He shot a stunning spell at me.

I lifted my wand, producing a shield. My eyes widened as I stared at him in disbelief.

He took half a step backwards and sent another one.

I blocked it, but barely, almost too shocked to think.

He sent two more.

They were easily deflected.

Draco huffed. “Fight back!”

“No.” I frowned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His eyes widened and his posture stiffened before deflating. “If I don’t at least try to hurt you, they’re gonna kill me,” he hissed.

“Why are you on their side,” I hissed back. “You know it’s wrong! There’s more people than ever in one place that want to take Voldemort down! This is our best opportunity at beating him!” I frowned. “It may be our last.” My eyes narrowed. “Do you want to be remembered as a cowardly Death Eater who went down with Voldemort? Or do you want to be remembered as the boy who did the right thing? The boy that defected when it mattered the most?”

A high pitched noise filled my ears.

I winced.

Based on Draco’s expression, he heard it, too.

The sound was followed by a voice in my head.

“You have fought…valiantly, but in vain. I do not wish this: every drop of magical blood spilt is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Harry Potter…I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me, yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me.”

Draco and I made eye contact.

The blond gestured, a snarl on his face. “See?! He’s going to kill you!” His voice dropped as his expression softened. “You can’t fight him.”

I stood up straighter, my eyes narrowing as I clenched my hand that was around my wand. “I’d rather die against him than live for him.” I turned to leave but paused. Looking over my shoulder at him, I tossed him his mother’s wand before walking away, leaving my back exposed.

Only when I turned the corner did I break into a jog.

I had to find Potter.

Again.

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

I stopped, looking around the castle.

Where was everybody?

Stepping outside into the courtyard, I saw where everyone had gone.

Voldemort stood across from all the students, his Death Eaters behind him. “Harry Potter….is dead!”

My eyes widened.

We failed.

“No! No!!!” Ginny rushed forward, but Arthur grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back.

“Silence! Stupid girl. Harry Potter…is dead. From this day forth…you put your faith…in me.” Voldemort turned around, walking towards his Death Eaters as he extended his arms. “Harry Potter is dead!”

They all made various sounds of approval and excitement.

I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy at the front of the pack.

My parents weren’t far behind them.

Voldemort turned back around to face us, laughing. “And now is the time to declare yourself.” He extended his arms. “Come forward and join us.” His smile fell. “Or die.”

Silence stretched on.

Mr. Malfoy shifted a little on his feet. “Draco.”

All heads turned.

Draco was standing amongst the rest of the students, towards the back. He looked around.

“Draco,” Mrs. Malfoy said softly. “Come.”

The boy swallowed, his gaze darting around. It settled on me.

My eyes silently pleaded with him.

Draco, please.

He began walking forward.

My eyes closed in disappointment as I fought tears. A gasp left my throat as I felt a hand wrap around mine. My eyes shot open, looking over at the culprit.

Draco tightened his hold on my hand, staring across the gap. His eyes moved from his parents, to Voldemort, then back to his parents. He swallowed nervously. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

The students all looked over at Voldemort and the Death Eaters in shock, waiting to see what they would do.

“Draco,” Mr. Malfoy muttered, his eyes wide.

I had never seen Draco’s father look so unhealthy.

Dark circles under his eyes, unshaven, long blond hair stringy and unkempt, and paler than a ghost; he truly looked one step from death.

Voldemort pointed a long-nailed finger at Draco. “I will deal with you later.”

I frowned, stepping slightly in front of the blond.

Voldemort turned to the rest of the students. “Anyone who doesn’t want to die…”

Longbottom began limping forward.

Everyone stared on in shock.

“Well, I must say I hoped for better,” Voldemort said.

The Death Eaters all laughed.

Voldemort moved towards the Gryffindor. “And who might you be, young man?”

“Neville Longbottom.”

More laughter.

Voldemort moved back slightly. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we can find a place for you in our ranks-”

“I’d like to say somethin’.”

A few beats passed.

“Well, Neville, I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.”

“It doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone.”

“Stand down, Neville,” Seamus Finnigan urged.

Longbottom turned towards him. “People die every day! Friends…family.” He paused. “Yeah. We lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us.” He brought his free hand- what was he holding in the other one- up to his heart. “In here.” He looked around. “So is Fred.”

My eyes widened in shock.

“Remus. Tonks. All of them. But they didn’t die in vain!” He hobbled back around to look at Voldemort. “But you will!”

The Dark Lord started laughing.

Longbottom went on. “Cause you’re wrong! Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us!” He pulled a sword out of the object he was holding. “It’s not over!”

Potter fell out of Hagrid’s grasp.

He stood up.

Everyone gasped.

I squeezed Draco’s hand.

Voldemort’s smile fell.

Potter shot a fireball at Voldemort’s snake.

The fire ricocheted off it.

Potter ran as Voldemort began casting fire spells at him.

Some of the Death Eaters vanished into smoke.

Potter hurried back towards the castle, ushering everyone inside.

I pulled Draco along behind me as Voldemort and the Death Eaters began approaching.

“We have to kill the snake,” Potter informed a little breathless.

Longbottom rushed forward.

Voldemort shot a spell at him, sending the Gryffindor flying backwards, before apparating away with his snake.

The Death Eaters kept approaching.

My eyes narrowed. “Barricade the doors!” Letting go of Draco’s hand, I rushed forward, grunting as I tried to close the doors.

Draco appeared on my left, helping to push them shut.

A few other students came forward to assist.

Once the doors were closed I flicked my wand at some of the tables, sending them flying towards the doors.

They piled up at the entrance, blocking it off.

More students aided in the action.

When all of the tables were set, everyone backed up, watching as the doors and the pile shook as the Death Eaters tried to get in.

