#sniff x oliver

[mcyt-sapphic-showdown]

Basic info:

Gem and Pearl joined HermitCraft at the same time (season 8), Secret Life, Empires Season 1

Pearl and Gem uses she/her

Olive and Sniff are in RatSMP and I’m not sure about any others sorry, I will add them if you tell me the names!

Olive uses they/them pronouns Sniff uses any pronouns

[cirtusmistress]

Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

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

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

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

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

[1800titz]

SPANKO!HARRY X NEIGHBOR PART 2 — UP NOW ON PATREON

The one where Y/N and Harry are neighbors in an apartment complex, he's got a bunny called Snuggles, he makes softcore porn spanking people (it's a REALLY LOUD HOBBY), and Y/N has definitely called the police for a domestic disturbance next door. 

preview

“Hey,” Harry murmurs. Thick. Vocal cords weathered with sleep, verve cudgeled with sex, palm probably stingy from—

He clears his throat. Y/N blinks, cheeks flaring.

“Well, um. I just wanted to, um… Were you sleeping?”

There’s staid acedia to his inkpools; worn out at this floundering girl with a crooked pie in her hands. The same one that’d called the police to his unit for a noise complaint and then chewed him out in a throng of other residents. Accused him of assaulting his hook-up.

It’s two in the afternoon. 

“Dozing a bit, yeah.”

Another blunder that barrels down her windpipe and permeates the gummy flesh over her diaphragm. It’s where the brunt of her culpability resides in that same spherule, wound tight. 

“I’m— sorry.”

He blinks, dewy. 

“S’all good.” 

A gap of silence. Wet epidote roaming, curious. 

She fissures it, a frail grin reaffixing and falling flat, “…Long night?”

The floor creaks under his weight. His chest expands, soft on a breath. It gets the edges of his mouth to curl, if only exhausted and polite, and the half-lidded serpentine in his sockets to gleam, at least. Small victories.

“Something like that.”

Another gap. He sniffs. Y/N blows out a breath.

“Well. Anyways, I just wanted to apologize for the… you know. The misunderstanding,” Y/N tells him, tight, “I feel like a dick. Anyways, I um. I made you an apple pie— and I hope you like it.”

Harry doesn’t say a word. He does ogle the pie in her palms, smooth-browed and pensive.

“I was going to make a casserole, but that felt really middle-aged, and anyways, I don’t know if you like casseroles, and most people like apple pie, so…”

He’s so soft, is the thing. Sleep-tousled and low-toned— honeyed molasses in the languorous husk of his words. Delicate inking over and under his knees, in her periphery. He’s got a rabbit called Snuggles somewhere behind the door, and that’s the brutal anomaly of it, isn’t it? What the geometric edges of her brain refuse to wrap around, unbending and stolid. 

Because there’s a fine line in the way his soft, indigo-lacquered hands outstretch to accept the olive branch and the way they clobber, pixelated. Evidently. They’re massive; nearly paws, barring the long, svelte shape of his fingers. Strong. Rugged. Steadfast. Mean—

[drtyfiction]

IMAGINE [1/2]

Oliver Quick x Y/N (she/her) Saltburn spoiler alert!!

It's already quite late when Oliver wanders around the exterior of the house, wearing his white embroidered suit and deer antlers on his head. He chugs down something that burns his throat and gazes at the crowd, searching for any familiar faces. Among the sea of people dancing, drinking, vomiting and chatting about some uninteresting futility, he found none. All the oblivious, hollow, inconvenient figures who don't know him, who don't care for him and who don't show him any respect, expose him to the lack of admiration they bring as a gift on his birthday. He stares at the bottom of the now empty plastic cup and sighs softly. Even when everything seems to be turning out exactly the way Oliver had intended, and even when everyone seems to have gathered exclusively for him, he still feels lonely. A man wearing a horse mask approaches, but Oliver doesn't get startled. - Hello Farleigh. - How did you know it was me? Farleigh removes his mask, exposing his slightly sweaty skin from the heat of the muffled costume, his delicate eyes and his voluminous hair, still impeccably tidy despite the headpiece that had been pressing it down until then. - Signet ring. - God. You really notice everything, don’t you? Oliver faintly grins and Farleigh catches sight of his pale blue eyes, which are dimmed by the low light in the room. Farleigh is able to read him a little better than most ordinary people. Perhaps because, after all, he's not that ordinary either. - Have they seen you yet? - Oliver asks. - Not yet. - Farleigh says, indifferently. They're alluding to your friend Venetia's family, with whom you've been living for some time. Farleigh removes the lid from a small container he carries in his pocket, pours a bit of white powder over the back of his hand and sniffs. - Yeah, they’ll go ballistic. - Oliver adds. - I doubt it. Y/N invited me on everyone's behalf. - This time, it's Farleigh who flashes a tiny grin at the corner of his mouth. Oliver frowns and stares at him for a second. He can't hold back an unanticipated reaction and utters an astonished "Oh" sound. In a vague attempt to correct what could be interpreted by the other person as frustration, Oliver releases a low, uncomfortable laugh, attempting to appear calm. - God, the look on your face. - Farleigh bursts into a loud, deep laugh. - What do you mean? She can’t have invited you. - The look on his face is a blend of sternness, confusion and disappointment. - You know, Oliver, I thought you were cleverer than that. Y/N invited me because she wanted to. They want me back, after all. She wants me back in Saltburn. - And why would she want that?

[Continued in part 02]

[delicrieux]

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 2. summer 1972, august

pairing for this chapter—regulus black x f!lestrange!reader   warnings for this chapter—none! word count—2.3k

regulus can get quite mean in the sweltering summer heat.

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

the grandiose patio is lined with wet footprints. yours. and regulus’. the sunshine is too unkind to him – burnt easily, he seems even more miserable in summer. he’s not much fond of water, even if you constantly drag him into the depths of the pool. the chlorine reeks, he had said displeased, trying to swat away his wet hair from his eyes. you had fought, tooth and nail, not to state, you reek. it would’ve obviously been a joke, and sirius would have laughed so merrily at your boundless wit, but regulus would have flushed in embarrassment and confined himself to silence.

you don’t like much when regulus is silent. in fact, you don’t fancy silence at all. father’s silence usually entails bad news, and mother is always silent. your house is too big to retain any noise, and rodolphus is contemplative and rabastan doesn’t take up enough space. with bella here, perhaps things will become more rowdy.

already, she’s turning everything upside down in what she has dubbed ‘the great upheaval.’ the new lady lestange has expensive taste and moody preferences, and so the walls are getting painted, and all sorts of curious trophies and relics from the depths of gringotts are being brought as decorations. she had let you practice explosive magic to knock down a bookcase she believed to be misplaced. you had been very thrilled to help.

now, though, the pleasant buzz of nature is satisfactory. the gardens and the orchard have remained untouched, though the greenhouse has been smashed completely. the remnants of glass glimmer on the sun-sparkled grass, a perfect spot to avoid as the pool beckons your return. not that mother's menagerie had been of much interest to anyone for years. the servants had tended to it, but it remained vacant of visitors, except the rare moments rabastan felt particularly sentimental. all those exotic butterflies spilled into the crisp, open air. it was quite magical. regulus was particularly down that evening.

of course, bella hadn't given much faff for any of it, so you don't dwell. a morning in the sun is a morning in the sun, after all. and, surely, if mother isn't to care for her property, then why should you?

"you recon sister will hire more staff?" you muse aloud. regulus has languidly settled under an olive tree, the leaves framing the thin, half-naked body like an all-too-pale depiction of pieta. his head hangs, the burn-warmed skin glowing, "without me to help she’ll hardly be able to manage all of these household duties."

regulus raises a brow at that, "what have you done exactly to help," the way he says it is half-chiding, half-mocking. as though he thinks that's the way to speak to the owner of the manor, "you blow up bookshelves."

you turn away from his stare, and keep yourself upright against the pool, knees scraping against the pebbles.

"well," you reply with a sniff, "if you had not noticed, she has taken a shine to me."

"shines are used for small jewels."

you hit his leg in a mindless display of violence.

his sharp inhale isn't playful – "what was that for?!"

"that was for talking down to me." you scoff. and his cheeks grow red, but not because you caught him in his error.

his next response is bitter. "i see how it is," the pitch of his voice rising ever-so-slightly, a subtle crack in a violin string, "you grow more pompous every day."

with his legs folded under his chin, arms crossed tightly, his discomfort in his position isn't masked as well as his emotion is. his wide eyes belie an even wider sadness. a hunger, a wanting for the type of affection a mother provides. something you'll never want to think too hard on because you understand, but also have been told by father not to ponder on.

"was that you attempting to speak down to me again?"

"no!" he snaps back, before muttering, "not that you wouldn't deserve it."

your temper has spiked. that isn't fair, what did he know of all that you must put up with! father expects a lot, and yet you are not given enough to do, but your brothers still complain at everything, and then you must put on a smiling face in front of bella, and how rude is he, really, to disrespect you so!

regulus doesn't receive a single hint of a reply from you. if his plan to make you more malleable to conversation wasn't working, he could start something of his own.

"have you made up your mind," the subject switch makes you jump, "about what house?"

oh. he hasn't stopped prodding since the end of june. that's almost cute of him.

"why are you obsessed about this?"

regulus makes a face. "don't try to understand. i just am," he pauses. for once, he regards you carefully, head tilting slightly to one side, "so you have made up your mind."

"slytherin sounds lovely," you admit, as you have been practising this speech in the mirror for a fortnight now. it feels more real coming out of your own mouth and not an apparition's. you could never admit to gryffindor, as your secret would unravel. regulus would spot his brother’s influence, and he would know, with certainty, that you prefer sirius to him. he must know already, but chooses to ignore it, like you chose to ignore all things inconvenient.

regulus stills for a moment. "wonderful," he comments, and resumes the snootiness of his demeanour, but more distant, "i'll definitely be in slytherin,"

yes, clearly, he would suit the snake very well. and he would fit in, like cissy. no matter the apparent fragility to him, it seems to be hiding a will stronger than all of yours combined. his eyes glitter and gleam when the sunlight hits them just right, but their core seems deeper, darker. no cracks or fissures. just an endlessness.

"and so would you," he finishes the sentiment.

"wh- whatever do you mean?!" you cry in his face, startled out of the depths of your musings.

"dear cousin," he simpers, "for how much time must your father spend pontificating on how utterly useless you are before you realise i'm in your same boat."

he may not mean it, but the insult is unbearable. and perhaps there's a sliver of truth that irks you. that your own kin think so lowly of your abilities. but, nonetheless, "behind my back, at least," you sound, "please, regulus, don't say such things to my face!"

he snorts, faintly amused at your ridiculousness, "will it make you feel better if i apologise?"

you huff. your pride has been bruised. he has, as always, thrown you into a sulk, which will be harder and harder to get over now. especially with you sitting a little more self-conscious than you had been ten minutes ago. and really, it had been such a pleasant afternoon. sweltering, and you bask in sunlight like you're famished for it. the rivera had been sweet, always bright and sunny, but england is hardly ever not gloomy. yes, the weather is worth more mental effort than regulus black, you decide. you would rather converse with a house-elf than him. he, yes, is useless, but you have some use, surely.

"think before you speak," you warn, not very menacingly, "honestly, if my life is already doomed, you'll not aid in ruining it any further."

"what life? father dotes on you endlessly. even if you've got not a single brain cell, he still fancies you," he drawls, "really, you're like a pet. a mooncalf. not a thought behind those eyes."

there it is. the nerve that tics. and though he'd spoken in a lazy, pensive drawl, your response is razor-edged and dagger-thorned. you're the blight. the aphids that sully. the plagues of locusts, “so what!" you counter, and you're barely standing on the border, "what is it my trouble? at least my father loves me, which is too much to say of your own."

regulus rises sharply. it is the fastest he's ever moved in all his life. that face would strike a serpent cold, you imagine. "take. that. back." his tone is chillingly even.

but a quick wit has always served you best, "no. not till you're nice to me."

"fine," the sun casts an angry, dark shadow of his figure over the pool. only eleven, yet he might be the most daunting creature you've ever encountered. all long lines, jutting ribs, and pale skin. and those eyes. downturned, forlorn. a regal hazel. the lids are flutter-thick.

the silence that settles is thick with discomfort. you think of your mother’s room at the top floor, how hot she must be with the heavy curtains drawn. it would be good to air it, lest she grows sicker from breathing in all of that old dust. yes, you shall let a servant know as soon as you finish chipping away at regulus’ resolve with your withering glare.

finally, slowly, carefully, "you won't tell mother i upset you, will you?"

"aunt walburga has much to preoccupy her. of course i won't."

he takes this as enough an acquiescence.

you find a part of him has softened. the edges, maybe.

"why should i apologise anyway," he adds, as if by way of an attempt at conversing in your manner, "the truth needs no apology."

his voice, not that of his father's but certainly not the poshest, has something odd about it.

he waits for a few more seconds, in what you gather, is a wait for an excuse to take the blow off of himself. you keep thinking, and these thoughts blunder quickly about. of mother’s room and father’s study, of rabby down in the cellar, of rodolphus prancing around his new wife. of sirius locked in his guest room, all of his muggle trinkets confiscated. sirius would have a laugh if he wasn’t too busy sulking. this impish row would cheer him up.

you've accepted the role now. it feels like a coronation. the signet ring would fit. pretty thing.

"regulus," you start, but can't keep your straight face. his stare bores into you, until the laugh finally escapes.

"you twit!" he accuses you, "i thought you were really angry for a moment! good thing i wouldn't actually worry, with how loose tongued you are. and stupid! to think, everyone always bellows about how pleasant and intelligent you are."

"could hardly be talking of me," you say, feeling not very bitter, but the taste of it is tart on the back of your tongue. this is a new pattern. a childish bickering, or even teasing, "i've never wanted to know anything. everyone else is terribly inquisitive."

regulus just eyes you in bewilderment. as though your view on the world is rather strange. regulus is fond of reading, and he has a plethora of curious facts to share to anyone who would listen. he had been more vocal of them when he was younger, but at eleven, he's growing very reserved and respectable.

to anyone but you, it seems, because he's rude and standoffish in your presence, even if his cheeks start to burn when you catch him staring at you. maybe you should've let him know. it'd be sweet to see his eyes widen in surprise, or his lips purse. that'd be worth all his rude jokes and unwarranted insults. his silence has allowed him to believe that all his sentiments are harmless. but they are not.

perhaps you are useless, not even a little bit useful at all, if a mere boy who's still gangly and graceless has you wound around his little finger, while not even knowing it. you can't decide if that's better or worse than knowing. it doesn't really matter anyway. when the family meetings took place late in the evening, and you were pointedly dismissed, you had decided you shan't ever want to know anything. to live in simple bliss of a fantasy, to enjoy what you're good at enjoying, and never touch the dirt of any of their messy problems. the end of childhood doesn't concern you, no more than any of the scandals you overhear and promptly ignore. gossip you adore, but only if it's mindless, like a poor matching colour of a robe.

the rest you are well off without.

pretty thing, mother had once called you when awake. her gaze had been vacant. you refused to decipher the meaning, if there was any to begin with. pretty things needn’t be sensible, they only need to be admired.

regulus offers you his hand. a rarity, him touching you, because he rarely is one for contact. especially with you, it had seemed. the small, slim fingers don’t tremble in their wait, "want to swim?"

your earlier mood melts away like the heat waves over the warm stone. the blood has flushed both your skins, but his more.

it's not important anyway.

