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tieflingtareon · 11 months

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My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 31 | Words: 8.2k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Tar'eon looked out at the ocean before him, the cold sea air caressing his skin as he closed his eyes, letting the scent of salt and fish fill his nose. His body felt heavy like an anchor. It was tempting to simply thrown himself over the edge and let himself sink to the bottom. To drown in the ocean sounded more painful than to drown in a river, but it was becoming clear to him than drowning in a river, drowning in Astarion, wasn't an option tonight.

He missed his cool fingers against his face, a kinder chill than the ocean winds. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide from the cold, even if it didn't help his flushed face, his swollen eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, really truly cried. He hadn't been able to stop after it started. He knew he had to tell them all eventually, but being put onto the spot so suddenly...

He wanted to resent Astarion. He wanted to scorn him, to feel that same furious rage he felt for Orin, for his enemies, but he couldn't even manage a flicker of a flame. He felt like he'd been soaked by rain, heavy and cold and wet. There was no chance of starting a fire inside himself when all the kindling was soaked with self-loathing. How could he face them again? After everything he told them...

Karlach and Wyll would hate him for allying with Enver, for damning the Coast. Jaheria, Halsin and Gale wouldn't be able to trust him, the wizard still didn't even know who took his hand. Aylin and Isobel...who knew what they'd think of him, being child and cleric of Selune. Shadowheart would probably side with Karlach, given their relationship.

Astarion...Gods, he didn't want to think about it. Not after how he snapped at him before leaving. He might find acceptance from Lae'zel, given she doesn't care for bloodshed, but...it still didn't feel like a comfort. She may have different opinions now, having abandoned her faith. He felt like there was no one in his corner, and that scared him. He felt...truly alone, for the first time since he escaped the ship.

He'd tried so hard to be a good person...but in the end, was being a good person now enough to rectify all he did in the past? He couldn't see an end to this journey that benefited him if he was honest. When Shadowheart rejected Shar's will, she had suffered the agony of thousands...What would Bhaal do when he rejected him? Would he even be able to? Would his past devotion to his Father win in the heat of the moment?

All the what ifs turned his stomach, but even still...he wouldn't let the world perish. Not if he could help it. Even if it meant the end of his own life, he would sacrifice everything to give his companions their freedom back. To make the world safe again for children like Mol, Mirkon, Silfy, Mattias and Doni, like Arabella - they all deserved to grow up and live. Not become food to mind flayers.

He would fix the mistakes of his former life, even if it cost him his current. It's not like there was any home to return to after the journey ended anyway...Nobody would mourn him. Well, maybe Astarion, but he'd move on. He'd live on for centuries, maybe even a millienia...and he'd heal. He'd forget about him. It was probably for the best. He would free Astarion of Cazador like he promised...and then, he'd free him of the tadpole. Whether he saw the next dawn wasn't important. Whether his friends did was.

Tar'eon looked out at the moonlit waters and admired the rippling of light across the dark sea. The peace was interrupted by a mechanic squeak, a shudder of metal. He looked over his left shoulder, looking at the Steel Watcher that stood a few paces behind him. He quirked a brow.

"Are you spying on me, Enver?" He asked, but the machinery was silent. Tar'eon stared at the helmet a long moment before turning back to the sea. "If you're going to bother me, I'd rather you do so in person. I feel ridiculous speaking to a hunk of junk."

"Now that's quite rude." The clink of the cane against wood made Tar'eons eyes widened, looking over his right shoulder to see the Archduke approach with a smile. "I spent quite some time designing these 'hunks of junk'."

"Why are you here?"

"I was informed by one of my many Watchers that you were alone, and far from your camp. It struck me as odd." He came to stand beside him, both hands on his cane and looking out at the waters with something akin to pride. Like a God marvelling at the beauty of the world he created. "Are you out on a late night hunt, my dear assassin?"

"You know, if I didn't know any better, which frankly, I don't, I'd think you were stalking me." Tar'eon narrowed his eyes, glancing at the man from the corner of his eye. Watching him just as closely as he no doubt watched him.

"It's my duty as Archduke to remain informed, lest chaos ensue in my streets. Your wandering alone has caught the attention of many creatures who stalk these streets at night, awaiting a lone soul like yourself." Tar'eons brows jumped up in surprise, turning to look Enver.

"I...Are we being watched?"

"Oh, most definitely, I'm sure." Enver grinned, looking rather pleased that Tar'eon had caught on. "Orin doesn't appreciate your return. She wants you gone, and her faceless hoard know it. That, and you've somehow gained the attention of vampire spawn from what my Steel Watchers have told me."

"Vampire spawn-" Tar'eon furrowed his brows and cursed softly. "Astarion?"

"Oh no, not his delightful self. But they're certainly Cazador's brood, if that's what you're wondering. Your fanged lover has not run into the night after you, I'm afraid. My condolences." He didn't bother hiding the sarcasm in his tone. From the way he spoke, it was obvious that the city had little to no secrets from him anymore. He even knew Cazador was a vampire lord, and from his tone alone, Tar��eon could tell he wasn’t the man’s biggest fan. One thing they could agree on.

"I'm sure you already know what happened. Since you've got your fingers in every corner of his town." Tar'eon grumbled.

"Unfortunately, I do not know. But I would love to hear it. Lovers quarrel?" His dark eyes gleamed with mischief, obviously hoping for it to be just that. Tar'eon pursed his lips and looked back to the ocean.

"...They know who I am now. They know what I've done. I'm giving them time to decide whether I'm worth the trouble or not, I suppose." Tar'eon picked dirt out from beneath one claw and sighed, closing his eyes. "Just associating with you has ruined more than one of my relationships with my companions, you know?”

"If your bonds are that weak, why bother entertaining them?" Enver scoffed. "They are beneath you. They have no idea of the honour that comes with being the Chosen of one's God."

"I don't want it." Tar'eon told Enver, who looked slightly surprised before he smoothed out his expression into something more neutral. "I don't care what Bhaal wants with me. He is not my Father, not anymore. I will kill Orin, and I will disown him. And when the time comes, I want you at my side when we destroy the elder brain."

"Destroy- you want to forsake all our plans? For what? Once we have all three Netherstones, the brain will no longer be a threat to us. There is no point in trying to kill the damn thing if we can control it."

"Perhaps. But it will always be a liability. Your Steel Watch does enough to maintain order in this city. I doubt you really need it now." He gestured to the metal bodyguard with it's back to them, surveying the area for dangers to its maker. "What is the point in controlling the whole world via some faux religion? Eventually, they'll realise it's all for naught, and it will be your head that they want. Besides, who's to say you won't use the control you have over the brain against myself one day?"

"I would never." Enver actually looked furious at the mere suggestion. "I much prefer you with your free will intact. It would be a waste of your brilliance to make you a mindless slave."

"And all the others in Faerun with their own brilliance? Where will the good things in the world go? People will be too devoted to the Absolute to do the things that make humanity so beautiful." Tar'eon reached back and frowned. He'd forgotten his flute...