The sound of breaking glass drew my attention to the windows.

Voldemort’s followers flew in as puffs of smoke before landing on the floor and beginning to cast spells.

Another fight broke out.

I produced spell after spell, barely thinking about what I was casting.

“No!!”

I froze at the sound of my father’s voice. Turning around, I saw him kneeling on the floor.

He was clutching my mother to his chest.

My wand lowered and my shoulders slumped as I stared at the pair.

My father buried his head into my mother’s hair, sobbing.

I heard my name yelled.

I whipped around, seeing a shielding spell block an attack at me before my assailant was struck with another spell. Turning to the left, I saw Draco approach.

“Are you alright,” he asked, stopping when he reached a foot away from me.

I blinked up at him with wide eyes, nodding slightly.

“Normally you’re more careful than tha-” His eyes drifted over my shoulder and his sentence died in his throat.

I turned around, watching my father briefly.

“I’m sorry.”

I looked back to Draco as he lowered his gaze to meet mine. My eyes narrowed as I looked away. “They never should have gotten involved.”

“She-” Draco paused, “This could have happened even if they didn’t.”

“Not like this, at least.” I looked back up at him. “Where are your pare- look out!” I pulled Draco with me to the ground, dodging a curse. From the floor, I snarled as I shot a spell back.

It hit the target and the Death Eater collapsed.

Draco rolled off me to work on getting himself to his feet. “I don’t know.” He stood, wiping his hands on his already-dirty black slacks. “I haven’t seen them.” Reaching down, he helped me up.

We both winced as a blast hit the wall by us.

Looking at each other, I readjusted my grip on my wand. “Be careful.”

“You, too.”

At my nod, Draco ran off to rejoin the fight.

I glanced back at my father before lifting my head higher and walking away.

~~~~~~~~~~

I let out a yell as I stunned another Death Eater.

He collapsed.

Gasping for air, I looked around.

Every student in the room was standing, catching their own breath.

The three Death Eaters that remained turned into smoke, speeding out of the windows and into the sky.

Silence stretched on and the dust seemed to settle.

I looked around at all the bodies on the floor.

Some of enemies.

Some of friends.

Letting out a sigh, I looked towards the blasted-open doors.

Even the courtyard was quiet.

Forcing my aching and battered body to move, I made my way outside.

Potter was standing in the middle, staring at the ground as he took in labored breaths. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps.

“Are you alright, Potter?”

He nodded. “Fine. You?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Fine.” My gaze dropped to the two wands he held; one in each hand. “It’s over, then?”

He nodded, looking up into the sky and wincing at the slight sunlight peeking through the clouds.

“What happened?”

“Turned into ash…” Potter looked back at me. “Drifted away.”

I pursed my lips and nodded, my eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion.

At the call of my name, I turned to the right, seeing Draco running- and what an odd sight it was- towards me.

I grinned- tiredly- as he approached. “You’re okay.” My eyes scanned his face, seeing his head had been bleeding, but it dried, and a couple bruises, burns and scratches. Nothing more. Or at least that was visible.

“So are you,” he bent down, wrapping me in a hug.

I winced in slight pain, but hugged him back. Pulling away first, I adjusted my weight to be on my right leg a little less.

Draco looked down at me, raising a questioning eyebrow.

I nodded, waving a hand at him.

Draco nodded once in satisfaction before looking up at the Boy Who Lived. “Thank you, Potter.”

It sounded slightly strained, but it was better than he usually gave.

Potter huffed a small laugh. “Thank you. For choosing to fight alongside me.”

Draco looked down at me. “It wasn’t without convincing.”

I smiled up at him.

Potter cleared his throat. “I’d better go check on everybody else.” He pointed back to the castle before walking away.

I chuckled, turning slightly to watch him leave.

Once the boy was out of sight, Draco stepped around to my front. He tucked some of my fallen stray hairs out of my face. “It’s about time I did this properly.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Draco reached his right hand forward, cupping the back of my neck. His grey eyes shifted between mine. Slowly leaning down, he pressed his lips to mine.

I closed my eyes, kissing him back with as much love as I could muster.

All of my memories from the past six years of my life came flooding back to me. Meeting Draco, befriending him, growing up together, realizing our relationship was developing, the fear, the frustration, the betrayal, the hurt, and the pride.

It was almost too much to bear.

We pulled away.

Draco rested his forehead on mine. “I love you.”

Tears that felt entirely unprompted slipped down my cheeks.

“I love you, too.”

Draco lifted his head, frowning as he noticed my tears. Raising his hands, he swiped his thumbs over my cheeks, brushing the tears away.

I placed my hands on top of his.

“Are you going to be alright?”

I let out an exhale through my nose before nodding. “As long as I have you.”

He smiled, lowering his hands and wrapping one around mine. “I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere.”

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

A/n: 58 pages! Truly horrific! lol. Had a blast writing it, though. I also realize my 'sneak peak' out of context looked like an 'arranged marriage' story, but...it was too late.

I wanted to make Hunt clearly a Slytherin, with questionable Slytherin ideals, having grown up in a pureblooded Slytherin home, but I didn't want her to be evil. I tried to find a balance.

And I know McGonagall only taught the Gryffindors how to dance, but I thought I’d shake it up a little.

Just one note, I think:

- Hunt used some of her family’s wealth to go from motel room to motel room. She used a different name each time in order to try to stay hidden.

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter x reader #HP #HP x reader #Harry Potter fandom x reader #HP fandom x reader #Draco Malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy #Slytherin #my works #Mara's works #my fanfiction #Mara's fanfiction #my imagine #Mara's imagine #my gif #Mara's gif

69 notes · View notes