"thought you don't like water," you say smugly, happy to lord over this very basic information you know of him over his head, "you'll look like a prune."

regulus wrinkles his nose in distaste at the idea. his pale complexion is so easy to scorch and scar. the redness blooms on him beautifully.

but then, all he says is, "you're my favourite, you know that, right? always have been."

the pleasantry, in such an instant, brings another surge of blood to your cheeks.

"why?" you have to know.

a shrug, then, a smile. not malicious at all, and you've always enjoyed it when he can't hold the pretences up in your company.

"dunno," and his expression goes blank again. his gaze roams somewhere far, "so do you want to go swimming?"

his offer has something more, and the confusion lingers.

"it is very hot," is all you find to say.

and what else, but to hold onto his outstretched palm?

[ep2nd]

The MCYT PJO AU

Dsmp. Empires smp. Hermitcraft. Pirates smp. Rats smp. Earthsmp. Origins smp. Traffic smp. Evo smp. Mcyt. Etc.

I'd like to thank Dino from Discord for helping me through this, they were an amazing help and couldn't have done it without them.

Also Chaos from Discord who gave me ideas! She's here on tumblr too

Be aware I probably missed someone OR you may have another idea for someone else, if do please send an ask or reblog would love to hear yalls thoughts

Now without further adu- MCYT PJ AU

Poseidon

Lizzie

Zeus

Foolish

Sparklez

Hades

Joe

Ares

Techno

Pearl

Gem

Reddoons

Bek

Welsknight

Pigical

Boffy

Muka

Athena

Etho

False

Impulse

Puffy

Tapl

Xisuma

Eloise

Sniff

Quig

Pete

Aphrodite

Scar

Joey

Eret

Keralis

Skeppy

Netty

Hephaestus

Mumbo

Fwhip

Tango

Sam

Doc

Iskall

TFC

Zee

Hermes

Grian

Tommy

Sneeg

Cub

Fundy

Michael

Punz

Purpled

Taurtis

Demeter

Stress

Hannah

Katherine

Lani

Tubbo

Acho

Apo

Ant

Mika

Apollo

CPK

Hbomb

Olive

Owen

Ren

Wilbur

Lyrrah

Pix

Fit

Dionysus

Schlatt

Beau

Ninja

Oli

Hypnos

George

Hypno

Bdubs

Nike

Dream

Drista

Sapnap

Jevin

Vik

Lazarbeam

Hecate

Alyssa

Lauren

Shubble

Beef

Aphmau

Iris

Sausage

Scott

Wisp

Deo

Nemesis

Jack

Niki

Eryn

Notus

Couriway

Melinoe

Bertha

TomaHawk

Phobos

Xornoth

Asclepius

Ponk

Kymopoleia

XB

Prismarina

Janus

Ranboo

Aimsey

Tyche

Quackity

Aeolus

Martyn

Philza

Tina

SloyXP

Thanatos

Kristin

Morpheus

Karl

Boreas

Illumina

Zephyros

Connor

Hebe

Skizz

Big B

Boomer

Guqqie

Deimos

BBH

HellsKnight

Macaria

Cleo

Eris

Evil X(Alex)

Jimmy

Krow

Oracle

Callahan

[ghostiexe]

First Date || Wilbur Soot x gn!Reader

ello again wilbur nation, i present to you another unedited fic. ur vegitarian btw and your first date is at burger king, have fun

tw: skeleton mentions?? you don't see one it's just brought up, also swearing

word count: 2,536

Your hands twitch nervously as you take in a deep breath and smooth down your plain band tee, glancing yourself critically up and down in the mirror. Your first date with the literal man of your dreams is in twenty minutes, and you have no idea what to wear. 

You groan softly in frustration, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Why is this so hard? It’s not like you’re even going anywhere fancy, you’re a broke college student for God’s sake. The fanciest place you can even think of is probably Olive Garden. 

You had both made the unanimous decision to just grab some Burger King together, since it was one of the only fast food restaurants you could think of that had actual vegetarian options other than just… Salad. There has been a brief discussion about potentially going to McDonald's, but Wilbur insisted on going to the place that had more options for you. Just thinking about how sweet he was made you a bit giddy.

You hear your phone buzz from your bathroom counter and you huff as you reach for it, though the tension in your features slips away into a soft smile as you see who texted you. Your date, Wilbur. Opening your messages, you giggle when you see what he sent you. 

Wil - I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to wear ngl 

Well, at least you aren’t alone. You quickly send him a response, relaying your own outfit woes. After a few moments, his response comes in. 

Wil - We should dress up in super fancy clothes /j

You snort. 

You - ah yes, wonderful idea, let’s get all dolled up for burger king &lt;3

Your eyes wander to your closet. Even though the both of you are joking, you can’t help but feel a little entertained by the idea. You probably have some nice clothes shoved in the back of your closet somewhere. Your phone vibrates again. 

Wil - If I pull up in a suit how would you react?

You - probably fall in love on sight

Wil - Well shit, now I have to :p

God, he's so adorable. You can’t help but let out a giddy giggle as you turn your phone off, slipping out of the bathroom and back toward your closet. You dig through it for a moment before you find what you were looking for. There’s a blazer and a pair of slacks stuffed behind some old Halloween costume, and you pull it out to examine its condition. It looks fine, but you tentatively bring it up to your nose and sniff it just in case. You let out a sigh of relief when it smells alright, just… old. Nothing a bit of fragrance can't fix.

Several minutes later, you find yourself wearing the formal getup and walking down an embarrassingly busy street to get to the Burger King. It’s almost dumb how well dressed you are for this, but it’s comforting knowing that Wilbur’s outfit will at least reflect the same energy.  

Wilbur is already there when you arrive, but to be fair, you are a couple minutes late. You had apologized profusely over text on your way there, but he had assured you that he understood and it was fine, which had soothed some of your worries about the matter. 

You almost trip over yourself when you see him, his curly hair styled to perfection and looking unfairly good in his suit. He’s hovering awkwardly by the ordering counter, so you quickly make your way over and call out for him. 

“Hey, Wilbur!” You say, waving as his gaze shifts over to you. He beams and pulls you into a hug, and you giggle at the action, wrapping your arms around him in return. Your name slips past his lips, and he sounds a little amused, but mostly affectionate.

“Hello.” He greets you, squeezing you momentarily in his arms before dropping them and taking a step back. You flush as his gaze drags over you, the pleased smile on his face making you blush. “You look fantastic.” He notes, winking in a way that has you simultaneously flustered and rolling your eyes. 

“You look better.” You counter, examining his suit now, a bit surprised by its high quality. You brush your fingers over the collar, the fabric smooth and silky under your touch, unlike the rougher texture you were used to suits having. “This is a nice suit, where did you even get it?” You ask, glancing up at him again, hand still pressed against his chest without your realizing it.

He smiles a bit shyly. “Oh, um, I used to wear it to choir concerts in high school. I'm lucky it still fits.” He explains, cheeks a bit pink. 

“Well,” You say, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, “you look very handsome.” You finish as you pull away, glancing at the menu as your hand that rests on his chest slips down to link his pinky with yours. You don't see it, but his free hand comes up to gently brush his fingers across where you've just kissed him, a dumb giddy smile on his face. 

“What are you thinking?” You ask after a moment, still examining the menu. You aren't gonna lie, the fries are practically luring you in with their sweet siren song right now, and you would kill for some of those vegan nuggets. 

He hums thoughtfully and leans in slightly to also look at the menu. “Probably just a burger.” He admits, casually moving his hand that was lingering at his cheek to his hair and running it through his curls. You nod. 

“You should get a crown.” You suggest, a playful grin on your face as you gently squeeze his pinky that's linked with yours. He laughs softly and bumps his hip against yours lightly. 

“I think that's a good idea.” He says, and there's an unmistakable fondness in the way he says it, the way he's looking at you. There's something that feels so right in the way you two interact, something that's got the butterflies in your stomach swarming like moths to a flame. It's the way you are to Wilbur, you think absentmindedly, just admiring him for a moment. He's got a magnetic personality, charisma that you're sure any bard would kill for. And he's… well, he's just warm. Like a personal space heater, not just literally, but also in the way that just being around him makes you feel like you're melting. 

You swallow as you realize you've completely missed everything he just said. You blink and look at the employee he's now talking to, and you let out an inaudible breath of relief when you realize that he's just ordering for the both of you. It doesn't take long for him to finish up, considering you were completely spaced out for most of the time he was ordering, and he clears his throat, turning back to you. 

“Let's go sit down.” He suggests, and you nod. He unlinks your fingers, and you're disappointed for a moment before you feel his hand rest on the small of your back, gently guiding you to a table in the corner, one with the longer, more comfortable seats instead of the small tables with the metal chairs. 

He slips into the seat before you, so you sit down next to him, leaning back and examining him. You're not used to sitting right next to people on dates, usually you just sit facing the other person, but this feels nice somehow. A little closer, in a way. It helps that you don't have to lean across a table to reach out for him, he's just… Well, he's just right there. 

He reaches over and gently slips his hand into yours, brushing his thumb across your knuckles as he rests his elbow on the table and props his head up with his hand. You chuckle softly and reach your free hand over to tap his elbow.

“Wow, terrible table manners.” You scold teasingly, making a light tsk tsk sound, shaking your head in disapproval. “Didn't your parents ever teach you not to do that?” You ask, watching him splutter. 

“Hey, I'll have you know my manners are excellent, thank you very much.” He says, tilting his head up in mock arrogance. “I just think that I'm above silly things like that, considering I'm the ruler of this domain.” He adds, a bit dramatically. God, he's such a theater kid, you think with an amused smirk. 

“Oh, the ruler you say?” You ask in mock disbelief. “If you're the ruler, then why don't you have a crown?” You ask, eyes gleaming as you reach your free hand over to slip into his curls, smirking as you ruffle it up. 

He pouts and pulls his arm off the table to lightly swat your hand away from his hair. “Nooo, you're ruining my hard work.” He complains, giving you puppy dog eyes. You giggle. 

“Sorry, Will, that's just the way the cookie crumbles.” You say with a sigh. He snorts. 

“What the fuck? That doesn't make any sense.” He asks with a small laugh. You giggle too. 

“I dunno.” You admit, sighing softly at the end and letting your gaze trace over his features again. The small freckle under his eye, the curve of his nose, his smile lines. “You're pretty.” You say after a moment, smiling softly at him. 

He smiles shyly and turns his face away, covering his mouth with his hand as you gently squeeze the one that's still linked with yours. 

“Well, I think you're stunning.” He mumbles, cheeks still a lovely shade of pale red. You hum in acknowledgement, leaning slightly closer. He notices and turns to face you again, leaning down slightly. Your eyes tail down to his lips briefly and you glance up into his eyes only to find him looking back at yours. You scoot just barely closer and start to go in for a kiss when you hear your order number get called out. You and Wilbur both startle, drawing away from each other again. You clear your throat, face burning as you stand. 

“Um, I'll go… I'm gonna go grab that.” You say, watching as he nods up at you with an expression not unlike your own. Shy, flustered, a little disappointed. You gently squeeze his hand once more before letting go to walk back to the counter, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

You grab the tray at the counter and make sure that Wilbur paid before making your way back over, setting the food down in front of him and plopping yourself down next to him again. 

“Well, dig in.” You encourage him, pulling your nuggets and fries toward yourself and pushing him his burger, drink, fries and crown. He thanks you and you start to munch happily on your fries, watching as he places the paper crown on his head.

“How do I look?” He asks you, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips. It makes one of his cheekbones look much more defined, and you can't help but start to giggle. You bring one hand up to cover your mouth as you watch him make that ridiculous face. His expression cracks and he starts to giggle too, and you both lean in as you laugh together. You pull away again as you start to eat your food, though you can’t help but cast Wilbur a couple fond glances. He’s doing the same thing, though much more subtly. 

You turn your attention back to your food.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Do your nuggets taste like actual chicken?” He asks, watching as you shove one into your mouth. You cover your mouth with your hand as you quickly chew it and swallow, shaking your head ‘no’. 

“No, it tastes like beef.” You deadpan, looking at him with a poker face. His eyebrows raise and he looks incredulous for a moment before he realizes you’re messing with him, face a bit pink as he gently shoves your arm. 

“Oh, fuck off.” He complains with a groan, though there’s a smile on his face. You can’t help but smile back. 

“Sorry. And to answer your question…” You think for a moment. “Do you know what Uncanney Valley is?” You ask, and he responds with a nod. You nod back, with a bit of finality. “It’s like that, but instead of for your eyes, it's for your taste buds.” You explain. He makes a slightly disgusted face. 

“That’s the worst possible way you could have described that. I think I can feel my literal skeleton crawling out of my skin.” He says, pretending to gag. You giggle and shrug. 

“Sorry, that was the only way I could think to describe it.” You say apologetically. He just sighs, though there’s amusement in the sound. 

“It’s okay.” He assures you, reaching over to hold your hand. You gently squeeze it and scoot closer to him. “It was just weird as fuck.” You both giggle and you reach down to shove your last nugget in your mouth. You glance down at his food and see that he’s finished his food. “Are you ready to get out of here?” You ask, tilting your head at him curiously. He nods, starting to stand. You do the same, stepping out of the booth and letting him out, hands still linked. You grab your trash and let go of his hand, going to dump it in the garbage bin. He leans over your shoulder and throws his away too, then snakes his hands over your waist and gently squeezes you. You squeak and he laughs, letting go. 

“Dude!” You complain. He kisses your cheek apologetically. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” He says, though he doesn’t look sorry at all. He has a slightly smug expression, an irritatingly handsome one at that. It pisses you off. You want to kiss the look off his face. You just roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I knew you couldn’t resist my charms.” You say flippantly, a small smile on your face. He just giggles and nods, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist again, but this time it’s a little more hesitant, though he seems to relax a bit when you lean back into his chest. You bring one hand up to rest on his arm, using your thumb to absentmindedly brush across it. He makes a soft happy sound, and then he’s pulling away, clearing his throat and smiling. It’s not the same smile from before, the one where he’s all teasing and joking. It’s replaced by a much fonder one, and you notice that his whole expression has softened. You realize your face has probably done the same thing, and your hand finds his, gently squeezing it. 

“Thanks for the date, Wilbur.” You say gently. “This is probably the best one I’ve ever been on, to be honest.” 

He just looks away bashfully, then nods. “Well, thank you for coming.” He says back, face a bit pink. 

You let yourself hope there’s going to be more dates.

[training4theapocalypse]

Finders Keepers Ch 20. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+ (no smut)

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: Minor character deaths, violence

Summary: The final battle of Hogwarts

A/N: The last chapter 😢 an epilogue is on the way. This has been a blast. Thank you for reading. ❤️

Masterlist

Chapter 20: Avada Kedavra

The courtyard is eerily quiet when you and McLaggen skid to an abrupt halt on the rubble. A long streak of blood is painted across the cobblestone. And even though the thought of what caused it turns your stomach, instantly your mind begins playing it out. A faceless Death Eater blasted across the cloister. Or maybe it was a student dragging themselves away from the fighting. Or perhaps it’s the evidence of someone being tenderly carried off to somewhere safer. Assuming there’s anywhere safe left.