"Where will the stories that could have been told go? The songs that would have been sung? The music that will never play...The laughter, the hope, it will all disappear. It will turn into a monotonous grey. All there will be is the Absolute - or fear of it. The ballads will speak only of Her, rather than of a lover or a friend, of family and adventure. There is so much we'll be stripping the world of if we continue on this path."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little." Enver remarked with a deadpanned expression. "When did you become so soft, Tir'yal?"

"Fine. You don't want to think of the good? Think of the consequences. We have no guarantee that the elder brain will remain under our control for long. You can barely control it right now as it is; who's to say it won't grow to resist all three stones power?" He challenged. "Who do you think it's going to kill first when it breaks free? The very ones who enslaved it."

He gestured to the both of them and Enver narrowed his eyes at him.

"As long as we have the crown, we don't have to worry about losing control of it. You and I already went over every flaw in our plan, made back up plans for back up plans - trust in our brilliance, Tir'yal. Once Orin is out of the way and the brain is back under control, we'll be able to unify the world beneath our rule. With Ketheric’s army, the Absolute’s army, put to waste, we can share in the rewards of our victory against them. We will be heroes in the peoples eyes.” The same heroes who made such an army to begin with. All to gain the favour of the people. To be see as their sworn protectors; to be adored. At least, that was Enver’s goal. Tir’yal had simply wanted blood for his Father.

"False heroes." Tar'eon stood straighter and huffed. "I'd rather die a true hero than live as a false one."

"You're impossible. If I knew losing your memories would make you into this, I would have put you out of your misery for your own sake when you arrived to my coronation. You’re lucky you still have your uses." Enver shook his head, as if disappointed. "I do hope you see reason the next time I see you, Tir'yal. It would be such a waste of good potential.” He turned his foot, swinging his cane forward to meet the wood as he stepped away, ready to leave, but he was halted by a hand grasping at the sleeve of his robes.

Enver turned to look over his shoulder, quirking a brow at Tar'eon.

"I...I know I'm different from what you remember. Vastly different. I know I'm not the man you knew, but if you still care for him in any measure...please stay with us a little while longer?" Tar'eon asked weakly, hating himself for stooping so low, but he was lonely. So fucking lonely. He didn't want to be alone right now, or he feared he'd be a body washed ashore by morning rather than a returning camper. He wished he’d let Astarion follow after him. Maybe then he’d already be back at camp, wrapped up in his arms and smelling rosemary instead of sea salt and cologne.

Enver stared at him for a long while, his expression giving little away before he stepped back into his prior spot, hands clasped behind his back, fingers wrapped around the length of his cane rather than the handle.

"Thank you."

"By Bane, don't. I'm only here because you're right. We have history. I may not be a fan of how weak you've become, but I still see promise in you yet, Tir'yal." Enver's lips thinned. "It is hard to find an equal in a world such as this one. You were my equal once before...and I still wish for you to be.”

Tar'eon smiled ruefully.

"Lonely at the top, isn't it? Being a leader...can be very lonely."

"I have always been enough company for myself. You were simply an addition I didn't mind. An addition I quite liked."

"You liked me." Tar'eon hummed.

"I did."

"More than Orin."

"An easy feat. The woman is dreadful and grating to listen to. I've never been one for needless bloodshed - I’ve always preferred to use it as a tool. You? You were smart with it. You were quick, efficient, you didn't make a show of it like she does. You were only ever curious about your kills once you were done, not overindulgent."

"I sated my urge as your 'assassin', I'm guessing?"

"You had great control of your urge, but yes. We made a good pair. You got rid of competition. Weaklings and blackmailers...You made climbing the ranks much easier compared to my own efforts alone." He chuckled. "I see death as a grim necessity. You saw death as an act of devotion. As, dare I say it, loving. So I gave you offerings to your Father, and you put more and more political power into my lap with every throat slit.”

"I gave you a lot of things, from what I do remember." Tar'eon pursed his lips. How many did he kill for him during their time together? How long had they known each other? He’d said years, hadn’t he? Less than ten, considering Karlach hadn’t recognised him. Enver grinned.

"Shall I list all the things you've gifted me with, my dearest?"

"I fear to know." Tar'eon admitted. "I feel like it might change things. I'm not sure I can afford that."

"Why deny yourself the truth? You've always been the hungry sort - hungry for knowledge, hungry for gore, hungry to prove yourself to your Father...You were near impossible to sate." Enver chuckled, like it was some sort of inside joke they'd once had. Now, he was the only one who could laugh at it.

"...You're right. I do want the truth. I- I crave it. I want to know everything, and it vexes me that I still know so little despite remembering my service to Bhaal. Knowing I'm...knowing I'm his spawn - it's a lot. I know nothing of my past, but I know I belonged to him. That I still do. I'm not sure I can ever come back from all the cruelty I did in his name."

"Such is the life of a Chosen. We are instruments our Gods play. We create the melodies they've written, and we revel in our duty to them, and the power they pass onto us in return." Enver gestured out to the ocean, the ships, the rippling waves. "They bless us with the power to take what we desire...and in turn, they have our undying devotion. They have our souls - much like making a deal with a devil." He chuckled at the comparison.

"You don't seem to be the biggest fan of devils."

"Beneath a devil, you are given lies and punishment. Gods are where true power is, and their wrath will not come for you unless you fail them." Enver glanced at Tar'eon. "I worry your rejection of Bhaal will not end well for you, my dearest."

"Perhaps. I worry too, but I can't accept him. As long as I am under his thumb, there is no true freedom for myself. This Urge - it isn't who I am. Not anymore. It is Bhaal's will, an extension of his control over my mind and body. He will use it to remove my loved ones until the world is empty and I am the last soul alive. I would rather die a free man than live serving beneath the heel of a God."

Enver was silent a long moment, and Tar'eon turned his head to look at him, but the man was focused on the moon, the dim lighting making him appear almost ghoulishly pale. His features were so dark, sucking up the shadows, that Tar'eon was sure he wouldn't be able to see him on a moonless night. The sleepless shadows beneath his eyes looked like bruises. He wondered if he ever slept through the night, or if he lived solely off naps.

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like? Without Bane?" Tar'eon asked and Enver scowled, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the tiefling.

"I would be servant to a devil, rather than a God. I much prefer my chances under Bane's hand than under any others. Bane has given me everything I have ever desired." He gestured to the city behind them, the grand place he had called home since his birth. It felt fitting to have it be the first place he took off the map in his journey to rule all. "Bane has given me the power and strength to take this city as my own. To wield it under the Black Hand. He has given me the means to control everything."

He placed a near loving hand to his Steel Watcher, smiling at Tar'eon.

"Even as a child, I saw the world for what it is. Full of chaos and despair. I knew in unifying the people against a common enemy, culling the ones who would not fall into line...I could bring this city prosperity and peace. That I could earn their adoration and loyalty. When people are left to decide their own fates, they will toss even those they claim to care most about into the dirt. If I control every aspect of this city, there will be no need for petty crimes, for debts to be paid, all of it will be delegated to me...Nobody wants the responsibilities they're given. If anything, they'll thank me for fixing all of their problems, for removing the ones that simply don't want to go away. I will be a hero in the eyes of many."

He seemed to truly believe his words, but Tar'eon couldn't read his mind. Only the language of his body. His stature was nothing short of confidant, even if he was physically shorter than Tar'eon.