“Where is everyone?” The question, more to yourself than McLaggen, hangs in the chilled night air, icy on your skin after the pitch's fiery chaos. He holds one of the now-dilapidated oak front doors open and crumbling mortar silently dusts your heads and shoulders as you pass through the threshold. From a distance, you spot a familiar figure, carrying someone over one shoulder as they walk across the Entrance Hall. 

“Wood?” calls McLaggen.

At least one of your group is still alive. 

Oliver Wood stops in his tracks and turns, his face solemn. The realisation that the body he carries is dead and not simply injured hits you with sickening force. A young boy, blonde and no older than sixteen, hangs limp in his grasp.

“Colin Creevey,” says Wood sadly, in answer to the unasked question on the tip of your tongue. “He must have snuck back in through the Hog’s Head passageway to fight. He was only a kid.”

“Here, let me help,” says McLaggen. 

“It’s alright, mate - he’s -” Wood swallows with difficulty, the sentiment choking in his throat. “He’s only a wee thing.”

“Where - where are the others?” You’re surprised when your voice too is hoarse, barely a whisper. “Did you all get back to the castle alright?”

“We did,” says Wood as you and McLaggen fall into step with him, walking back towards the Great Hall. “But once we got back it was pandemonium. We were split up. I think the girls are in the Great Hall but some of the lads and I have been busy out here - helping carry bodies back and hoping that we don’t see anyone we know.”

The lads. You breathe a sigh of relief because it means Carmichael, Davies and Krum are all right too.

“We’ll be fine,” says McLaggen determinedly. “We’re all good fighters. Not kids like Colin -”

Wood shakes his head. “It’s not just kids like Colin - members of the Order of the Phoenix are dead. You remember Professor Lupin? He’s dead. And Fred Weasley.”

“Fred Weasley?” McLaggen halts. “Back when we were in the D.A. he was one of the best.” He says it matter-of-factly like Wood must be mistaken. 

“Gone,” says Wood with a sniff. “There were at least twenty bodies when I last left the Great Hall. And we keep finding more.” 

A heavy silence accompanies you into the Great Hall, where the reality of war is laid bare. The sky above the enchanted ceiling is pitch black. There’s not a single star in the sky visible. Dark clouds loom so claustrophobically close it’s a wonder there’s any air in the hall at all. Dozens of the fallen are lined up along the centre of the room. Some with crying families at their side, and some, you realise with a sinking feeling, are completely alone. 

Your eyes scour the room searching for your own loved ones. At this side of the row of bodies nearest you, there’s a crowd that can only be Fred Weasley’s family. Relief washes over you as you spot Angelina, at the edge of the group, sobbing on Alicia’s shoulder.

Another two who are still alive.

But your relief is short-lived when you see only Leanne and Katie at the far end of the hall, crowded around someone on the floor. 

Panic makes the hair on your arm rise. 

You break into a run, heart pounding, as you pass by too many bodies to count, each step fuelled by a mix of hope and dread. Leanne and Katie look up at your arrival, still holding each other, tears streaking down their faces. 

Cho is kneeling on the floor, holding the lifeless hand of a girl. She has the same long, wavy, auburn hair as Marietta. But it can’t be Marietta. Eddie isn’t here. And besides, she’s covered in dust, with pieces of rubble strewn in her hair. Marietta was always fussy about her appearance. She wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this.

McLaggen catches up with you and stops dead, momentarily stunned by the scene before him. “Fuck… Marietta.” His whisper hits you like a slowing charm.

“That’s not - it’s not -” Your legs feel like lead as you take a step closer. “I don’t think it’s Marietta - I mean, her face is…” That’s not Marietta’s face. Where are her scars? You sink to your knees across from Cho to get a closer look at the girl’s face. If you look hard enough, maybe it won’t be true. You’ll find some difference. A freckle or a piercing that proves this isn’t Marietta. 

“The curse must have died with her,” Cho murmurs, her voice quiet with grief as a tear drips onto Marietta’s serene, unblemished face. 

“She’s so beautiful,” sobs Leanne. “I mean - not that she wasn’t before -“

Fuck.

The truth hits hard. Undeniable. Raw.

It is her. 

“She was beautiful,” you agree, your voice breaking as a surge of memories overwhelms you, letting the tears flow unguarded. “Before the curse, when she had the curse and - and after.”

After. You never thought there would be a time after Marietta. Ever since your first day at Hogwarts, Marietta Edgecombe was there. After the sorting ceremony, you found yourself sitting across from her at the Ravenclaw table. You still remember the way she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and whispered something that made Cho giggle when Professor Dumbledore stood up to give his beginning-of-term speech. And it was at that point she had first seemed so different to you then. She loved gossip and fashion and makeup and boys - the two of you never really saw eye to eye. Mostly because you insisted you ‘weren’t like other girls’. 

But Marietta eventually showed you that you weren’t so different to other girls after all. And that other girls had their own interests just like you. It took longer than you’d like to admit to figure out that liking flying instead of Transfiguration didn’t make you superior. And so, Marietta transfigured your dress for Slughorn’s party. And you taught her how to fly a broom well enough to go on a dangerous mission to Azkaban. 

You suppose, if you let yourself think about the sad truth of it, her scars were probably the reason why she was so good at Transfiguration. She had spent a long time when you were still at Hogwarts, in the dormitory mirror with her wand pointed at her face, trying to rid herself of the scars that spelt ‘SNEAK’ across her cheeks and nose.

“How did she…?” The question dies in your throat as you look at Cho, not sure if you're ready to hear the answer. But she shakes her head. She doesn’t know. “I mean, where did you find her? And where’s Carmichael? Wasn’t he with her?” Eddie would know what had happened. “Does he even know she’s…?”

“We don’t have any answers,” says Katie not unkindly but it’s clear that your incessant questioning isn’t helping when they’re just as lost as you.

“Wood said that the guys were helping with the bodies,” McLaggen reminds you. “Maybe they’ll know more. They’ll be back in a… oh, fuck.”

McLaggen’s voice trails off and you look up to see why. 

Krum and Davies walk along the length of the hall, carrying a body. Krum holding under the arms and Davies carrying the legs. As they move, Krum clenches his jaw and Davies stares straight ahead solemnly.

“Nonononono…” you whimper, getting to your feet to get out of the way so that they can set the body down next to Marietta. Your hands reach for McLaggen’s and his find you, neither of you daring to take your eyes off of the body being carried towards you as you grasp at each other’s forearms for something - anything - to cling onto. 

Krum and Davies set the lifeless figure down and step out of the way. Nobody says anything for a long time as you stare down at them.

The echo of a mischievous smile is still etched on Eddie Carmichael’s face, even in death. You half expect his eyes to fly open. “Only winding you up, mucker,” he’d say, sitting upright and dusting himself off. And you’d roll your eyes and slap his arm for worrying you so. For letting the practical joke play out too long.

It’s not a joke. No matter how much you want it to be.

Carmichael. 

Your last shred of hope turns to dust. Even in Azkaban, Carmichael was a vial of Awakening Potion - the jolt of energy you needed to turn the tide in the depths of your despair. He almost made Azkaban feel like a game. Reminded you that being locked up was just a temporary situation - something that would pass. But this? This is permanent. 

“Where - where did you find him?” asks McLaggen. His voice is thick, barely recognisable.

Davies clears his throat. “Near the staircase behind the tapestry on the sixth floor. Longbottom said it was where he found Marietta.”

They were together.

McLaggen winces at Davies’ words and shuts his eyes momentarily, unable to bring himself to look at the lifeless figures of Marietta Edgecombe and Eddie Carmichael. You, on the other hand, can’t look away. 

The dust coating their faces makes them look almost blue-tinged. The remnants of an explosion, perhaps? The broken bits of rubble are still stuck in Marietta’s hair. Trembling slightly, you crouch down to try to disentangle them with your fingers, careful not to pull at her scalp. 

It’s no good. 

While you’ve never had an eye for Transfiguration like Marietta, you extract McLaggen’s dad’s wand from your pocket and press it gently at the pieces of rubble and one by one, transfigure them into tiny, blue forget-me-nots. 

To an onlooker, she might seem merely asleep, her hair adorned with forget-me-nots as if chosen by her own hand on a sunny day at Seafarer's Beacon. This small touch of beauty, reminiscent of the way her paper snowflakes once danced around the lighthouse stairwell or the summer wreath she hung on the front door just yesterday, captures the essence of Marietta's spirit. 

She always had an eye for making this world a little more beautiful.

Cho waves her wand in a complicated figure of eight and a wreath of the same forget-me-nots flourishes into existence. She places it silently at Eddie’s head before the two of you stand up and join the rest in quiet mourning. 

“You okay?” you whisper to McLaggen, noticing his ashen face. His brow furrows as if silently debating something internally. 

“How long have we got before the fighting starts again?” he asks the group, breaking the silence, his words piercing the heavy air.

“Not long I reckon,” says Davies.

McLaggen’s demeanour shifts, a firm look of determination on his face. “Potter needs to hand himself in… Where is he?” He looks around the room with an intense, measured sort of calm that you’ve only witnessed once before. When he stood up in the Black Dragon and asked Marcus Flint to step outside. “I’ll hand him over myself if I have to.” 

“Vot is this?” asks Krum as McLaggen makes to leave.

“Not gonna happen,” Davies tells McLaggen firmly, stepping in front of him.

“If he’d just handed himself over right at the start then Ed and Marietta would still be alive.” McLaggen tries to push past but Davies moves again.

“Handing over Potter isn’t going to bring them back -” says Davies.

For the first time, McLaggen raises his voice, drawing the attention of mourners in the hall. “How many more of us are going to have to die for him?!”

“Cormac -” you start and reach for his hand. “Marietta and Carmichael wouldn’t have wanted us to turn him in.”

“We don’t know what they’d have wanted,” he says bitterly and your own face screws up in anguish, fighting tears and unable to find the words to argue with him. 

But before anyone else can argue with him an amplified voice causes the noise in the Great Hall to halt into momentary silence.

“Harry Potter is dead!” 

The last word bounces around the stone walls. Dead. Dead. Dead.

There’s murmuring and hushing as You-Know-Who’s disembodied voice calls every survivor to attention. Everyone looks skywards as if it’ll make the words clearer. Make them make sense.

“He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him,” the voice continues. 

You’d be the first to admit you’re not Potter’s biggest fan but from everything you’ve heard about it, you know he has the same selfless, noble streak that McLaggen and the rest of your Gryffindor friends have - and you can’t imagine any of them running away to save themselves. You furrow your eyebrows together and look at Katie - she knows Potter best. As expected, she mirrors your thoughts with a firm shake of her head.

“He wouldn’t -” Katie starts, but the voice cuts her off.

“We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and The Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered. As will every member of their family.” 

The seven of you gather close as you hold your breath waiting to hear what will happen to you.

“Come out of the castle now. Kneel before me and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brother and sisters will live and be forgiven and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”

McLaggen shakes his head. “It - it can’t all have been for nothing. Breaking them all out of Azkaban - it - it’s just can’t.”

“He’s lying. Harry’s not - he’s not dead,” says Cho with an air of trying to convince herself that it’s the truth. 

You look over to where Fred Weasley’s body lies and see that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are looking around frantically for the missing member of their trio. The pair stumble into a run, leaving the Great Hall and the rest of the survivors begin following them. 

If Harry Potter isn’t dead then why are his two best friends panicking?

You stay rooted to the spot. “Look, we can’t go out there. No matter what You-Know-Who said about sparing us - Cerys told me that Muggleborns and traitors will be killed.”

“Well, we’re not going out there to surrender,” says McLaggen. “We’re going out there to fight.”

Everyone breaks into squabbling.

“They’re going to kill us,” you insist, feeling helpless as you point out the impending death sentence.

“We can’t just stay in here,” says Katie.

“Angelina and Alicia are going,” points out Leanne.

You feel like you’re going mad. Desperation grips you as you beg them to understand. “A Death Eater told me herself that they’re going to execute the Muggleborns and force purebloods into Death Eater families.”

Davies finally chimes in, siding with caution. “I agree with Keeps. They’ll slaughter us all.”

“Not if I kill him first,” says McLaggen, straightening up but his change in demeanour makes your blood run cold.

“Kill who?” asks Cho. “You’re not talking about killing You-Know-Who, are you?”

McLaggen pauses, his gaze fixed on the distant double doors. When he speaks, his voice is clear, and full of resolve. “Not You-Know-Who. Voldemort.” 

The use of the taboo name is heavy in the air for a split second as a silent shock ripples through the group. McLaggen begins to march forward, his steps deliberate, pulling the rest of you from your stupor as you scramble to keep pace, murmurs of disbelief echoing behind him.

Wait - what?

He follows the direction of the crowd leaving the Great Hall.

“Cormac - wait - no,” you panic, pulling on his arm but he keeps walking as you practically jog to keep up with his long strides. “Cormac?” 

“McLaggen, what are you playing at, mate?” Davies too tries to get Cormac’s attention while you march.

McLaggen’s eyes darken, a flash of the recent pain  “No, we end this. I kill Voldemort. If I finish him off, Marietta and Eddie won’t have died for nothing…” 

“No, Cormac -” 

“I think ve need a plan,” Krum says looking slightly wary.

“There’s no time for a plan. All I need is one shot. One clear shot,” he says, staring ahead defiantly as you join the back of the moving crowd. 

“Cormac McLaggen, will you listen to me?!” Your voice is unusually shrill, half-choked with fear and desperation, as you plant yourself firmly in his path, forcing him to confront you. “You can’t just ‘take a shot’ at him. There’ll be protective enchantments. And even if by some miracle you breach those, it’ll be as good as suicide.”

Cormac halts and looks down into your eyes sadly. “You said it yourself - we’re all dead anyway. To them, we’re nothing but a bunch of traitors and Muggleborns.”

“I should be the one to do it, then,” you plead. “You’re from a pureblood family. You might still have a chance.” He shakes his head, dismissing the idea and you flare up. “And why not? I’m just as capable as you.”

“You are capable,” he insists. “But I should be the one to do it.”

“Why?” demands Cho, her voice sharp.

“I’m done for when they find out I killed the Minister for Magic’s daughter.” 

“And they’ll let the rest of us walk free?” asks Cho rhetorically. “Umbridge has been looking for us since all this started. If she’s anything to do with the new regime - she’ll make sure that we’re first to go. She’ll probably - she’ll probably frame us for Marietta’s death.” The idea leaves a bitter scowl on her face. Of course, Umbridge would. What a sympathetic story it’d make too. Marietta Edgecombe - Umbridge’s secretary. Kidnapped by the D.A. and killed in battle. 

“As much as I don’t like the idea of going out there without a plan, we’re running out of time and there’s nowhere else left to go,” says Davies resignedly as the seven of you look beyond the double doors at the courtyard. “So if any of us get the chance we should take it.”

“Exactly,” says Krum. “Ve train together, ve fight together.”

“I say if anyone gets close enough to You-Know - I mean - Voldemort, we do it. The Killing Curse,” says Katie.

Leanne nods. “I agree.”

You and McLaggen exchange a determined look. One last mission. Together.

“Alright,” McLaggen says, addressing everyone with a confidence reminiscent of the sort you usually have when rousing your Quidditch team. “Alright. Let’s do this. Let’s kill Voldemort.”

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

The remnants of Dumbledore’s Army huddle together in the devastated courtyard. 

Harry Potter is dead.

The grim truth of it is laid bare for everyone to see in the slowly lightening darkness that precedes the dawn as you gaze at his body lying limp in Hagrid’s arms as he sobs.

The lump in your throat isn’t so much for Potter as for what he represented, what his death means for you and your friends. Marietta is dead. Carmichael is dead. You and the rest of the D.A. will probably join them soon. If McLaggen isn’t executed he’ll be married off to some other Death Eater. You hold onto McLaggen’s hand tight, barely listening to Voldemort addressing the crowd as you instead silently count each second your hand is in his before you’re inevitably separated. 

You watch as Hagrid is instructed to place Potter on the ground at his feet.

Voldemort paces in front of the crowd, his giant snake wrapped around his shoulders as he points to Potter’s dead body. “He was nothing - ever - but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him.”

“He beat you!” yells Ron Wealsey, a few places down to your left. You try to shrink back, away from the attention he’s bringing to your group but McLaggen holds fast - the same look of defiance painted on his face as is on Weasley’s. 

To your horror, McLaggen shouts, “Your Death Eaters were losing!” Members of the D.A. and several others in the crowd cry out in dissent too. 

“Cormac,” you plead. The idea of any of you breaking through the void between the survivors and Death Eaters to aim a Killing Curse at Voldemort seems like a childish fantasy now that you’re out here, facing him. You just want to slip away. The last thing you want is for any of the D.A. to be made a humiliating example of. You look at the army facing you. They outnumber you by at least five to one. You’re starting to realise that the best you can hope for is a quick death. “Please don’t draw attention to yourself.”

There’s a bang and a flash of light and you flinch when Voldemort silences the crowd.

“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds. Killed while trying to save himself -”

But Voldemort’s voice breaks off when you’re jostled to the side as Neville Longbottom breaks through the clutch of D.A. members and charges at him. Clearly, your group weren’t the only ones who planned to take a shot at Voldemort to end this once and for all. There are more bangs and flashes when Neville is disarmed and knocked to the ground and another silencing charm is cast over the crowd.

“And who is this? Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?”

Just as you were afraid of. The first dissenter to be made an example of. You clutch onto McLaggen as Bellatrix Lestrange catches Neville’s wand and taunts him. Neville eventually gets to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man's-land between the Hogwarts survivors and the Death Eaters. 

“Neville Longbottom… But you are a pureblood aren’t you, my brave boy?”

“So what if I am?” he spits back.

“You show spirit and bravery. And you come of noble stock. You will make a valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over!” shouts Neville before turning and raising his fist in the direction of the survivors. “Dumbledore’s Army!”

The silencing charm breaks and your friends jeer at Voldemort in response. 

Your own voice is lost in your throat.

“Very well. Are there any more purebloods who, like Neville, will refuse to join my Death Eaters?”

“You’re damn right!” calls McLaggen. “Like hell, we’ll join you!”

You want to clap your hand over his big fat mouth but before you can other survivors join in the yelling.

“Yeah!” echoes Ron Weasley. “We’d rather die!”

“Ah, but you misunderstand me,” replies You-Know-Who in his snakelike whisper. “Too much magical blood has been spilt already and you are valuable. Pureblood families are dying out. Extinguished by those who choose to mate with Mudbloods and muggles.”

McLaggen lets go of your hand and slips his hand into his pocket, finding his wand.

“Don’t!” You hiss through your teeth, pulling at his arm.

McLaggen ignores you and stares straight ahead, looking at Voldemort defiantly. “And so what if we are? Being pureblooded doesn’t mean anything!”

“Another like Neville Longbottom who refuses to join my Death Eaters?” asks Voldemort, looking directly at McLaggen amongst the collection of D.A. members and the remaining Gryffindor students. “Come forward, unless you are afraid that your Mudblood sympathies have made you weak.”

McLaggen moves his arm so that his wand is hidden behind his back and takes a step forward.

“No! No, stop! Cormac!” You don’t bother hushing your voice this time as you realise he’s actually about to stand beside Neville. You cling onto him frantically with all your might, begging him not to step forward. But you’re not the only one shrieking. 

“Ron!” You look over to see Granger, attempting to pull Ron Weasley back too.

“Come now! Come!” laughs Voldemort. “Don’t be shy. Come forward and I’ll show you just how useful those from noble bloodlines will be in the new world.”

“Cormac!” you sob, pulling his arm so tightly that you think you might rip his arm from his socket. He takes another two steps and your feet slide on the uneven rubble underfoot. With a solemn look, he places his hand over yours and eases them off his arm. You look desperately over at Granger and she too has had her grip wrenched free from Weasley. For just a second, the two of you lock eyes in helpless, shared understanding.

You let go of Cormac and almost fall to your knees when he and Weasley join Longbottom but before you collapse, Cho and Krum catch under your arms, stopping you from crumbling as you try to remember how to breathe again.

Voldemort's voice cuts through the tense air. "Those of you who stand before me refuse to acknowledge the way things are now," he declares, his gaze sweeping over the brave three standing in defiance. “You may not become Death Eaters… but your children will.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, a mix of fear and outrage simmering among the gathered survivors. Voldemort turns to face his supporters. “Now, where is the Minister for Magic? Thicknesse?” Pius Thicknesse steps forward, his long, dark hair danker than you remember it from when you first met him last summer. "Have your daughter bring forth the girls," he commands, his voice echoing ominously across the courtyard. "Let these ancient and noble pureblood families be joined as one."

Thicknesse’s bloodshot eyes dart around edgily. “My Lord - I - I cannot find her.”

“You won’t,” says McLaggen and you exhale a weak groan. The last shred of hope you had that McLaggen might make it through this act of defiance disapparates in an instant. “She’s dead. I made sure of it.”

Thicknesse, fueled by a mix of grief and rage, attempts to barrel through Voldemort’s supporters, his eyes set on McLaggen with a vengeance. But before Thicknesse can reach him, Voldemort, with a flick of his wand, halts Thicknesse's charge.

Voldemort's gaze lands on McLaggen, his curiosity piqued. "And who is this?" he inquires, his voice cold yet amused, as he looks from the distraught Thicknesse to the defiant McLaggen.

"That's the boy she wanted. The one she - my Cerys - asked to be promised to, my lord," Thicknesse says, raising a quivering finger at McLaggen.

Voldemort laughs. A high-pitched, chilling laugh. "I can see why - he's a handsome one," he remarks as he steps towards McLaggen who remains steadfast. Unflinching. "No matter," Voldemort continues, turning away from McLaggen and dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand as if Cerys’s death were nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. "There are plenty of suitable matches from other families willing to produce heirs -"

"I'll kill the next one too,” says McLaggen and Neville and Weasley look at him in agreement. “We all will. If you force any of us into pure-blood marriages against our will, we'll make sure that the bloodlines end with us."

Voldemort pauses and turns around slowly as if hardly daring to believe that McLaggen has spoken out so openly. “Too much magical blood has been wasted already tonight... although perhaps I can make an exception," he muses, his gaze still fixed on McLaggen. "Your bloodline, at least, will end with you."

"And so will yours," says McLaggen. And even though you can’t see his face, you can tell he’s wearing that confident, intense look that so often precedes him doing the impossible. 

And just for a second, you think it’s happening. Against the odds, McLaggen, who has saved your skin countless times now, is about to save everyone for good. McLaggen. The Keeper. About to make the save that defines the wizarding world as you know it.

But before McLaggen can even extend his wand, Voldemort, with a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes, utters, "Avada Kedavra!" 

McLaggen’s body falls to the ground, lifeless, just as quickly and easily as the falling Quidditch stands on the pitch.

Your stomach lurches. You open your mouth not sure whether you’re about to scream or vomit. The sound that escapes your lips is torn from the depths of your soul, as you witness the love of your life crumple in a heap on the rubble. 

Your heart shatters beyond repair. 

Each cracked piece is a kiss, a memory, a dream for your future, now lost forever.

“No!” come the shocked cries of Katie and Leanne. 

“Cormac…” sobs Cho, still holding you up, though her tight grip falters in shock.

“I’ll kill him myself,” says Krum, letting you go and attempting to push past to get to Voldemort.

But it’s Neville who is closest. The jinx holding him breaks and he charges forward unarmed and wandless toward Voldemort who reacts quicker once more and halts him with a body-bind curse.

As one, the Death Eaters raise their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

“Gryffindor arrogance!” screams Voldemort. “But no more.” Voldemort points his wand to the sky and everyone except you looks up. Your eyes are still fixed on McLaggen’s body on the stone floor as Voldemort’s snake slithers between McLaggen and Potter menacingly. “There will be no more sorting at Hogwarts school. There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won’t they, Neville Longbottom?”

McLaggen is only metres away but your heart thuds in your chest watching the snake slither along the courtyard. Feeling faint again, you remember how you huddled around the kitchen table in the lighthouse listening to reports on Potterwatch about how the snake carries out Voldemort’s bidding. The rumours that Voldemort feeds people he’s killed to the snake. 

The thought is so horrifying, so all-consuming, that you barely notice Voldemort catching the Sorting Hat from mid-air and forcing it onto Neville’s head. 

It’s only when Neville’s scream splits the dawn that you look up and watch in horror as Neville rooted in place, writhes on the spot wearing the burning hat on his head.

And then, so many things happen simultaneously that you feel your head spinning.

There’s uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounds like hundreds of people swarm over the out-of-sight walls, yelling at the top of their lungs as they charge towards the courtyard. Residents of Hogsmeade. Parents of students. Joining the fray.

Then come hooves and the twangs of bows. And arrows suddenly land amongst the Death Eaters on Voldemort’s side who break rank and scramble, shouting in surprise as the centaurs continue to attack.

Cormac McLaggen’s death has given everyone a second wind. The fact that it’s what he’d have wanted is of no comfort to you.

In one swift, fluid motion Neville breaks free of the body-bind curse upon him, the hat falls off of him and he draws from its depths something long and silver with a glittering rubied hand. The slash of the silver blade is silent amongst the pandemonium of the crowd and stampeding centaurs yet it draws every eye, including your own. 

With a single stroke, Neville slices off the head of the great snake’s head which spins high into the air. And Voldemort’s mouth is open in a scream of fury that nobody can hear. The snake’s body thuds to the ground.

You panic, as fighting resumes and people run in all directions. You can’t let them trample McLaggen’s. Or Potter’s if you can help it.

“Harry? Where’s Harry?!” bellows Hagrid, above the almighty chaotic racket.

A jet of light whizzes over your heads and you duck. You keep low as you sprint over to McLaggen’s body, determined to move his body away from the fighting. 

McLaggen lies alone. Potter is gone.

You panic some more. This time panicking that Potter’s body has been taken by the Death Eaters to be paraded like some kind of trophy. You won’t let that happen to McLaggen. 

You scramble over to him and hook your arms under his, pulling his dead weight towards a corner of the courtyard. Even though a wand is in your pocket, you don’t even think about pulling it out and joining the fight. You don’t even think about casting a shied charm. All you think about is getting McLaggen’s body out of the way. 

But you needn’t worry. Perhaps everyone is too busy fighting to pay attention to the girl with the burned clothes and the tear-streaked face heaving a corpse into a corner. From your peripheral senses, you can tell even as you drag him away, that the fighting in the courtyard is thinning out as the fighters run into the caste. 

Your resolve hardens. You’ll rejoin them soon, now Cormac’s body is shielded behind what’s left of this wall. You just need a second. 

A second to say goodbye.

You collapse in a pile beside him in the empty courtyard and press the heels of your palms into your eyes, stemming the tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at his face, knowing that the green eyes under his closed lids will never see yours again.

“What a stupid plan,” you choke, wondering aloud as you wipe your eyes. “Thinking we could take on Voldemort. And then you actually tried it…”

You try to steady your breathing, feeling your hot breath stick to your grimy palms as you cover your face. The humidity of your own air makes your stomach twist. It brings back memories of laughing under the duvet cover in Seafarer’s Beacon, face to face with McLaggen, intensely close as your eyes roamed over that trademark arrogant smirk on his face,

“You bloody arrogant git,” you sniff, the words a mix of endearment and despair, a tribute to the man who dared to challenge the darkness with his unyielding self-assurance.

Then, the faintest movement - a murmur so soft it might be mistaken for the wind.

“I’m dead and you’re still calling me a git?” 

Your eyes snap open, heart caught between hope and disbelief. The world tilts, reality warping at the edges as you stare at McLaggen. Solid, unmistakably alive, his presence defies every certainty that death had claimed him. "McLaggen?" Your voice is a tremble, a prayer whispered against the tide of despair that had nearly consumed you.

“So it’s McLaggen again, is it?” he asks blearily, slowly opening his eyes and looking up at you. “I must have done something to annoy you again.”

He’s alive?

Or… maybe you died too? You pinch yourself to see if you can feel pain. Hard. 

You can.

You blink dumbfounded at the cautiously expectant look on McLaggen’s face. He can’t be alive. He just can’t be. You’d never be that lucky. Out of instinct, you pinch him too to check if he’s real.

“Ow!” he winces.

He is alive.

You blink in disbelief as the tiniest smirk crosses his face. “I - how?” 

“Lucky charm,” says Cormac as with difficulty he brings his hand up to the chest pocket of his t-shirt and tries to extract something.

“What the-” You're breathless, caught in the sway between joy and the lingering shadow of sorrow.

“Just - look.” 

Once you’ve helped him take the Polaroid out of his shirt pocket you recognise it immediately. A selfie of you and Cormac in the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts. The one you used to use as a bookmark. A snapshot from what seems like a lifetime ago. Except there’s a burned scar on it now. Right through the middle.

“I think that this -" he touches the photo in your hand, "- took the brunt of the Killing Curse. And somehow, it spared me.”

“Cormac,” you say gently, given that he’s just woken up after being an inch away from death. “That’s not how the Killing Curse works. You can’t be saved by - by love.” 

But even as you say the word love, something prickles on the back of your neck. And to give him credit, he has a point.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” asks McLaggen. His stern look, so assuringly familiar, grounds you, reminding you of the countless times his stubbornness had been a beacon in darker days.

“Maybe it was the picture,” you concede softly, brushing his curly hair, feeling something warm and wet. Blood. “Your head is bleeding -”

Yells of shock and cheers erupt from the Great Hall, interrupting your reasoning.

“Harry?”

“He’s alive!”

The mix of distant exclamations makes you both freeze. 

“It sounds like Potter wasn’t killed by Voldemort’s Killing Curse either…” you say, looking in the direction of the castle doors. When you turn back to face McLaggen he’s frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine,” he says, touching the back of his head.

“Cormac, are you annoyed because you’re not the only one who survived the Killing Curse tonight?”

“Let’s go back - the others might need our help,” says McLaggen, ignoring the question. You get to your feet and offer him a hand to get up which he accepts, straining with effort as he does.

“It’s alright if you are,” you offer, helping him onto his feet. "Annoyed, I mean."