"You'll be a tyrant who acts like a just and fair king." Tar'eon saw through it with ease and Enver laughed.

"Well...When you worship and are chosen by the God of Tyranny, it only make sense to follow the path he's paved before you."

"Considering all you've told me, I'd say you and I were the ones who actually got you as far as you've come." Tar'eon mused and Enver barked a sharp laugh, the sound more biting than humorous this time.

"I would not have met you again if not for Bane. I would not have lived to see all of our plans come to fruition if not for him." Enver clasped his hands together and came to stand at the railing, his eyes searching the darkness of the horizon. "You may have no love left for your Father, but Bane has my devotion until the end of my days. He was the God who answered when no other would. I was destined to be his Chosen."

“‘Again’? Are you saying Bane organised our meeting at the coronation?” Enver shook his head and grinned.

“We’ve known each other since we were children, Tir’yal. It’s why I have the reserved right to call you by that name, amongst other reasons. I was there before your Father even called upon you…” He seemed to be reminiscing from the shine in his eyes. “I barely remember that far back myself. I was young when we parted. When I returned to Baldur’s Gate, you were already in service to Bhaal I would assume. Your childhood home was nothing but a haunted house.” He chuckled. “Your foster family were sacrificed for Bhaal’s love. I had not yet been Chosen by Bane, so we lived separate lives well into our twenties before I was finally given the honour. I had worshipped diligently, but one must prove themselves worthy if they want to be empowered by a God. It took a decade of blood, sweat and tears for Bane to finally proclaim me as his. Shortly after, fate drew us together again. Almost two decades apart…you hadn’t the scarcest clue to who I was, but I remembered you. I don’t think I would have bothered with partnering together in our first heist if I hadn’t. You were quite arrogant. Though, being a pureblooded Bhaalspawn…Who could blame you for turning your nose up at the Chosen of Bane, your Fathers sworn foe?”

“When you said we had history, you meant it, huh?” Tar’eon couldn’t fathom it. “Did I…I really killed my foster family? For Bhaal?” To think he had a family once…a family who loved him, he'd like to think. He spilt their blood for a God, for his true Father, and he suddenly felt sick. The more he knew of himself, the more impossible if felt to crawl out of the hole he’d dug, unable to be purified by the grace of the sunlight. Unable to be redeemed, or reborn.

“You did. You lived in the house across the wall, opposite mine. Your father brought shoes from us often because you grew much faster than your brother.” He chuckled. “A tiefling adopted by a family of elves. It was an amusing sight in the markets. You always had your nose in a book. You didn’t spare any adult respect that wasn’t earned. You hated my parents with a passion, and always insisted I make your shoes for you despite the fact that I was an awful cobbler. I hated working with leather, but metal? That was my calling. You enjoyed wearing steel boots worthy of a knight. You said it made it easier to squish rats in the street, and easier to clean too.”

“I sound…awful." A sadistic child, was that really who he'd been? Rotten from the start? Or had it been Bhaal's influence, even back then? "It sounds almost like I bullied you as a child.”

“You were the only one who saw my genius, who understood my view of the world. The other children simply didn't understand us. Or, I suppose they feared you." Enver shrugged with a thoughtful expression. Tar'eon noted the distinction between 'us' and 'you'. The children hadn't feared Enver. He didn't have many friends before him, did he? Had he been his first? "You having a blunt exterior was a price I had to pay to have someone to watch my back when I pickpocketed merchants.”

“We were troublemakers then?”

“We were kids. Your brother was the opposite of you, so you two clashed a lot. Ever the sensible soul, he was, saying I was an awful influence. It only made sense that you would hang out with me instead. We were both bad influences, after all. He couldn't blame only me.” He chuckled.

“I wish I could remember…” Tar’eon sighed. “So Bane reunited us when he made you his Chosen?”

“He got me to Baldur’s Gate. He got me home. Making me his Chosen simply increased my chances of seeing you again.”

“Where were you between the time you left and the time you came back?” Tar’eon asked and Enver was quiet. Tar'eon had some ideas, but they didn't really make sense to him.

“Where I was holds no relevance to our past together. The important part is that I returned. And it was all thanks to Bane. He has given me the ability to take everything I could ever desire.”

"And you want for nothing else?"

"I am close to having everything I've ever wished for. There is nothing else I could want." Enver shrugged one shoulder and smiled. He seemed to believe it. His devotion to Bane was true. He both worshipped him like a saviour yet acknowledged the transactional relationship they had. Tar'eon wondered if he'd ever been so devoted to Bhaal, his own Father. He grimaced and leaned against the railing, his elbow brushing Envers.

"You offered to share your kingdom with me. Not very tyrannical of you." Tar'eon mused.

"It took some convincing...but Bane came to see the benefits of our union once we had the crown."

"Bhaal doesn't extend the same regard to you, I'm afraid." He may not want to kill him, and the Urge may not feel insistent about the matter of his blood spilling the floor, but he knew it desired it deep down. To make him a pretty corpse one day. To be the one he gasped his final breathe before, to be the last thing reflected in those shiny dark eyes.

"Oh yes. I was to be your final kill, wasn't I? You used to tell me you'd kill me slowly...so we could breathe our final breaths together."

"That's...so fucked up." And oddly romantic, honestly. In a devastatingly morbid way. "Were you really going to let me do that? Kill you?"

"Well, I had intended to convince you to rule with me for a while. Work our way through each city, each continent; there's so many places to see, so much land conquer and admire...eventually, when the world was finally empty of any other soul, I would have laid on your Fathers altar and died with you." There wasn't a single ounce of deceit in his tone, and it made his stomach flip.

"That's..." Tar'eon stared at Enver with wide eyes, unsure what to say. "I don't know what to say to that."

"It's not as if it matters now. You intend to reject Bhaal and his plans of sacrificing every soul. You've killed an Avatar of Myrkul who now lacks a Chosen. There is a clear path before us both." Enver gestured outwards, the faintest light coming out from the horizon. A lighthouse.

"And what path is that?"

"The path we walk together." He offered his hand to the tiefling with a small smile, something fond in his gaze. "Blessed by Bane, we can take Toril as our own with the elder brain under our control. You can be the just and fair king to the people...and I can be the tyrant needed to keep the peace. Marvellous, is it not? Imagine it. A world in our image. Or, Bane's I suppose, but it's all the same."

Tar'eon stared at his hand. If he could remember the past, perhaps he would agree. But he couldn't. He didn't want that life anymore. He shook his head softly and Enver dropped his hand with a downturn to the left corner of his lip.

"So I'm to clean up your messes to the rest of my life? If that what you suggest?"

"I'd make it worth your while." Enver smirked before shaking his head. "You may deny yourself now, but one day...You'll see. When you're at the top of the world, you're the one making the rules. You could change the world for the better. Or the worst. Whatever you desire." Enver didn't seem to care either way, as long as he was at his side.

"Being a king, above everyone else, it sounds like a lonely life to me."

"You won't be alone." Enver reminded with a soft smile. "Your home will be a palace, your people your pets, your advisers your confidants...and you will have me to share the burdens and delights of our ruling with."