“Well, nobody’s going to remember I survived it if Potter is alive too.” McLaggen puts an arm around your shoulder and you brace yourself to support him but he doesn’t need it. He just pulls you close as you walk through the courtyard - if it wasn’t for the devastation it would feel exactly like how the two of you used to walk around Hogwarts. McLaggen with his arm around you, your body slotting into the crux of his arm like you were always meant to be there.

“I don’t want anyone else to try to help,” Harry’s voice rings loudly from the hall as you slowly ascend the castle steps. “It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.”

Of course, it’s got to be Potter. 

“Cormac, when they write the history books nobody’s gonna remember anything we did. It’s Potter’s story. We’re just the background characters,” you say.

“Well, I can think of a few people who’ll remember,” says McLaggen, nodding to the rest of the D.A. just visible through the doors of the Great Hall as the crowd of onlookers watch Potter and Voldemort circling each other.

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

You and your friends sit at what used to be the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Neville Longbottom is talking to Michael Corner and Terry Boot while Terry admires the great, ruby-handled sword lying across the middle of the table.

Harry Potter is moving among the groups of survivors, his presence a quiet pillar of strength as he shakes hands and listens to their stories. The hero of the day.

Harry won. You and McLaggen made it back into the Great Hall just to see the final killing blow. You watched Voldemort hit the floor with your own two eyes. And now, you’re at a loose end. Elation feels distant, almost inappropriate, as the absence of Marietta and Eddie haunts the space around you, their unoccupied places at the table a gaping wound. The cost of victory.

“Explain it again,” says McLaggen, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Slower this time.”

“Cormac, keep still,” you chide, wrapping a bandage around his head.

“Harry sacrificed himself which meant he gave everyone in the castle sacrificial protection,” says Cho, with the appropriate air of speaking to someone with a head injury. “So none of the curses that Voldemort or the Death Eaters cast after that stuck properly. Which is why the Killing Curse didn’t kill you.”

“So how come Harry didn’t die?”

Cho pauses and purses her lips. “I don’t actually know.”

“And how do we know it wasn’t my sacrifice that was protecting everyone in the castle?” says McLaggen who then winces as you tie the bandage.

“Because, darling, you didn’t sacrifice yourself. You just tried to attack Voldemort and got knocked out trying,” you say soothingly.

“That makes it sound much less cool than it was,” grumbles McLaggen, half-joking, half-serious. “And I didn’t even get a sword,” he adds, glancing at Terry who is now miming Neville cutting the head off of a snake with the sword of Gryffindor.

A silence falls as you sit down beside McLaggen, resting your head on his shoulder, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of his presence, your stomach jolts every time you think about Voldemort cutting him down so casually.

“I noticed none of you were at my deathbed when I came round, by the way,” he says, as if he can’t help himself from breaking the silence.

“Ve vere busy covering the two of you with a shield charm,” says Krum. “Then the Death Eaters turned their attention to us and ve had to retreat.”

“It’s a shame Potter didn’t sacrifice himself just a little bit earlier,” you say, sadly, thinking about Marietta and Carmichael.

“You’re always so harsh on him,” says Katie, looking over your shoulder. “Harry’s actually not bad once you get to know him.”

As you turn to respond, Potter approaches the Gryffindor table and greets the D.A. McLaggen stands to meet him.

“Good work out there, Potter,” he says bracingly. “You make putting your life on the line look easy, mate.”

“Er, thanks,” says Potter uncertainly. He looks even more tired than you feel. There are dark circles under his eyes and even though he’s not covered in as much soot, blood and debris as you and McLaggen, he looks pale and drawn. “You too, McLaggen. I saw what you did. It was really decent of you, standing up for Muggleborns like that when you could have kept quiet.”

“Well,” says McLaggen casually, taking your hand and bringing you to your feet. “There was a lot at stake.” You slip your arm around his waist and give him a little squeeze.

“And you - you were the one causing the Ministry so much grief back in October, right? You broke the Muggleborns out of Azkaban?”

You nod and gesture to the area of the table where Cho, Krum, Katie, Leanne, Davies, Wood, Angelina and Alicia are all engrossed in conversation. “We all did. Everyone who was half-decent on a broom.” You pull a tight-lipped smile thinking about what Katie said about you being harsh on Potter. “Except you, of course. Could have used your skills if you weren’t the Ministry’s most wanted.”

Potter smiles weakly. “Thanks, I appreciate that coming from you… Captain.”

McLaggen brings you tighter into a one-armed hug around your shoulders as Potter walks away.

“Do you think he called me ‘Captain’ because he can’t remember my name?” you ask as you both watch Potter continuing the rounds..

“Oh, one hundred per cent,” says McLaggen.

“Unbelievable. I’ve only played Quidditch against him every single year since he started school.”

“Maybe you need a better name.”

“Oh, really?” You roll your eyes and turn to face him, waiting for the punchline. “Go on, then. You got a nickname for me or something?”

McLaggen smirks and his self-satisfied smile meets his green eyes. “I meant a new surname.”

Oh.

“McLaggen, I -“

“You might have to start calling me Cormac all the time now, though. It’s gonna get pretty confusing otherwise.”

You take a deep breath and McLaggen falters slightly when you reach up and hold the sides of his face with both hands. His prickly stubble tickles your palms.

“McLaggen, I really think we need to find Madam Pomfrey.”

“What?” 

“Have you or have you not sustained a head injury?”

McLaggen looks at you intently, his green eyes focusing on yours. “I’m serious.”

“I am too,” you say. “You sure you haven’t been confunded again?”

“I’m pretty confident that’s not the case,” he says. 

“Ask me again once you’ve had your head checked out,” you murmur before pressing your lips against his. Even under the smoke and sweat, you can still smell the heady amber and jasmine scent of him that so reminds you of your first Potions lesson together.

“Alright, I will,” says Cormac McLaggen when you eventually break apart. “If it’d make you happy.”

Like moonstone being dropped into a cauldron, the idea of it - the sheer hope - glints and sparkles amidst the worst sorrow you've ever experienced.

"It would," you say.

It would make you deliriously happy.

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

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, @lipstickandloveletters, @ichorai, @marmie-noir, @lolitstiana, @evabellasworld, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @xyzstar (let me know if you want removed at any point btw!)

[winniemaywebber]

oh bestie those domestic prompts are so sweet!!! Could I request 19 for Jean & Harry and 11 for Olive & Dougie?

hi pookie!!!! sorry for taking so long <3

under the cut to save space. from this prompt list (inbox is still open for these!)

19. I feel so safe and warm in our cozy little nest - Jean x Harry

“I need that heading, Crosby. NOW!”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” he shrieks, fumbling with the maps in front of him. “Aaah, fuck!”

“Croz!” Dougie yells. “Come on, man! Figure it out, we're going down fast.”

“I'm trying, Douglass!”

“CROSBY!” It's Kidd this time, his voice coming across as sharp as his features. Crosby jumps; a yelp would have escaped his mouth if he hadn't controlled it.

“256. TWO-FIVE-SIX.”

All Harry can think of is Jean receiving that damn letter. Who would write it? Bubbles? Harding? For a moment, whatever they had to say about him didn't matter. He imagines his wife's sweet face crumpling as her heart breaks, reading the notice of death. He feels his heart drop, the fort hitting an air pocket, Blakely and Kidd keeping the fort level with all their might. Then, a voice.

“Prepare for crash landing. Get in position!”

Harry Crosby ungracefully sits himself on the hard floor, his coccyx taking a hit, the rush of pain making him sick to his stomach. James Douglass sits behind him, tugging him back towards his chest. He hears the small clank of metal, ragged, anxious breathing as Douglass pulls the tags out of his shirt and kisses the one that bears his girl's name. As they tear and scrape through foliage, there is only one thing on Harry's mind. His eyes squeezed shut, tears spilling out, he begins to yell like a lost little boy, his throat tearing.

“JEAN! JEAN! JEAN–”

“Bing! Wake up, my love, shhh. You're at home. You're in our bed, darling.”

A sheen of cold sweat has covered his entire body. His wife's beautiful brown eyes full of concern as she hovers above him, wiping away the hair that has stuck to his head.

“Again?” he groans, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Yes, darling, again. You were calling for me.”

“Damn Bremen,” he sniffs, flipping his pillow as Jean softly wipes at his brow with a cool wash cloth.

“There, Binger. Deep breaths now.”

“Thank you, my little wife. Thank you.”

She smiles softly, her cheeks glowing in the dim light of the room. “Remember what our friend Olive taught us,” she sighs, pulling back the bedsheets to join her husband again. “Count to ten.” She sees him mentally count, breathing much less ragged than a moment before. “Better?”

“Much,” he murmurs, eyes heavy again. He feels Jean pull more blanket around his body, tucking him in and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, darling.”

“You're welcome. Remember, you are home. And I am right here beside you.”

“I know. I feel so safe and warm in our cozy little nest.”

“Good. Sleep now, my love.”

He lifts his head from the pillow, beginning to nuzzle himself into Jean’s neck. He breathes her in, arms wrapping around her as he feels himself drift off, absolutely cocooned in love.

11. Every morning I fall in love with you all over again - Olive x Dougie

A feeble cry echoes from across the bedroom, shocking Olive out of her unconsciousness. A gasp leaves her, heart pounding from the sudden transition of deep sleep to awake. Beside her, her husband wakes with a shocked snort, head rising from the pillow quickly.

“I've got her,” he sniffs, rubbing his eyes quickly.

“No, it's okay,” Olive replies, rubbing Dougie’s shoulder to soothe him back to sleep. “It's my turn anyway.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice muffled by the pillows.

“Yes,” she nods, kissing him on the cheek. “We'll see you when you come downstairs. I'll make coffee as the bottle heats up.”

“You're a dream, Mrs Douglass.”

She giggles, padding over to the small crib at the other end of the room. There, a small swaddled bundle cries mournfully, feeling awful sorry for herself and her gassy, hungry tummy.

“Hello, little chicken,” Olive speaks quietly, scooping the baby up. “Good morning. What a good sleep, hm? Papa swaddled you up good. Cozy girl, huh?” The baby's snuffles are muffled as she snuggles in Olive’s neck, the very same way her father does when he wants to be held. “Come on, little one,” she murmurs. “Let's get breakfast.”

With coffee brewed and baby Sophia’s first bottle of the day warmed to her exact preference, Olive sits in the cozy armchair with her daughter, using one finger to stroke at her face as she drinks heartily.

“Slow down, Sophia,” Olive urges, seeing Sophia's blue eyes - the same sapphire blue as her Papa's - begin to grow heavy.

“There,” Olive coos, feeling herself begin to doze too. “All done now.” She holds the baby to her chest, the warmth of tiredness enveloping her and catching her off guard, willing her eyes to try and stay open so she can properly kiss her husband goodbye before he leaves for work. The inner protestations are useless, Olive asleep with her chin resting on the baby's head.

She feels a blanket being draped around them both, and a soft hand raking through her loose curls. “Hey, mama,” James greets in a soft whisper, the hand now gently stroking his daughter’s deliciously chubby cheeks. “You look cozy.”

“We are,” she breathes. “Didn't even know I was still tired.” Patting the baby's back as she stirs at the sound of Dougie’s voice. The pair shush her gently, both of their hands colliding as they comfort their baby simultaneously. Olive looks up at him, lips pouted for her goodbye kiss when she sees his features begin to soften.

“What is it?” she asks, eyes narrowing comically before reaching up to kiss him.

“Just this. I love it. I see this and every morning I fall in love with you all over again.”

Noses touching, they smile, looking down at the small baby in Olive’s arms.

“I can't believe she's finally here. It's just surreal.”

“It really is. And it's perfect.”

[rheinight]

Pirates SMP Factions List (w/ Members)

——

Kites

Bek

Aimsey (X)

Tubbo

Captain Puffy

Reddoons

Krow

Eret (Former Heron)

Callum

Kestrels

Sausage

Oli

Guqqie (X)

Kyle

Martyn

Scar

Shelby

Shep

Nightingales

Graecie

Willow

Ross

Apo

Acho

Michela

Jojo

Herons:

Cleo

Scott

Water

Eloise

Olive

Owen

Sniff

[mosaiclobster]

Swords and Saddles

This 4-part fic is wrapping up very soon, so I figured it'd be fun to cross post before the final chapter goes up! This is the first chapter of my 10k+, E-rated Farmer x Hayden fic - if you like it feel free to check out the rest on AO3 xo

CHAPTER 1: SPRING

Hayden stepped into the frigid morning air, and breathed deep. He loved spring: growth, snowmelt, sun. It was the perfect time to welcome a new face to Mistria.

Hayden rubbed his hands together for warmth, and headed for the stables. Once he’d answered all the neighs and whinnies, Hayden grabbed a handsomely embroidered leather saddle off its perch. It was the same one his daddy rode on, and his grandpappy too. It wasn’t as old as Sweetwater, but almost nothing in Mistria was.

Hayden was proud of that legacy. It used to sit heavy on his shoulders, but he was strong enough to carry that weight. Unfortunately, most of Sweetwater’s horses weren’t strong enough - big enough - to carry him.

Rufus was 18 hands tall, and used to pulling plows and wagons. Hayden placed a broad, comforting hand on his speckled gray neck. “How ‘bout a little ride next door, huh?”

Rufus nickered good-naturedly, and took the saddle without complaint.

The new farmer had arrived late last night, but word traveled fast around Mistria. It was a small, close-knit town with an earned reputation for drink and gossip.

It felt even smaller now - some folks left after the earthquake. Hayden didn’t blame them, but he didn’t write them letters, either. There were buildings to repair, and animals to tend to.

Hayden braced against his stirrups, and looked eastward. Could be nice, having a neighbor again.

He spotted Celine first: her pretty, pleasant face, framed by blonde hair and a seafoam green half-cape. He’d known her all her life - not all of his, though. Sometimes it was hard to shake off the years between them.

The other woman was a head taller than Celine, even in flat leather work boots. Her linen shirt was tucked into brown, high-waisted trousers, and stark white against her olive skin. It brought out the freckles on her forearms, and the red in her long, curly hair. Auburn, that was the word for it. Chestnut for horses, auburn for people.

White was a bold choice for clearing farmland, but her cowboy hat looked well loved, and nicely fitted.

Hayden noted all of this without once pulling on Rufus’s reins. Celine’s eyes were wide as saucers, but the other woman only raised her brows. Instinct finally commanded him to stop, just short of spraying them both with dirt.

Celine was a kind girl, and slow to anger. She never shied from speaking her mind, though. “Hayden! You almost ran over poor Artemisia.”

“Ha! That’s a mouthful.” He blurted this nervously, and loudly.

Artemisia looked up at him, shielding her almond eyes from the early morning light. The sun made them golden.

She touched the brim of her cowboy hat, and smiled. “You said it. That’s why I go by Artie.”

Her nose was strong, and a little crooked - broken, mended, broken again.

The rest of her face was no less striking. Full lips, suited for a wide, expressive mouth. Thick brows and high cheekbones, marked by laughter and time. How much of it? Hayden wasn’t sure, but he’d put some tesserae on her being closer to Valen’s age than Celine’s.

She was beautiful. None of the gossip had prepared him for that.

Artie let Rufus sniff her outstretched hand. “He friendly?”

That voice. It was smooth and sweet, like honey.

Hayden patted the gelding’s neck, and tried to ignore the pounding in his chest. “Sure is. He likes meeting new folks as much as I do.”

Artie’s grin was wry, and gap-toothed. “That makes three of us, then.” Rufus snorted in agreement.

Celine’s gaze flitted between them. “Since you like animals, you should visit Hayden’s farm-”

“-Come by anytime. I’d love to introduce you to the herd. Or the flock, depending on who you ask.”

Hayden’s reins were slick with sweat. He squeezed the braided leather until his knuckles whitened.

Artie tipped her hat again. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Was that a wink, or a trick of the light? Hayden reached into his saddlebag, and prayed his hands wouldn’t shake.

“Here, before I forget.”

He held out a rusty old watering can, stuffed with bags of seeds. “Just a little something to get you started. Turnips are easy to grow, and they love Mistrian soil.”

Artie brightened. “I owe you one. Thanks, neighbor.”

Hayden managed the handoff alright, but he was eager to ride off before he could make an ass of himself. “Sure. Come by anytime.”

He’d said that already. Celine pursed her lips.

Artie smiled. “Be seeing you.”

Hayden rode Rufus towards Sweetwater, and marveled at the unseasonable warmth.

Half the town would be after her. He’d look like a bumpkin compared to Balor or Ryis, and a dullard compared to Jupiter or Adeline.

Hayden shook his head. He wasn’t the competitive sort, and there was no point in getting worked up over somebody he’d never have a shot with anyway.

He caught himself looking over his shoulder. Artie waved.

Nothing wrong with making a friend, at least.

It took a few days for Artie to make good on her visit. For one absurd, harrowing moment, it felt like summoning magic; he worried that the singular force of his thoughts had finally pulled her towards Sweetwater. He worried that, somehow, she knew what those thoughts were.

He’d been having dreams, too. The kind you can’t tell anyone about - that you shouldn’t even have in the first place.

Hayden focused on weeding his bed of tulips, and waited for Artie to approach. He was going to be friendly, neighborly, and normal.

“Mornin’.”

He looked up at the sound of her voice.

Artie was wearing a sleeveless white tank top and denim overalls with one of the straps undone. Her arms were well muscled, and crossed under her chest.

No bra this time. Hayden made eye contact, and held onto it for dear life. “Mornin’. You here for introductions?”

Artie smiled. “That’s right. Word around town is you’ve got a lady of the house.”

Hayden couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s one way of putting it. Smartest animal I ever raised - do you want to meet Henrietta at the beginning of the tour, or at the end?”

“Let’s save the best for last.”

Artie had an easy rapport with the animals, and a natural curiosity about them. Henrietta seemed charmed by her interest, and preened indulgently while Artie peppered Hayden with questions.

Hayden tried not to sound too eager. “Thinking about starting a flock of your own?”

“Someday. Henrietta’s a lot to live up to, though.” She gave the prize-winning bird a farewell pet, and followed Hayden towards the front gate of Sweetwater.

He pointed at the sword on her back, glinting in the morning sun. “You’ll make quite the livestock guardian.”

Artie flinched. Then she unsheathed her blade, and smiled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m trying to convince your pal Errol to open the mines. All kinds of treasures down there, I hear.”

That explained the pickaxe, then. He dared a closer glance at the rest of her - no dirt or grass stains.

Hayden kept his tone curious, and light. “So, how’re you liking farming so far?

Artie stopped walking. She stuck her sword into the ground, and leaned on the hilt.

“It’s different.”

Compared to what? Treasure hunting? Hayden suddenly realized how little he knew about this woman, or where she came from. “Different always takes some getting used to. Can’t be the toil of it - you look strong.”

Just a friendly observation. He’d say the same thing to March.

Artie’s biceps twitched out of reflex, or pride. “Thanks. No, it’s not that.”

Hayden watched her try to find the words. He knew the feeling well, and gave her time to think.

Finally, a sigh. “I’m not good at waiting. I want something, I go and get it. I’d work twice as hard if I could make it all go twice as fast.”

“If only, right?”

Hayden was just being polite. He loved the pace of growing crops, of nurturing new life. Each plant and animal had its own natural rhythm. He was a patient man. He didn’t know any other way to be.

Artie leaned deeper into the hilt. The neckline of her top gaped open a little, but Hayden kept his focus on her reddish curls.

Artie’s eyes roamed freely: first over Sweetwater, then over Hayden. “Got any tips for a greenhorn? Or any ideas on how to pass the time?”

Hayden swallowed, and pushed past the shame of where his mind leapt first. “I hear the fishing’s good around here. Never took to it, myself.”

“Oh? What do you like to do, then?”

Something in Artie’s gaze sent a pleasant shiver up his spine. He put the feeling aside - it was a perfectly reasonable, neighborly question. “Spend time with friends, mostly. Play some cards, have a couple beers.”

Artie grinned. “I like that too. I had dinner at the Sleeping Dragon last night, can’t wait to go back.”

Hayden seized on the chance to change the subject. “Make sure to come in on Fridays. I’ll save you a seat at the poker table, but fair warning - Olric’s on a hot streak.”

“That doe-eyed blacksmith? You’re kidding.”

“I’m not! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Artie gave him a once-over. “Alright. If Olric ends up with more tesserae than me, I owe you a beer. And if I win, you owe me one.”

Hayden crossed his arms, and smiled. “Sure, I’ll take that bet.”

She pulled her sword from the grass, and slung it over her shoulder. “Good. See you Friday.”

Not flirting. Just a friendly wager.

Hayden repeated those thoughts like a mantra for the rest of the week.

But when Friday night arrived, Artie did not. He told himself it was a relief - better this way. When Balor took the empty seat beside him, he didn’t protest, but it took him a few minutes to stop glancing over his shoulder at the door.

Then, a quiet panic set in. Maybe she’d just been humoring him. Maybe she regretted the bet, and decided to avoid him all together. He might’ve ruined her first Friday in Mistria.

A familiar voice snapped him back into awareness. “Hayden, are you alright? You look pale.”

“No checkup needed, doc. Just a little tired.”

Valen shook her head. “You’re not drinking enough water. Hemlock, can we get a pitcher for the table?”

Hayden groaned, but knew better than to argue. She’d been like this since they were kids. He dutifully sipped from his glass, and watched Terithia shuffle the deck with a flourish.

“I thought you were saving me a seat, Hayden.”

He’d never heard Artie say his name before. Somehow, that was more disarming than her hands on his shoulders.

Everyone greeted her warmly. Hayden was no exception - he stood up, and clapped her on the back. “Don’t worry, we can make a spot for you anywhere.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Scooch over, then. You too, Balor.”

The men moved their chairs apart, and let Artie slide in with her own. “Thanks fellas. So, Olric. I hear you’re the one to beat.”

He smiled good-naturedly. “I’m still learning how to play.”

Terithia shuffled the cards again. “Don’t listen to him, lass. He’s a slippery one.”

Hayden learned two things that night: Artie was good at poker, and bad at losing.

He didn't fare any better, but he felt like a winner when Artie brought his beer to the table.

“You got me this round, Farmer Hayden.”

Balor tutted in mock disapproval. “A bet about betting, that’s something you don’t see everyday. Feel free to cut me in next time.”

Artie leaned back in her chair. “I get the sense you’re in on just about every deal around here, Balor.”

“It’s my business to be. Buy me a beer, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Hayden shifted his attention across the table, towards Valen. He didn’t want to impose on whatever was happening next to him.

“How’d you make out tonight, Valen?”

“Broke even.” She sipped her wine, and smiled coolly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “‘Course you did. Wish I could say the same.”

“Oh? I’d say you came out ahead.” She clinked her glass against his pint of beer.

The demands of spring kept Hayden from spending much time with Artie. There were mares to foal, and crops to harvest, and more mouths to feed than ever. Fridays were the exception: he kept saving her a spot at the table, and she kept taking it.

One Friday, as summer neared, Hayden was late - a filly had wandered off, and it took him hours to soothe and bridle her. He walked into the Sleeping Dragon, dead tired and parched, to find Artie’s cowboy hat on the seat beside her. There was a beer on the table, full to the brim.

An impulse seized him. Hayden picked up the hat, and placed it on Artie’s unsuspecting head.

That got a laugh, especially from Artie. Everyone else settled back into conversation - Hayden could barely hear her over the din. “Look who finally decided to show. Thought you could use a drink, whatever it was that kept you.”

It was so full, he had to take the first sip without lifting his glass. Leaning down like that, it was hard to keep his hair out of the way - he reached for it, but Artie was faster.

“Careful, there.” She pushed his hair behind his ear, and lightly held it back while he drank.den

No one seemed to notice. Hayden sat back in his chair, beer in hand, and tried to think friendly, neighborly thoughts.

[gardenletter]

Yandere orc x reader pt5🥀🩸🔪✨

I enter the large door as it shut it left a large echo wave throughout the house.The place was warm and a nice fire settled in the living room eliminating the space. He gestured for me to take a seat as he left for the kitchen.The inside looked as large or more so from the outside.The stone walls are decorated with plants,old art and swords from many years ago. He soon walked in the two tea cups in hand and set them on the coffee table with a small clink of the tea cup and stone.He looked at me with a small smile"it's not poisoned I a sure you". He sits in a chair across from me.I look at the tea taking a small sniff to smell the the ingredients before taking a sip...."why are you here...orc..."

I freeze at the question but soon relax my shoulders"I wanted to meet...the people here...you see".With my hesitation we let out a low chuckle and says"I see you at the forest line watching Y/n's every move...but I couldn't put a face to you till now ..... your the jealous type aren't you ....".

My cheeks flush....why am I so relaxed with this man....he might want to take y/n away from me....I stand up eruptly almost knocking the coffee table over.I saw the surprise on his face and the quickness of his hand to catch the tea cup.I could hold back anymore the word came out with venom "WHATS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH Y/N WHATS YOUR NAME"

But with my words all he can do is chuckle and pat the table like a signal to take a seat." I'm so sorry can you forgive me , I invite you into my home without telling you my name.Im Oliver Pine but you can call me Mr.Pine...And do not worry your big green head about my relationship with y/n.They don't really look on the market with that orc tusk ring on there wrist" he chuckled meeting my gaze as I take a set once more."My relationship with them is..... professional.To be honest y/n more like my child...I might not look it but I am hundreds of years older than you or Y/n.He chuckled and I oddly relaxed at his words "how did you meet?" I ask.He sighs and takes another sip of tea " The story's way too long for a time like this and I know you came without telling y/n...it's never good to lie sooo go on back to your love k".His smile was playful yet wise.I gave him a quick nod and he leads me to the door "I wish you luck on getting home without getting see".

I woke up to sun beams lighting the room and warm large arms around me.I turn to meet Xurls face and his eyes open as my hand meets his cheek.He meets my gaze and smiles....dimples.

YAYYYY finally posted part 5 AFTER A MONTHS....SORRY TO PEOPLE HOW CARE LOL well like so I know to dooo more aka pt6 and more

Love gardenletter🩷

[ofallthingsnasty]

good night ❣️ I saw on your last reblog that you like chubby reader so I was wondering if you could write Kaiser with a chubby fem! reader. Not to be too vague, it could be a concept like: Kaiser always gave obvious signs that he was interested in you, but reader never noticed because she wasn't used to being desired (He was very handsome yes, but handsome guys take more effort, so you always ended up dating normal guys, which pissed off the kaiser because how could you prefer people below his level?), in the end the story ends up going in the direction of noncon (more from the surprise and shock of learning that the kaiser likes you than feelings of revulsion, he just didn't give you time to react)

Tbh, you can disregard every idea I sent (I conceptualized it sleepy so you may not be good), would love any X chubby Reader you made of bllk anyway. i was impressed when u wrote foreign reader with oliver and michael (Kaiser gave me so much anguish...although i think i could handle being a trophy gf for himkk)

I'm so happy you enjoyed the foreigner!reader and Oliver/Kaiser thoughts!! I've said it before, but foreigner!reader is just too much fun haha - and sorry this isn’t a full-blown fic, I wracked my brain but I couldn’t do much more than a thirst - feel free to request more, request are open haha ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

tags: chubby (and insecure about it) reader, yandere, fat-shaming (in retaliation), yandere, dubcon mention, minors dni word count: 0.7k

I think he is the type to get downright nasty. The first few times you reject him (unintentionally, of course - because how in the hell would a soccer star like him truly go for someone like you?) he takes it in stride. Maybe you're just a little dense or he wasn't quite as clear as he thought he had been with his intentions - no matter, there is always another chance. But the moment you start flaunting your absolutely average and dreadfully boring dates, he gets so offended. You rejecting him and picking some loser over him could be a pivotal point in your relationship - where he was just crushing on you before, thought you were cute, he is in such disbelief at this awful display that he gets so mad that you turn into a new trophy to acquire. And my, he is such a pursuer - he’ll double-down on his efforts to get you to date him but most importantly: He’ll threaten your current partner. Not out in the open, not directly, of course - but he knows how to be subtle and yet still obvious enough that even the drooling idiot you picked over him will get it. And what could they ever do to protect themselves from him? Absolutely nothing - Kaiser has the money and influence to match his threats and he isn’t afraid to stay true to his word. Your new fling suddenly ditching you and blocking you on every social media platform will have you questioning your abilities as a romantic partner - and as hurt and confused as you probably are, this is the perfect time for Kaiser to swoop in and make it even worse. Now, he isn’t out to punish you. While he is definitely still mad at you for denying him, he’s not going to take that anger out on you. He does, however, make little comments here and there, points out your looks, your weight, the way you carry yourself - all this to lower your self-esteem. He is going to make you keenly self-aware of your body, of the way the fat of your belly pinches when you sit, how different you look from him. How generous, how selfless, how loving of him it is, then, that he ignores all that, just wants you the way you are. He knows how to weasel himself into the deepest, darkest, ugliest little insecurities of yours - got a double chin? Catch him staring at it, sometimes pinching it with his fingers in a mock-sweet gesture while he crinkles his eyes at you. Insecure of your eating? Oh, now is just the right time to discuss his new meal and workout plans - and ask you for yours. Whatever it is, he’ll sniff it out with glee and amplify it by a million. He’ll make you feel small and undesirable after every interaction you have with him. Your confidence will get destroyed bit by bit - he wears you down with utmost patience and precision, taking his sweet time. Kaiser needs you small and meek - so small that you won’t protest when he finally makes his move, that he’s sure you won’t ever leave him because you think he is way out of your league. Being pursued by him is a dizzying mix of constant flirting and snide remarks - every compliment comes with a caveat, every aspect of your appearance and behavior is analyzed and criticized yet there is always a hand on your thigh, on the small of your back. He’ll confuse you so thoroughly you’ll think you’re dreaming when he finally makes a move on you. But even then - he has it all figured it out, uses that to his advantage. You’ll be blindsided by a sudden kiss one night, after he has worked you open with just enough alcohol to lower your inhibitions - and drunk as you are you let yourself fall into it. You don’t know what you’re getting into, think this is just a one time thing and as desperate as you are for some attention after feeling so undesirable for so long you let him fuck you, blissfully unaware of the fact that everything is about to become ten times worse.