"I'd rather a modest home with animals as pets and a partner to share the burdens and delights of life with." Tar'eon crossed his arms. "I don't want power, Enver. I simply want to live my life as my own. That's why I'm rejecting Bhaal. It's why I'm killing Orin. It's why I will stop the elder brain and remove the tadpole from my skull. I told you. I'd rather die a free man than have other people in my head."

"Not many can be given the offer of a lifetime and turn it down so swiftly." Enver chuckled, but it was a terse one. "I really can't convince you, can I?"

"You may speak with the same silver tongue of a devil, but I have bested a God and intend to best another. I am no longer Bhaal's puppet or his devoted son. I am my own man, or...I intend to be. Which means I choose my own path. My own desires."

"And what do you desire?" Enver actually sounded curious rather than mocking.

"I..." Tar'eon licked his lips. "I want to travel. Settle down. I want a home. A-a family. A real one. I want kids and pets and to not fear harm will come upon us. I want to be strong enough to protect what's mine. I...I want love." He smiled softly, thinking of Astarion's soft red eyes. Of the sunlight gracing his white curls and his fanged smile. "I want to heal my friends of their wounds and watch them live the lives they deserved but never got."

"...You really have gone soft. Entirely. It's like there's nothing of you left."

"Maybe that's all he wanted too, and you just didn't know it. Or he couldn't accept it himself. After all, this is still the same body, the same mind, if a bit battered." He thought back to the note he found in the colony. At the time, he'd thought nothing of it. "...I think he loved you. He just didn't know how to show it properly."

"Don't pretend to know us - It may have been you, but you don't remember yourself the way I do." Enver scowled.

"I remember the feeling though." Tar'eon reached out and Enver stepped back, eyes searching him for possible danger. Tar'eon reached further and Enver didn't move this time, allowing the larger man to take his hand gently in his, pressing his palm to his chest. To his rapidly beating heart. "My heart still reacts to you, even though I should despise you. You've ruined countless lives, you've had me kill people for your own gain, and you've attacked myself and my lover in the span of a single day. I should hate you."

"And yet...?"

"I can't bring myself to. And I hate myself for it." Tar'eon let go of his hand but Enver didn't remove it, his golden talons pinching the skin of his chest. "He must have loved you a lot. I'm almost sorry Orin scrambled my brain. I think you two needed each other to be human, rather than the favourite of hateful Gods."

"You know nothing of how we were." Enver breathed bitterly, almost a hiss, his claws only digging in deeper. Tar'eon didn't flinch away.

"I know what devotion feels like though. I know what love against all odds is like. I know the feeling of duty coming before the heart, of struggling against it. I speak the truth when I tell you he loved you. He still loves you. Somewhere in my brain, he's there, even if I can't find him. You are loved, Enver."

Enver snatched his hand away, leaving behind a small tear in the fabric of his shirt.

"You may think you know love, Tir’yal, because of this dalliance with that fanged friend of yours, but I assure you — it is infatuation at best. You’ve known each other how long? Weeks? Love is not made in weeks, my friend.” He chuckled, but it lacked humour. “That is simply a notion woven into fairytales so children have something to look forward to in the mundane life of adulthood. Love is not even a priority in any successful relationship, I assure you. I doubt it truly exists for those with more than half a brain. What is real, what does work, is trust. Respect. The ability to compromise on things you wouldn’t dare change if anyone else asked. Love is sacrificing. It leaves one vulnerable. And that makes it a weakness you and I never dared to allow. Your mind is muddled beyond comprehension, Tir’yal. All your body is feeling is the physical affects of lust, my dearest. A rapid heartbeat is not a reason to become poetic.”

“Did we not share all of those things?” Tar’eon looked at his torn shirt and clicked his tongue. He’d have to get Astarion to mend it for him. He supposed he’d have to return eventually after all. They’d have to talk about everything…properly this time. “Trust, respect, compromise…”

“Perhaps. We were partners after all, in many senses.” He picked lint off the lapel of his robes, or attempted to. There was no lint to pick. Tar’eon wondered if that was a subconscious habit like his tail. To make his attire impeccable, to seem uncaring about it when perhaps he did care. About a lot of things. “But neither of us could afford to make each other our ‘one and only’s’. We, after all, are Chosens. The only 'love' we can offer is to our Gods.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“It’s something we agreed on.” There was something soft in his tone, and Tar’eon was sure he would have missed it if his voice wasn’t so familiar to his ears even without the memory of it. He had the blueprints, but no manual. It was quite frustrating. Enver turned his gaze out to the lighthouse in the distance, and for a moment, Tar’eon thought he could see someone younger before him. Someone with longer hair, someone who wore white compared to black, lacking a shadow-y stubble and who’s under eyes weren’t so dark.

With only the moon to light him, he thought he saw the lover of Tir’yal, rather than the man before Tar’eon. As awful as his past self had been, he mourned for his sake. They may not have spoken the words out loud…but there had been love there. Their own twisted yet almost pure version of it. As pure as a bloodstained kiss could be; and from his experience, a bloody kiss could feel angelic.

“I’m sorry. That he never told you he loved you. You deserved to hear it. I think everybody does, at least once."

“You barely know me.” Enver scoffed. “Not this new version of you at least.” He gestured to the tiefling before him. He was familiar in the right ways, a spitting image of his lover, but all that had been between them was a mystery to him. He still had the same brilliant mind, always had the right words to make his tongue looser than he liked…but he was fractured. Turned inside out. The man before him wasn’t the same as the one he had near worshipped on the same level as Bane. The one he had trusted and respected above all others. The only one who understood, who knew he didn't want sweet words when he woke from nightmares, who knew when it was time to drag him to bed, who knew when he hadn't eaten all day, and never judged him for it, simply praising his dedication and making dinner for two, stealthily moving papers out of reach and taking up the space on his desk so he would finally take a break.

Enver wasn't one to focus on the past, he was always looking to the future, but he found it was near impossible not to focus on the past when that's where his Tir'yal was. Where his first friend and true equal lived. The man before him was a mere shadow of his former self, and he couldn't let go of what had been his. He knew he was in there, somewhere. If he simply waited, if he was patient like he'd been with Bane all those years ago, perhaps he'd return to his side eventually. By the Gods, he was actually willing to wait if only to have him back by his side.

“If you did know me, now, I don’t think you’d agree.” Bane had granted him the power to escape the House of Hope, had ordered all living souls be dedicated to him once Bhaal had his slice of death and blood. But he knew Tir’yal was the reason he was here now. Without his help, without their combined brilliance, he never would have made it out of their heist to take the Crown to begin with.

It had been his hand that pulled him out of Avernus when he thought he’d be trapped there again. Not even Bane’s hand had been extended to him in such a way. A God could rarely intervene with mortals after all; that’s why they had to do this. They were the Chosen who could meddle in human affairs. This was the only path where both of them could stay together, under Bane's blessing. Tar'eon could reject Bhaal, could lose his status as Chosen, and Enver would still gladly rule with him. He knew deep down, the man was not weak in the slightest, even if he had softened in some ways. All he needed was the guidance that would return him to where he belonged.

“Perhaps. Our guardians, our tormentors…Our Gods. They form us. They shape us in their images. I’ve seen it - I’ve experienced it.” He thought to Astarion who had been beneath Cazador’s thumb for two hundred years, to Wyll who was leashed to Mizora for seven, Gale forced to be a human bomb by his Goddess and Shadowheart being mislead by a religion that kidnapped her away from her true family. To Aylin who had been trapped, to Isobel who had been killed and brought back, to Karlach who served Hell for a decade, and Lae’zel who had been deceived by her Goddess her whole life. Each and every one of them had had their worlds turned upside down by another. It wasn’t fair to any of them.

He was fathered by the God of Murder. Yet they were all turning their lives around. Starting over. For the better. He wanted to do the same. He wanted everyone to have that chance.

“Yet, we can still break free of their grasp. We can still mould ourselves into a new image. I’ve seen and experienced that too. There is never a point of no return. Not to me.” Tar’eon turned back to the sea, breathing deeply in the salt and fish. There couldn't be a point of no return, or he'd never be able to turn away from his own bloody past. “I will regain control over my own life. I refuse to bend the knee to my Father and be his slayer. I will break away from him and create my own path. What I will do with it, I’m not sure. But I have many ideas.”

Enver was quiet a moment longer than he needed to be before his lip quirked into almost a smile.

“You tell me far too much, considering the advantage I already have. You are far too trusting. Or perhaps, you are simply naive now.”

“I don’t feel the need to lie to you. You’re as familiar as the scars on my back — I know they are there, I can feel them and I trust their placement, even if I cannot see them. Even if they may look different in a mirror compared to in my mind.”

“I’d say I know the scars on your back better than anyone else.” Enver smirked.

“Perhaps. Maybe that’s why I can trust you not to stab me in the back and add to them, with all I tell you.”

“An unwise use of trust, my dearest.” There was a strange note of approval in his tone. Like he wouldn't usually approve of such a decision, but there was something special about this moment that allowed him to agree with the choice. Like this was an exception rather than the rule for him.

“It’s worked for me so far.” Tar’eon grinned, feeling a little silly if he was honest. Enver was right. He was being reckless. He was speaking with too loose a tongue despite being completely sober. He should be careful around the man, but it was hard to remember that when they spoke in this bubble of solitude, shrouded by the night. They were simply two old friends catching up, even though they both knew it was far more complicated than that. “You’re right. I should hold my tongue around you.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s far too entertaining to watch you give yourself away.” Enver gave a throaty laugh, shaking his head and tapping his cane to the wooden boards. “I’m unable to harm you anyway. That was the rule, was it not? We’re unable to harm each other. We made a vow.”

“My arm tells a different story.” Tar’eon mused, showing off the bandaged forearm.

“Yes, well, I did apologise for that, did I not? It was simple precaution, for my own safety. We can’t have the new Archduke dead on his first day. It would send the people into a panic.” He waved the mere idea off and Tar’eon smiled softly.

“I’ve heard people talking about you in the streets. Mixed reviews. But those who speak highly of you — they do not hold back any sentiments. Half of this city adores you.”

“As they should. I’m keeping this city safe from the evil that plagues its borders.” Enver mused.

“Have you ever considered how rewarding it would be to actually do good by people?” Tar’eon offered and Enver laughed.

“Do you know how most heroes lives end in history? Horribly.”

“So do most villains, I'd argue."

“Perhaps. But I’d rather have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve earned my place on top, without even breaking a sweat. Well…unless you count the sweat I broke on top of the fine wives of other Lords.” His words were shameless, his grin nothing short of sleazy, and Tar’eon made a small sound of disgust.

“I don’t want to know.”

“Please, you’ve watched more times than you probably should have.” Enver sounded far too pleased as the tiefling wrinkled his nose, ignoring the heat in his cheeks.

“I take it neither of us were the jealous type.” Tar’eon noted in a slight drawl.

“We didn’t need to be. We knew no one else would compare outside the sack. So who cared what we did in it, together or otherwise?” Enver shrugged, his eyes twinkling with something mischievous. “It’s quite late. Even the taverns will be closing at this hour.”

“That’s too bad. Having a drink with the Archduke would have been an honour.” Tar’eon wasn’t very good at sarcasm in his personal opinion, his voice too rough and blunt to manage it, but Enver seemed to hear it, because he chuckled.

“The establishments may be shelving their stock for the night, but my shelves do not adhere to standard operating hours.” Enver chuckled. “I’d be happy to share if you feel like baring anything else to me tonight.” Tar’eon could feel his murky eyes running down his body and his heart thumped a touch harder, trying to ignore the tickle of heat low in his belly.

“You are...incorrigible.” Tar’eon shook his head and huffed softly. “I’ve already told you I have a lover, Enver.”

“Ah, yes, he - unlike us - does seem the jealous type. How unfortunate. If things change, do let me know. Your mind may be scrambled beyond recognition, but I’m sure your head is still just as good.” Enver smirked and Tar’eon actually laughed, the sound startled out of him. He did not want to ruminate on that thought; most of his thoughts on Enver were hard to pick apart. He could never tell if his imagination was exceptional or if he was remembering something far too intimate at an inappropriate moment.

If he let his mind wander, he’d think far too much about how Enver’s cock might feel in his throat. He’d rather think of Astarions, but he was trying to be respectful of his lovers wish to be seen in a less sexual light. It was hard when he looked so gorgeous all the time; Tar’eon wanted to do many, many loving things to his body - be that sexual or sensual - until Astarion felt as holy and beautiful as Tar’eon saw him. Kiss all the moles on his face and body…trace his scars…twist his curls around his fingers while he made the vampire flush the prettiest pink. Only granted such a fine colour because of his blood.

Gods, it was hard to stay mad at the vampire for pushing his buttons. He knew he’d made Astarion antsy, he could see through his lies so easily, and knowing he was keeping secrets from him…it must have driven the elf mad. No wonder he pushed and pushed until he broke. He just wished he’d done it where they had a bit more privacy.

“You…Gods. I should head back. My companions are probably worried sick. Or sharpening their blades. Fifty-fifty.” Tar’eon shrugged and sighed, losing the attempt at a playful smile. “You’re right. It’s late. I think I’ve told you more than enough for one night. Anymore and I fear I may actually be blackmailed into sharing wine and a bed with you.”

“Dearest, when you come to be my bed, it will be most willingly, and uninebriated, I assure you. Alas, I still have much to do before dawn breaks. I cannot entertain your rambling all night." He said it like he hadn't offered him wine and company a minute ago. "You still have a traitor to find, and who knows when they’ll strike, hm?” He reminded and Tar’eons heart lurched.

He hadn’t even considered it. What if this faceless in the camp hurt someone while he was gone? What if they hurt Astarion? Shit.

“You’re right. Shit. I should hurry back. Goodnight, Enver.” Tar’eon stepped away from the railing and turned to leave, but after a few steps he paused. “I…thank you. For telling me more about my past. It means a lot to me, to hear the stories, even if I can’t remember them myself. I…I might never.”

“Let us hope you do. You might see reason to our rule again.” Enver mused, a certain superficial charm to his crooked smile.

“Then maybe it’s best I don’t.” Tar’eons words were playful, cheeky even, and Enver’s eyes sparkled at the way Tar’eon refused to bend the knee on the subject. He did quite like a challenge. Equals always challenge you in ways no other could. The superficial edge to his smile was gone. There was nothing hidden in his expression, and it warmed Tar'eons heart in a different way to before.