[sequinsmile-x]

Adhesive

Emily contemplates how it feels to have her kids growing up when her pre-teen daughter calls her for help.

-x-

Hi friends,

This is a gift for my bestie @ssa-sparks, because she deserves all the good things. But also because I made her start watching Bones with me a few months ago on Disney + GroupWatch and I know that the episode we are watching tonight will upset her. (5 x 16 for those who've seen it. IYKYK)

I hope you all enjoy this - it's largely fluff.

-x-

Warnings: Discussion of periods

Words: 2.4k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily groans as she buries her head in her hands, the thought of doing more paperwork enough to cause a migraine. She rubs her forehead for a second before she shakes her head and reopens her eyes, blowing out a breath as she looks at the pile of papers she still had to sign off. 

It had been a few years since she’d been promoted to Section Chief and whilst she was grateful for the extra time it gave her with her kids, she could do without the paperwork and the politics. She smiles as she looks at a framed picture she took at Jack’s recent high school graduation at the start of summer. The boy she’d met when he was a tiny little thing standing tall in between his brother and sister, Oliver and Hazel, their matching grins all shining brightly at the camera. She was so proud of all of her children, of the people they were becoming, but it was hard watching them get older and feeling them need her less and less.

Hazel was 12 now, slowly becoming more embarrassed by her parents as time went on and grappling for her independence. The little girl who had once wanted to be with her everywhere she went, her little shadow, now fading away from her. Oliver was 9, and still at the stage where he loved to spend time with Emily and Aaron, and Emily knew she wasn’t alone in embracing every moment he wanted to spend with them, well aware that Aaron felt the same way, both of them all too familiar with the fact he’d outgrow them soon too.

She knew it meant she’d done a good job at parenting, something she’d once been convinced she wouldn’t be capable of. Her children were kind and empathetic. Independent and stubborn. And they made her proud every day. 

But part of her desperately missed when they were tiny little things that made her lose sleep because they were crying for her, not because she was worried about where they were like she had been about Jack all summer before he left for college. 

She shakes her head at herself and blows out a breath as she goes to pick up the next stack of papers, but she’s interrupted by her phone ringing. For a moment she thinks it’s going to be Jack again. He’d called her a lot since he’d moved away to college, either for homework advice or just to chat, and it made her smile every time, but she freezes as she reaches for her phone, and panic rises in her chest as she sees her daughter’s name and picture flash up on the screen. Hazel was only supposed to use her cell phone at school in emergencies only and Emily feels her cheeks go warm as she is overwhelmed by worst-case scenarios. She answers the phone quickly, taking a calming breath before she speaks.

“Haze, is everything okay?” 

She hears a sniff down the line, followed by her daughter’s voice. A tight, controlled edge to it that wasn’t normal for her, “Mom? Can you come pick me up from school?”

“What’s wrong honey?” She asks, biting her thumbnail as she waits for an answer. 

“I feel sick,” she replies, sniffing again, her voice shaking slightly, “Can you please come pick me up?” 

Emily sighs sympathetically. Hazel loved school usually so she knew she wasn’t faking anything, that if said she was feeling sick she really was. She thinks of her husband, who had retired from the BAU years ago, who would be at home grading papers from one of the classes he taught at the academy. 

“Honey, your Dad’s at home if you want to call-”

“No,” she says, clearing her throat before she lowers her voice, “I…I’d rather it was you. I started my period and…can you come get me?”

It all clicks into place. The fact Hazel was calling her in the middle of the day, her insistence Emily would go pick her up. The slight edge of desperation in her voice. It was a moment Emily had been trying to prepare Hazel for since she’d started middle school. They had products in the bathroom at home waiting for her, she’d talked through what it all meant, but the reality was different. 

Her little girl really was growing up.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, already standing up and hastily packing her things into her briefcase, “I’ll leave the office now, okay? Do you need a change of clothes or anything?”

“No it’s okay it…it started in gym class,” Hazel says, sounding embarrassed, “I was in my gym shorts. The nurse gave me some things and I got changed back into my clothes.” 

Emily shakes her head to herself, well aware of how cruel kids could be, that part of her daughter’s embarrassment would be down to the fact her classmates had likely realised what was happening.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily assures her as she leaves her office, her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she quickly writes a note for her assistant, letting him know where she’d gone.

“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

She smiles as she walks towards the elevator, “Love you too, honey.”

The journey to the school has never felt longer, and Emily swears her heart breaks as soon as she sees Hazel. 

She knows better than to pull her into a hug the way she wants to, well aware that if she showed any kind of affection on school property Hazel would likely never speak to her again, so she simply smiles softly, and exchanges a few words with the nurse whilst Hazel gathers her things. 

Emily decides to let her daughter take the lead and maintains the silence she has set as they walk back to the car. It’s only when they are driving away, Hazel’s arms crossed tightly over her chest as she looks out the window, that she starts to speak.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem at all sweetheart,” Emily says, reaching over the centre console to squeeze Hazel’s knee, “You’re more important than anything,” she sees a hint of a smile, the dimples the pre-teen had inherited from both her and Aaron, carved deep into her cheeks, “I sent your dad out for ice cream, chocolate and snacks.”

Hazel turns to look at her so quickly Emily is sure it must have hurt, the young girl’s eyes wide, “You told Dad?” 

She’d called him as soon as she left the office, trying to prepare him for what was probably going to be a long night of heavy emotions in their home, and he’d been the one to suggest that he went out to get all of Hazel’s food. It blew Emily away that he was still able to come up with ways to make her love him even more than she already did after all this time.

“I had to tell him why you were coming home, Haze,” Emily explains softly, “Plus, Dad does know what a period is, he’s lived with me for well over a decade, and Haley before that.” 

Hazel sinks slightly further into her seat, her shoulders so tight Emily can see the tension in them when she briefly turns to look at her, “I guess.” 

Emily has to stop herself from smirking, “I promise you he’ll be fine, the snacks were his idea.” 

Hazel hums, “What are the snacks for anyway?” 

She smiles as she stops the car at a traffic light and she reaches out for her daughter, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “Trust me, baby, the snacks are the most important part of the whole thing.”

___

Emily sighs as she looks at herself in the mirror, her hands against the bathroom countertop as she gives herself a moment.

It had been a long evening. Hazel was insistent she wasn’t going to school the following day and that she’d go back on Monday, clearly hoping something else would have happened by then so that her period starting in the middle of gym class would be old news. Neither Emily nor Aaron could convince her otherwise, and had eventually relented, not wanting to upset her by forcing her to go. Oliver had overhead everything and, in a misguided but sweet attempt to cheer his sister up, had declared he’d started his period too - something that had led to Hazel yelling at him and him crying and immediately seeking out Emily for some comfort 

She blows out a breath as she pinches the bridge of her nose, only looking back up when she hears the bathroom door opening, a small smile spreading over her face when her eyes meet her husband’s in the mirror. 

“You okay?” He asks, walking over and wrapping his arms around her. She grunts in response and leans back against him, her hands linking with his over her abdomen. He chuckles and kisses the side of her head, “Is Hazel okay?”

Emily nods, “She’s tucked up in bed with a heating pad and some candy she thinks I didn’t see her sneaking out of the pantry.” 

He smiles and kisses her head again before placing his hands on her hips and turning her to face him, “So we’re forgetting the ‘no food in the bedrooms rule’ tonight?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Do you want to go tell her to put it back?” She asks, smirking when he visibly swallows thickly, “That’s what I thought.” 

Aaron wraps his arms around her tightly as she leans against him, her forehead against his chest as she breathes him in, her fists tight in the back of his t-shirt in a way that lets him know she’s upset about something. He gives her a moment, lets her take what she needs as he runs his hand up and down her back, and then he pulls away just enough so he can look at her. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He asks, repeating the question she hadn’t answered when he walked into the bathroom.

Emily blows out a breath, her shoulders heavy as if he’d just asked her the meaning of life, and she shrugs before she moves her hands to rest on his shoulders, idly plucking at a stray thread at the neckline of his t-shirt. 

“She’s growing up.” 

He stops himself from smiling, well aware that moments like this were absolutely not the time to make fun of her, no matter how lovingly, and he cups her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

“Baby, she’s 12.” 

She groans, scrunching her nose up in distaste at her own mood, something she hadn’t been able to shift since the moment Hazel had called her that morning, “I know, I do know that,” she replies, sounding so sad his heart clenches in his chest, “But…they don’t need me as much anymore,” she says, pressing her lips together in a firm line, “I love them all so much, and I’m so proud of them, but I kind of miss when they were small and needed us to tuck them in or read them a story.” 

He wraps his hand around hers and leads her to the bedroom, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed as he joins her. 

“Em, sweetheart,” he starts reassuringly, “They’ll always need you,” he says, and she scoffs, shaking her head as she wipes away a tear she feels ridiculous for shedding, “It’s true,” he says, smiling when she looks up at him, “Who is it that Jack calls every other day even though he’s in college?”

“Me,” she replies, clearing her throat in a vain attempt to push her emotions back down.

“And who is it Ollie wants every time he’s sad? And who did Hazel call earlier when she needed someone?”

“Me,” she says again, fighting a smile and failing as he smiles right back at her. 

“And who do I need every day, not to mention when things go wrong?”

She blushes, unsure how she could still be so affected by him, “Me.”

He furrows his brows together, “No, Dave,” he deadpans, breaking into laughter, the sound that always warmed her from the inside out when her mouth drops open and she playfully tries to slap his shoulder, stopped when he catches her hand, “Of course it’s you,” he says, leaning in to kiss her, his lips stamped against hers, “You’re the glue, sweetheart. The thing that keeps us all together.” 

She wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a hug that eases the last bit of tension in her chest. “How is it you always know what to say?”

He kisses her temple and smiles against her skin before he pulls back, “Well I am your husband, it would be pretty sad if I didn’t.”

There’s a gentle knock on the door and it’s pushed open, and Oliver pokes his head around the door, a concerned look in his eyes that Aaron always said was all her. 

“Ollie,” Aaron starts, turning to look at his youngest, “You’re supposed to be in bed.” 

“I know,” he says, his hands clasped in front of him as he nervously picks at his nails, “But I got up to go to the bathroom and…”

He drifts off and his parents exchange a look, and Emily turns back to their son and smiles encouragingly, “And…”

“I wondered if you’d tuck me in, Mom?” He asks, looking down at his hands as he shrugs, “And maybe read me a story?”

It had been so long since he’d asked for it she knows that he’d overheard their conversation, and it takes everything in her to not burst into tears. He was so sweet, so perfect, she often wondered how she’d made him. She swallows thickly, and feels her husband briefly hold her a little tighter.

“I’d love that sweet boy,” she says, grateful that her voice is even as she stands up and walks over to him. She ruffles his hair and he leans into her side, his smile wide as he looks up at her, clearly pleased that he’d cheered her up. She turns to look at Aaron, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He nods and smiles at them, their matching expressions full of joy enough to make his heart swell in his chest.

“Take all the time you need.” 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

[justaaveragereader]

The Eight Evil Thoughts // OT8

Part 3: Envy

You were a firm believer that when you died you were bound to go to heaven…but what happens when you get casted straight down to hell. Before kneeling before the most famous evil thought/leader you run into the other evil thoughts along the way.

“Never underestimate the power of jealousy

and the power of envy to destroy.

Never underestimate that.” - Oliver Stone

🏔️ Pair: Reader x ????

🏔️Genre: Angst, Thriller, Possible Yandere, Suggestive, Slight Religion Talk, Cursing

🏔️Word Count: 4.1k

🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️

Tossing the apple in the air you continue your journey within the labryinth. Deciding to just give up you sit on the ground. Leaves crunching underneath you as you sit. Tossing your loser apple in the air to help pass the time. While trying to come up with any thoughts of how you are going to get out of here. Your last two visits, Mingi and Jongho, were a complete bust.

“I have to pass the rest of these. There is no room for failure now.”

Exhaustion slowly starts to take over you, eyes shutting while you grip the apple Jongho chucked at you. The apple felt like the only thing keeping you grounded like everything was a fever dream, the apple was your reality check, that it all was happening. This was all real.

Letting your thoughts come to a screeching halt you drift off. Sleep now fully consuming your body, a belly full of the apples from Jonghos orchard.

🏔️ 🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️

You feel a wet soft object touch your face. The wetness throws you off, eyes flashing open ready to fend off what or whoever is deciding to disrupt your sleep. You move quickly to sit up, hand clutching the apple tightly.

Right before you is a small light brown dog with small white dots for eyebrows, its underside is completely white while its top half is a caramel brown color. Eyeing it closer…you are hesitant but hold your hand out so it can sniff you. Nudging its head forward in your hand like it’s signaling you to pet it. You decide to run your hand over the top of the dogs head, shocked completely that this dog, cute and innocent looking, would be down here in a place like this.

Tucking your apple into your side so the dog wouldn’t eat it. You bring your other hand up, squishing the dogs face together while petting it.

“Well how are you good boy? Who’s a good boy?” You repeat while cooing at the animal in front of you that looks so happy. Checking to see if the dog belongs to anyone you pull at the small collar around the dogs neck.

“Shiber?”

The dogs ears perk up at its name being called.

“Are you Shiber? Well, aren't you adorable Shiber!”

Continuing to coo at the cute dog in front of you. Rubbing its belly, the dog was just a big ball of love. This felt like the most human thing, the most normal interaction you had since you’ve been down here. Nothing was off about the dog; it looked like a normal dog. Getting lost in the affection and love for the dog. You hear a whistling noise. Shibers ears perk up. Assuming that this was the owner signaling for the dog to return, you brush your hand across the dogs head one more time.

“Come on boy, let's find your owner.”

Brushing your pants off while standing up, grabbing the apple. You notice Shiber is wagging its tail excitedly.

“Show me that way. Let’s go boy!.”

The dog happily starts trailing in front of you. Taking you through a heavily wooded area. It’s like you are on the edge of the woods. Nothing but dark trees and dead leaves are all that’s around you. Worried, you start to slow down. Shibber senses you aren’t walking anymore. Turning around to look at you he lets out a small bark.

“No can do buddy. I’ve had my share of scary places already.”

Letting out a small whimper noise giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen.

“No. No. No…please come on. Don’t do this to me.” You whine out to the dog, the eyes tugging at your heart.

“Don’t do this please. You don’t understand the days I’ve had down here. Come on..!”

You whine to the dog who is proceeding to let out sad whimpers at you. Ears laying flat on his head head. Big sad eyes looking up at you. Letting out a groan you proceed forward.

Dead branches smacking you in the face, dead leaves in your hair, trying to not stumble on the dead roots on the ground. Putting so much focus into trying not to injure yourself you realize you have made it to the edge of the wooded area. Picking the dead leaves out of your hair with frustration.

“You know this is against my morals!”

You look down, eyeing the dog. Letting out a small groan of frustration. You decide to look around at your new surroundings.

“Wow…”

You are rendered speechless. You are surrounded by small house like pets from dogs all the way to small goldfish.

“It’s like a pet store here..”

You think out loud, still stunned by what is all in front of you almost missing the whistling noise that sounds off. This time it is much closer to you. Shiber nudges his head against your ankle knocking you out of your awe like state, looking down you rub your hand over his head.