“May your dreams be bloody, Tir’yal.”

“May your rest by restful, rather than restless, pah rihyl.” Tar’eon responded in kind, the words falling off his tongue before he could even consider their meaning, walking away to return to camp. Enver watched after him until he disappeared, tapping the top of his cane with a soft hum, talons clinking in the quiet. He turned to his Steel Watcher and with a wave of his hand and a whispered incantation, he silenced the machines creaking and thumping, allowing it to hide within shadows.

“Make sure he doesn’t get himself killed on his way back to camp. Stay out of sight unless absolutely necessary.” He ordered and watched the rippling figure disappear. It would do him no favours if the man died before he got him Orin’s stone after all. With spawn and shifters skulking about, if only made sense to watch the tieflings back when his companions could not. He trusted his ability to fight; but anyone could be surprised. Except himself, of course.

He smoothed the collar of his robes as the winds from the sea rustled through his hair, flapping the end of his robe like a ships flag. He glanced out to the ocean, to the lighthouse in the distance and took in a deep breath.

One day, he’d own a castle of his own on the rocks of the sea, so he could leave a window open and feel its breeze every day as he scribbled legalisations. It sounded like the closest thing to peace he could ever imagine for himself. He did wonder idly, if that castle would be as achingly empty as the fortress he called home, if his bed would remain cold like it had for months now. It was a thought that was quickly dismissed, making his way home, back turned to the sea and the moonlight, walking amongst the shadows like all liars and thieves did.

#bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate tav #durge #past durgetash #dark urge #astarion x tav

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quentinblack · 4 years

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Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 5: Andromeda II - Wotcher! (link to full story on FF.net)

Featuring: Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks

Word Count: 3.5K words

Warnings: References to Abortion and Drugs

The foul stench of warm beer engulfed Andromeda as she made her way into the dingy lit pub. It was awfully humid at the best of times, but in the July heat it was unbearable. The Leaky Cauldron was more or less empty, save for a few middle-aged wizards who she expected scarcely left the place. The barkeep nodded in acknowledgement at her.

“What can I get ya?” he asked, as he smiled Andromeda noticed that more than a few of his teeth were missing.

“Oh. Sorry. I am just meeting a friend-

“JUST MEETING A FRIEND?!”

Ted’s booming voice gave her a shock. She hadn’t noticed him at all when she’d walked in. Andromeda absent-mindedly reached to sort out her hair, but then she stopped herself when she noticed what she was doing.

“Sorry Quincy, won’t be stopping for a drink today,” Ted said to the landlord. “Make sure you save some of that Weizenbier though. I’ll be back in with Dirk next week no doubt!”

“Look forward to seeing you, Ted. Can’t promise I’ll still have any left tho’, popular stuff that, them Bavarian goblins sure know how to brew a beer!”

“That they do,” Ted quipped, as he reached out for Andromeda’s hand.

“Come on, ‘Dromeda, not got all day,” he said as he guided her towards the exit that faced into the muggle street.

“I am still not sure that I approve of that nickname,” Andromeda noted to him.

“Well I’m not sure that I approve of that purple cloak you’ve got on!” he cracked back at her. “You can’t go prancing around Southend in that in the dead of summer!”

Andromeda’s heart stopped.

“But you said…you promised that you would bring me a muggle dress to wear, Ted!”

She couldn’t believe it. She was going to look like an absolute idiot. The muggles would all be staring at her.

“Oh bugger! I did, didn’t I?” Ted said as a very serious and guilty look swamped his face.

Andromeda was crestfallen. It was the first time she was going to meet Ted’s parents and she was so very desperate to make a good first impression.

“I will look like such a fool, Ted.”

“You would indeed… it’s just as well I didn’t forget to bring you a dress then, isn’t it?” he chortled, before laughing loudly at her.

Andromeda felt her blood boiling. She hit him playfully on the arm over his denim jacket.

“Ted Tonks! You are such a... such a…

“Devilishly good looking quick-witted chap?” he quipped, before grabbing her gently by the waist as she went to hit him again. She saw his green eyes smiling at her, before he closed them and kissed her softly on the lips like he’d done on many occasions over the last few months.

“I was going to say scoundrel,” she said at the end of their brief embrace.

“Scoundrel’s good too,” Ted replied with a grin on his face, before he began crossing the road.

“Where are you… that sign over there says the nearest train station is that way. I thought you said that we were going to get there the muggle way?” Andromeda asked, pointing in the complete opposite way to where Ted had begun walking.

Ted smirked.

“We are getting there the muggle way. No trains though!” he said, as he continued to stroll down the street, before stopping abruptly in-front of a red car. He slapped his hand on the bonnet. “What’d you reckon then, Drom? Nice motor, ain’t it?”

Andromeda felt a lump in her throat. “You. You cannot mean that… that

“Ford Cortina Mark II. Finest piece of totty to ever come out ah’ Dagenham. Brand new. Or so me old man said. Surprise present for me 17th birthday. I told him not to of course. Soon enough be able to apparate everywhere anyway, but he insisted on getting me a car. Could hardly turn him down could I?”

Ted reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of keys, then put them into the door on the left hand side and opened it, indicating for her to get in.

“Come on, ‘Dromeda. I told Mum and Dad we’d be there at one!”

“But Ted. Travelling by train is one thing, but in a… in a car?”

“You’re not scared are ya?!” he asked incredulously. She was. She was very scared indeed.

She had read all about the muggle contraptions which were widely considered death-traps with wheels. The Daily Prophet was always reporting on new stories of witches and wizards narrowly avoiding getting run over and such forth. Muggles were awful at driving them, far worse than even the clumsiest of broom riders or carpet flyers – and there was a flying carpet crash or incident at least once a fortnight. In some circles there were even murmurs that the Ministry should put an outright ban on them.

“You’re welcome to get the train if you want, love. Good luck getting there without me though!”

Andromeda huffed and puffed, but eventually relented and got in the passenger side. The inside of the car was one of the most confusing things she had ever encountered. There must have been almost a dozen different nobbles in the car, with numerous symbols and numbers that made absolutely no sense to her whatsoever.

Ted got in on the driver’s side and after a brief look at a map he revved the engine, thus beginning her first of many forays in muggle vehicles.

~ ~ ~

Andromeda was starting to regret her decision not to just get changed in the back of Ted’s car – he had promised to get out and not to look and it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but she felt embarrassed getting undressed in the back seat of a car.

The smell of fried meat and pancakes wafted in from the Little Chef restaurant and flooded the humid cubicle. It was one of those moments where you questioned everything that had happened in your life to lead up to that moment. She was getting changed into a loud muggle dress in a dingy toilet cubicle in a muggle service station, which was a weird sort of complex of petrol stations, toilets and restaurants which were strategically stationed at various parts of the muggle motorways.

It seemed quite sad that such was the struggle of transportation for muggles - that whole businesses operated around them having to stop for food or toilet breaks in the middle of travelling somewhere. You didn’t need to stop for a toilet break when getting a port key or using the Floo network – that’s for sure!