“Alright boy, lead the way.”

Giving the dog a small smile, proceeding to follow behind him. Passing by so many animals…You had never seen so many animals in your life it was like being in a small zoo. Birds, fish, cats, you had even seen a snake just hanging out in a tree looking like it was resting. Following aimlessly behind this dog, it was like your feet were on auto pilot again. Everything was so amazing to you, you were being wrapped into the scenery.

“Ah..Shiber I see you’ve brought company!”

Coming to a screeching halt, body completely freezing, whipping your head to look at the person in front of you. His features were sharp, with a big brightening dimpled smile, about the same height as Jongho, and solid gold eyes, no pupil.

Shiber makes his way towards the young man before you. Rubbing his head against the mans pants leg. Wagging his tail excitingly. You knew right away this was his owner. He had such a comforting aurora but that ick like feeling was scratching at the back of your head. Screaming in warning but yet you could not fight the feeling you got seeing this solid gold eye man grin at you.

“I’- I’m sorry..I didn’t mean to enter your space without permission…I just wanted to make sure h-he got back to his owner…”

You say silently while letting a small smile creep on your face…eyeing the man closely.

“Nonsense! You are fine. Shiber has a tendency to play by his own rules, don’t you Shiber?”

He says while rubbing behind the dogs ears. You feel a sudden ick, upset he’s showing so much love and attention towards the dog yet you try to shake that feeling. He looks at the dog with so much love. You find it hard to believe a sweet man like this could be trapped down here. Yet you are still on guard, trying not to fall into any traps set up for you. You cannot afford to fail again.

“Are all these animals..yours?”

Letting another big dimple smile across his face he looks up at you, solid gold eyes boring into your own. Your brain is on high alert, it’s like it is screaming once again at you to get out of there but the way this man is smiling at you it’s hard to leave. Your heart is persuading you to stay. Your body feeling insecure the more he looks at you yet so fulfilled that he’s even glancing your way.

“Why yes they are! Have you taken a look around at them? If not, you should! They are the most gorgeous animals you’ll ever see.”

Getting lost in his smile you shake your head in a nodding motion. At a loss for words, there is so much you want to say but it’s like you are short circuiting. Feeling something brush against your leg, you look down. It’s by far the cutest cat you’ve ever seen.

“That’s Byeol, she’s quite friendly.”

Squinting slightly you see in the left eye of the man his solid gold eye is starting to slightly turn a green like color. Your brain now feels like it’s sounding off an alarm, bells, whistles are going off in your head yet you can’t get your body to move your heart is swooned. Bending down you rub your hand over the cats back. Shocked by how soft she is.

“Wow! She’s so soft! You must take very good care of her!”

He lets out a small laugh. This left eye slowly goes back to being fully gold. A big smile appears on his face, blush dusting his cheeks. He kicks slightly at the grass in a shy manner. Slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“I mean yea..I try.”

Smiling brightly through every word he says. Byeol and Shiber both seem to really like you. His eye once again starts slightly turning green. Feeling goosebumps litter your spine. Your brain once again feels like it’s yelling at you, calling you an idiot.

Bending down now fully crouching to scratch the cat, the apple Jongho threw at you falls out of your pocket, rolling right in front of the mans feet.

That’s when you hear it. The scribbling noise. You heard it with Mingi, you heard it with Jongho, now you are hearing it with this man. Slowly moving your hand off of the cat. You look up at the dimpled man before you. Cautiously standing up from your crouching position, noticing that one of his eyes is fully green. Standing fully..leaving the cat fully purring below you, walking in between your feet.

“You are one of them…. aren’t you?”

The man is just staring hard at the apple on the ground. Staring at it so hard you would think he could light it on fire just by his gaze.

“Where did you get this?”

Your eyes grow slightly in size. His voice sounds nothing like how it sounded just moments ago. He lets out a low chuckle. Suddenly it feels like everything around you had froze, the cat no longer is purring below you. Out of your peripheral vision you see Shiber whimpering with his ears close to his head like he is afraid. A sinister smile graces his face.

“Where did you get this apple?”

Now fully scared you slowly back away..putting as much distance between you and the mystery man as you can. Eyes darting around looking for any sign of what the name to this man could be. Whoever he is has had no effect on you so he must not be as powerful as the others you’ve come across. Eyes still dancing around you glance back towards Shiber. There it is! There is a board with his name on it. Slightly stretching your neck to see the name.

“I’m going to ask once more…and once more only…Where did you get this apple?”

Nervously you bite your lip. Goosebumps are now littering your whole body. Fight or flight is now in full gear. You could just turn around, run away but you are too frightened to move. Fear is nipping away at you. Everything is still so still, so quiet around you. All the animals you had been hearing earlier are no longer making any noise, like they never existed. Shrinking back into standing up straight, as curious as you are to figure out who he is, your body is quivering with anxiety which is taking over.

“From Jongho…”

You say through a whisper.

The man lets out a sick cackle. One eye is now fully dark green while the other is sparkling gold. His grip on the apple now is so tight you see his knuckles are now turning white. He’s now laughing so hard he’s bent over his face almost touching his knees like he is caving in on himself.

“Can you just give the apple back to me please..?”

Continuing his hysterical laughter, gold and green tears are running down his face, smacking the ground. One hand on his chest like he’s trying to catch his breath. You can almost taste the uneasiness, the ick now running up your spine.

“Sir please..I just want it back..”

You slightly take a step towards him, hand slowly coming out to pat his back, to show him you mean no harm and you are here for peace, no other problems.

“You want your filthy apple…he’s never once given me an apple. He’s never even let me in the orchard so you tell me..what makes you so special?”

He whispers through a raspy voice. Full on standing up, you swore he had grown in height. Jerking his body back, catching your hand before it can even grace his body.

“What makes you so special huh?! What do you have that I don’t?! You think I want your stupid apple?!”

“I-..I don’t..it’s not..it’s nothin-.”

“I’ve been down here with him since forever! I’ve asked to go multiple times, no invite and here you show up, getting to frolic through the orchard!”

“Please the apple..I just want it back”

You step back now noticing both eyes are pouring with tears. It’s like whiplash with him. He’s a whole different person than he was moments ago. It’s reminding you of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, two sided coin. No longer having the bright smile grace his face. Green and gold tear stains are littered across him, eyes holding so much insecurity, pain, and hurt. Holding out the apple in his hand, locking eye contact with you.

“If I can’t have it…no one can!”

He closes his hand in a tight fist causing the apple to burst. Apple chunks fly everywhere, some smacking your lower legs, other pieces flying towards Shiber who was as still as a statue. That’s when you felt it. The feeling of jealousy pins your body. It comes in palpitations, your heart feels like it’s going to turn sour. Letting out a shriek.

“How could you do this!? You insecure asshole! You couldn’t handle the fact he gave the apple to me and not to you?! But you knew of him prior I had to wander to find him! You had it all laid out for you! Look around you have everything that I want! It’s perfect here!”

Falling on your knees. Throwing your hands over your mouth. Eyes growing in shock you can’t believe you even had said that.

Silence is all you hear.

Before your eyes can rake their way up to look at the two colored eye man…you spot the board with the gold encrusted writing.

Envy.

Eyes growing wide once again.

“Green with envy.”

Your eyes flicker up to his face. He looks down upon you. Like you’re scum, like you are the small thing in this world built up of garbage. Green eye piercing your soul, or what’s left of it. Cause as you know your humanity is slipping right through your fingers, into his hands.

“That’s why your eye turns green, right? I’m sure you’ve heard of that saying before. I’m green with envy.”

Gritting his teeth, jaw tense, his arms are at his side, apple juice dripping off his hands. The waft of envy was rolling off of him. He resented you, even though he looked down at you like you were worthless you still could feel the heat radiating off of him. Watching his eye twitch at you quoting the famous saying is what flooded your ego.

“You sit here tending to your animals all day. Crying about not having an apple. A stupid rotten apple that someone you know gave me. You have nothing but luxury here. I’ve been wandering around for God knows how many days, barely making it, barely surviving. Yet here you are crying to me about what you don’t have. You have everything here! You have the dog! You had my fucking apple that your insecure ass decided to combust, you have I’m sure every animal that was on Noah’s fucking ark here. Yet you are crying about a damn apple!”

Chest heaving from the yelling you just did…sweat beading down the sides of your temples. You brush off your pants, standing up. Not even sparing him a glance, turning around you start to walk towards the entrance you came from.

“You sound so insecure…jealous of what I have…dare to say I’m getting into your head?”

You feel it…You feel the envy snipping at your bones, the insecurity trying to seep into you. Everything you lacked this man had. His looks, this scenery…He had everything yet he was envious of an apple. The emotion now was feeling so strong…Like being in the middle of a tidal wave, your brain and heart were constantly knocking against each other. Biting your lip you keep your mouth shut, continuing to walk. You know he is just trying to provoke you, get into your head, stroke his own ego. You were not going to give him that luxury.

“San! That’s my name sweetheart!”

Deciding to cover your ears with your hands, the more he talked the more you felt the emotion running its course through your veins. Painfully you feel it, trying to remain strong. The feeling now is hollowing itself in your body. Pain surges through the back of your head, the same feeling when Mingi had his hand on the top of your head. It feels like someone is splitting you open from the top down, your knees start to get weak. Legs slowly are giving out. Trying to walk as fast as you can, the edge of the woods is in plain view. Your legs don’t feel like they can carry you much anymore, dropping to your knees, falling into the dirt below.

Gripping the back of your head, the pressure being unbearable. You try to remain on all fours, attempting to crawl your way to the edge of the woods. You feel a weight on your lower back, your whole body knocks to the ground. Wincing as your body makes full contact with the dirt.

“You think you’d turn your back and just walk away from me?”

Removing the foot he had on your back to under your stomach, flipping you over so you are face side up. His smile is huge, something like the Cheshire Cat. Dimples on full display yet one of his eyes is still green. He looks so angelic, yet you’ve seen the act he had just put on so you know it is too good to be true. Squatting down so he can get closer to you. He grabs your face in his hands. The envy feeling in your body spikes. The feeling makes you sick, like you have too puke. He has a pout on his face.

“I know you feel it in your body. I can smell it on you.”

He inhales deeply.

“You think you are above me? You're the bigger person by walking away? Sweetheart…It’s already consumed you.”

Both of his hands grab the front of your shirt pulling you up right. Disgusted by his actions yet your body is so weak you can’t pull away. Your face scrunched. You continue to keep your mouth shut. Trying to put all your focus on trying your best not to feel the jealousy nip at you.

“I must admit tho…you are kinda cute. I like them stubborn. It makes it all the more fun to rile up. Like a ticking time bomb, you blow up. Like a stick of dynamite! You take time to set off but boy oh boy when you do…”

“…I could just spit on you.”

A smile graces his face once again. He’s amused by your comeback. It’s like a game to him, cat and mouse. He’s the predator, you are his prey. His gaze is so intense, your body is in a high panic, you try to remain calm on the outside, inside you are shaking, terrified.

“By all means please do.”

A smirk gazes across his face. Opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out. Like he’s poking fun at you. Mocking you. Gritting your teeth you clamp your mouth shut. His eyes are so cat-like, so intense. He’s so gorgeous, it makes you insecure, sickly upset. Dimpled smile grazing across his face again.

“What? No treat for me? How rude.”

He says while fully standing up from his squatting position. Pulling you fully upright. He stands behind you gripping your shirt, starting to drag you off. You try to shake out of his grip.

“Hey! Hey! What are you doing with me?! Let go!”

Trying to muster up all the strength you have left but he’s so strong. He’s pulling you away from the woods. Dirt gathering underneath you.

“You know I can see why Jongho took pity on you. You are very enticing! Like a surprise box, you never know what to get but I see the appeal from you now. He always was one for the kinder hearts. He’s a sick man if I do say so myself.” He silently chuckles to himself. Face still beaming with his dimpled smile.

You stop thrashing trying to get out of his hold. Pity? Pity? How in the hell did Jongho have pity on you? Dealing with Jongho was like its own personal hell.

“He knew you were coming to see me next so he tried to prepare you! Can you believe that?! He’s been down here since before time yet he’s still so faint at heart. You almost got away with it too! Ooo it’s so exciting to say that!”

You can hear the chipper tone in his voice. You can feel true excitement rolling off of him. This man was insane, you were convinced, he was so two sided.

“If that apple hadn’t rolled out your pocket. You would’ve almost overcome me! You were so close. What was it like almost tasting victory? Ah..I’m so jealous! You almost had it too!”

You feel bile crawling up your throat at those words “You were so close.” Nausea starts to swim through you. Resentment fills your heart, that’s all you feel towards San.. You can’t believe that he is now the cause of you failing. You are disgusted with yourself, hurt, let down.

“You know resentment is a feeling of envy! They both go hand in hand.”

Your eyes grow wide, confused if you had spoken your thoughts out loud or if he was a mind reader.

“No, no. I’m no mind reader, don’t you worry about that sweetheart!”

The hairs on your body stand up. Terror fills you, he can read minds. He hears your thoughts. You try to think of anything to get your mind off of what you’ve been thinking. Trying to focus hard on any random object. You try to set your focus on the ground, the dirt, anything. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize he had stopped dragging you. Too afraid to look behind you to see where he had led you. Your hands quiver in fear, sweat is beading down your body, lips raw from biting the skin off of them.

He squats down in front of you, wanting to be eye to eye with you. Wicked grin plastered on his face. One eye is still green while the other is gold. Feeling a soft cool breeze hit your back, your skin is covered with more goosebumps. So many emotions are crawling all over you. Trying to penetrate your skin by the only one that pierces you is fear. The fear of not knowing what’s behind you, the fear of what he’s going to do to you, the fear of not knowing, the fear of it all.

“I hope you can swim.”

“Wait wha-.”

He shoves you with full strength, falling backwards into water, surely he has bruised your skin with the shove. You can swim yet you are sinking it feels like you are anchored down, drowning. Water is filling your lungs, the burning sensation takes over. Your lungs feel like they are on fire. Is this the cost of failing? Dying all over again? Dying a painful death? A painful memorable death?

Life must be making a mockery out of you cause all you can see as you sink deeper into the dark water is Sans face smiling brightly at you while standing on the edge of the water like he’s just won a prize. There it was again that feeling of resentment and envy. This is what feels like to be consumed by such an emotion. Accepting your fate you close your eyes and let the darkness consume you.

🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️

Authors Note: I’m so sorry it took me a while to post part 3. When I tell you school has been occupying so much of my time. This week is my last week before winter break so I’ll be able to put out part 4 on time! Besides that well…What are our thoughts👀👀? San was interesting to write for. I think I revealed quite a lot in this part. Its kinda revealed in the form of “If you read between the lines well enough you should be able to piece things together.” I can’t wait to hear y’all thoughts on this chapter!

👉👉👉👉👉👉Part 4 👈👈👈👈👈👈

DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY.

[mcyt-sapphic-showdown]

Submitting Oliver x Sniff and Bek x Eloise both from rats smp ^_^ (both oliver and sniff are nonbinary)

Hi anon I am not very familiar with ratsmp so I’m trying to find the characters rn I’m assuming Eloise is El, if anyone could answer that would be great!! But they will be added in :]