Andromeda opened the door after squeezing into the dress and stared at herself in the mirror by the sinks. It was almost like an out of body experience. She was certain that the person looking back at her was herself, but at the same time she knew that it simply couldn’t be. The muggle dress that Ted had picked out for her to wear made her look, well, like a muggle.

The dress, which Ted had quipped was “Slytherin green” was in-fact a much brighter green than Salazar’s favoured dark emerald. It was a very bright green, like the zest of a lime, with a bright white trim around the collar and the bottom of the sleeves – it almost made her feel like a key-lime pie. It was a far brighter shade of fabric than Andromeda would ever willingly wear, but perhaps what was the most disconcerting was how short a cut the dress was. It fell a few inches above her knee, which, especially given her lack of tights, by her Mother’s strict standards was nothing short of scandalous.

She stared into the mirror expecting, or maybe just hoping that eventually she would feel a bit better about herself, when suddenly a stranger tapped her on the shoulder.

“Oh my god I love your dress, hun! You look rocking, girl! Where did you get it?” said the muggle woman, who Andromeda guessed was roughly her own age, if not a few years older. She had fair skin, with even fairer hair and was wearing the wackiest dress Andromeda had ever seen. It was purple, but it was also orange and red and yellow – it was enough to give you a headache just looking at it.

“Sorry I err… it was a present, from a friend, you see,” Andromeda said nervously, wondering what her Mother would think if she knew she was talking to not just a muggle-born wizard, but a proper full-on muggle girl.

“Ah, well you tell that friend they have great taste! Say, sorry if I’m wrong, but you look fairly liberal with a dress that short. Here, take a flyer!”

Andromeda took the leaflet, mumbled a slight thanks and looked down and it as the stranger scurried away.

OUR BODY – OUR CHOICE!

On the 27th October our elected politicians will make a decision on whether WE have the right to legal abortion.

We’re marching in London on SUNDAY JULY 30TH

Will you be there? Remember – WE SPOKE out about the right to contraception and THEY HAD to listen!

Make sure YOUR VOICE IS HEARD!

Andromeda really wasn’t sure on what the general consensus of contraception and abortions was in muggle quarters.

Contraception was easy enough – it was a simple spell that was readily available and easy to learn for any teenage wizard worth his salt. It had been around for centuries and whilst it was a little controversial – the vast majority of the pureblood men and politicians who opposed it were all likely using it and cheating on their wives anyway.

Abortion though, well, it was fair to say that certainly was a bit of a taboo subject in the Wizarding world, especially among pureblood families.

It was quite difficult for a lot of pure-bloods to get pregnant in the first place these days, which her mother put down to inbreeding – and in years gone by she had never missed an opportunity to make snide remarks about her sister-in-law, their Aunt Walburga, who had married her cousin, Uncle Orion.

In the more recent history however, her Mother liked to keep a low profile at Black family gatherings. It was one thing to have married your cousin, but it was another thing altogether to have the shame of your firstborn daughter having an abortion at 16.

It was never publicly revealed which Slytherin boy had impregnated her sister, but Andromeda certainly had a few candidates in mind. It was probably Yaxley – that was certainly the most popular rumour, but there was no guarantee that it wasn’t Lucius or even Thorfinn Rowle.

Andromeda even suspected that such was Bellatix’s promiscuity that perhaps even she herself did not know who it had been. But what she had known was fury like nothing she had seen before. Their mother had been incredulous – and their father, well, Andromeda had never before seen him so disgusted at someone who wasn’t a muggle or a blood traitor.

“Wow! Look at you! Barely even recognized you and what’s that, have you grown legs? Consider me impressed,” said Ted, as he smirked. He hid it well, but Andromeda did not fail to notice his eyes lingering on her legs for longer than a momentary glance.

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Andromeda said, biting her lip as she got back into the car.

“Imagine what your family would say if they could see you right now! Where did you tell them you were going today?” Ted asked as he drank from his bottle of Tizer.

“I told Mother I was meeting a friend, not a lie by any means. I told Cissy where I was really going and who I was really meeting though of course.”

“You’re gonna be in the right shit if you ever fall out with her! The stuff she’s got on you…”

“Why would we ever fall out? She is my little sister! We tell each other everything Ted, we always have done. You know what Bellatrix is like. Cissy and I always had to stick together! I am not sure that she entirely approves of our err… courting… but she would never tell Mother, Father or Bellatrix about it. Besides, like I said, she tells me everything too. I know all about her little love affair with Fabian Prewett.”

“Well, if you’re sure you can trust her,” Ted said nonchalantly as he turned on the car radio and flickered around with it a bit.

A slow, brooding guitar melody got under way, before the thundering sound of crashing upbeat drums kicked in.

“Well that’s ironic. Fitting song for us, I reckon,” Ted remarked.

I SEE A RED DOOR AND I WANT IT PAINTED BLACK

NO COLOURS ANYMORE I WANT THEM TO TURN BLACK

I SEE THE GIRLS WALK BY DRESSED IN THEIR SUMMER CLOTHES

I HAVE TO TURN MY HEAD UNTIL MY DARKNESS GOES

“Cracking band, The Stones,” he said, strumming one hand on the dashboard. “Got nicked on drugs charges the other week too, helluva story that. Imagine that. Laying in ya’ cell and Keith Richards and Mick bloody Jagger walk in. Christ.”

“Drugs charges?” Andromeda asked. “I do not understand.”

“Drugs are illegal substances. You can get arrested for buying or selling them on. Not too sure I can think of a wizarding equivalent.”

“What do these drugs do exactly if they are illegal?”

“Well, some of them are a bit like alcohol I s’pose. Bring you up, take you down. You know liquid luck, right?”

“Well, I have read about it, yes.”

“Yeah, exactly, read about it. Incredibly rare. Incredibly expensive stuff. Even a posh young witch like you’s nevva come by any…”

Andromeda flushed slightly at being called a “posh” witch.

“Right so with these drugs though, you can get a similar experience to Liquid Luck for what the average man earns in a few hours work. A lot of people just do them casually for a bit of fun now and then, but some people get proper addicted to some of them. End up ruining their lives over ‘em.”

“Oh. That sounds awful,” sighed Andromeda.

“Yeah,” agreed Ted. “But the old bill only went and busted Keith’s gaff didn’t they? They turned up at the house and found everyone high as a kite! Caught Jagger with a bit of speed, not that bad really. Charged Keith for letting people smoke cannabis in his house, what a load of nonsense. Harmless stuff that is” he said, shaking his head and looking annoyed, then he started laughing. “That’s not the best bit though! You know how the plod reckon they know they were all high? Well, they reckon that Jagger’s missus was wearing nothing but a fur rug when they turned up. A fur rug, ha-ha can you imagine them walking in and finding that?”

“That does sound like quite the shock. That poor girl,”

“They’ve got to be careful though, they have. Newspaper reckons that one of the other guys there, not in the band, just some random toff, well they reckon this bloke had a load of heroin on him. That’s proper dodgy stuff that is.”

“It is?” Andromeda asked curiously. “What is it?”

“Proper nasty stuff. One of the most addictive drugs out there. You ever see a homeless person off their rocker, they’re probably on smack. Ruins lives that stuff does. You get someone hooked on that – they’ll do just about anything for you to get another hit of it.”

~ ~ ~

Southend High Street was in many ways much like Diagon Alley. There was a vast array of smells, sounds and sights to ensnare one’s senses, with an endless stream of adults and children alike bustling around all of the shops. Whilst it was alike in that sort of sense – it was also in just as many ways completely different, it was almost like being on another planet, such was the contrast.

“There ya go!” Ted said, as he thrust a strange, yellow ice cream which had what looked almost like a little brown stick pointing out of the middle into her hand.

“Thank you, but err, what is it may I ask?” she enquired.

“That is the finest ice cream you’ll get in the country, love. Lemon ice. It’s sort of like a mixture between ice cream and sorbet. Rossi’s finest! With a chocolate flake, Cadbury’s of course! No idea why they call it a 99 though, they’re only a half crown each. Could buy like 8 of them for a pound.”

Andromeda took a slight lick, then a nibble and she did have to admit it was very nice indeed, although in the summer heat she found it was melting rather rapidly.

“I will never understand muggle money,” she sighed.

“Probably for the best anyway. Rumour is they’re getting rid of half crowns soon anyway! Mental if you ask me,” he snorted indignantly.

“Right well,” he pondered whilst looking out into the crowd of people ahead of them, whilst intermittently slurping big chunks of his own lemon ice. “Dad said they’d meet us outside Keddies at 1 o clock. Now by my watch that should be just about…

“Wotcher!”

Andromeda jumped slightly as Ted’s father popped out from out of nowhere and slapped his hand on Ted’s shoulder. He was slightly shorter than his son, as well as slightly rounder, but there was certainly a strong resemblance there. At a guess she would have said he was about 40.

“Alright, Dad!” Ted hollered, as he embraced his father warmly, being careful not to spill any of his ice cream on his father’s shirt. Andromeda had now spotted a slightly younger and slightly slender looking women, with dark brown hair standing alongside Ted’s father, who she assumed was Ted’s mother.

“Mum, Dad, meet Andromeda…”

“Wotcher,” his Dad said to Andromeda, as he pulled out his big hand and gave hers a firm shake. Andomeda offered a faint hello in reply. “Robert Tonks. But everyone calls me Bobby. This is my wife, Agata…”

“It is pleasure to meet you, Andromeda,” she said, in a vaguely Eastern European accent that Andromeda could not quite pick out.

“Teddy has told us so much about you. You are even more beautiful than he said you were.”

Andromeda flushed slightly at the thought of him telling his parents that he thought she was beautiful. She had to think fast to deflect away from it.

“Teddy?” Andromeda asked sarcastically at Ted. She had never heard of him being used by that name before. He blushed slightly. Ted’s father ushered them to start walking north and they continued their conversation as they trekked through the high-street.

“I call him Teddy ever since he was little boy. He was Mummy’s little teddy bear,” Agata teased gently. Ted shot her a hideous look filled with embarrassment.

“Oh don’t you worry, Andromeda. I’m sure there’s plenty more he’s kept quiet from you. We’ll fill you in on all of the secrets!” Robert said, winking once at Andromeda and then at Ted, who shot him a look that was halfway between anger and fear. “I hope that ice cream’s all you’ve eaten, Ted. Corr. Me and your mother taking you out for lunch with your missus and you’re on the ice creams already! What are ya like ehh, son?”

“You know what they say, Dad. Like father, like son!” Ted shot back.

“You calling your old man fat?” Robert scoffed incredulously.

“I’m not callin’ you skinny!” Ted joked.

“Bloody cheek! ‘Ere Andromeda he’s only showing off cause you’re here. Bet your parents don’t let you talk back to them like that, ehh?” Robert said, sneering at his son.

“Well… err no. Not quite,” she replied.

Ted and his father seemed to be exchanging in good natured banter, not uncommon to see between fellow pureblood students, but the idea of a parent and son or daughter talking to each other like that was a very alien concept to her. The Black family were all about respect, well, when Bellatrix wasn’t involved she supposed.

“Do you like seafood, Andromeda?” Agata asked her.

“Yes, I do quite like fish I suppose,” Andromeda replied politely.

“Well that is perfect. We take you to best seafood restaurant in all of Southend,” Ted’s mother said proudly, as they finally reached the end of the high-street and caught a glimpse of the sea-front. The tide was in and the crisp, blue waves were shining in the distance.

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grimcorvis · 4 years

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Sins Locked Away- The Wedding

Part 2 of 3 ( Part 1 here)

Party Crasher

The crowd let out several murmurs amongst themselves and turned their heads to see who had spoken out. Grim raised a brow and looked towards the back, keeping his hold on his fiance’s hands. Who on Earth would object to them being married? "Is that...?”

Abaddon gasped, sensing an aura that sent a shiver down his spine. He called out to the man in question, trying to act calm through his fear. “If I remember correctly, we made sure not to invite you. Leave now or you will be escorted out.”

“Escort me out? I don’t think you’ll do such a thing, my boy.” The voice in the back laughed smugly and stepped out into the aisle. It was an all too familiar man; his eyes ablaze with anger and annoyance, a tight smile on his face. It was the Wizard. Grim growled lowly and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t test us. We know you’re not who you say you are, and we will escort you out by force. Leave.”

Abaddon could only stand there in fear, sensing the man’s aura that radiated so much power. There was only one being he knew of with that much anger and hatred inside them. Abaddon was surprised it took him this long to realize just who he was dealing with. “You’re not welcome here, Satan. Go back to your own circle of Hell before anyone gets hurt.”

There were murmurs and gasps from the humans, demons, and angels around them. The Wizard's tight-lipped smile turned into a sinister smirk. "You finally figured it out? It certainly took you long enough, Abaddon...or should I say, Jeffrey Payne~" He waved a hand over his body as his outfit and appearance changed in front of everyone. 'The Wizard' now wore a long black and elaborate trench coat, tall heeled boots, and a purple and black top hat. Blonde hair wrapped in a braid that rivaled Grim's own, and his eyes were now black and red.

Grim instinctively stood in front of his bride, scowling. "Dear, stay close to me. We don't know what he could be planning." His hand had a death grip on Abaddon's as Satan began to stroll down the aisle towards them.

Abaddon nodded to Grim, steadying himself for whatever was about to happen. Thousands of possibilities raced across his mind as he stared the devil himself down. ‘Should I tell everyone to evacuate? Is there going to be a fight? Are we even strong enough to fight?’

Reaper was smart enough to read Abaddon's thoughts and shared them with Abigail. "Jeffrey, honey, you worry about you. Your friends and I will get everyone out." She whispered to him as Satan made his way closer and closer. "You two really know how to piss me off. No soul corruptions? No spirits sent to Hell? And I find out you're goofing off up here in a play and having this wedding. And you don't even invite your own boss! Honestly, I'm so wounded." Satan placed a hand on his chest and sarcastically sighed. "Now why do that to little old me?"

“Maybe because we hate you and everything you stand for?” The words fell out of Abaddon’s mouth before he could even think of the repercussions for saying them. “I’ve spent 450 years doing whatever you told me to do, and I hated every second of it. You can’t control me any longer.”

"And me. Both of us are done being your puppets." Grim nodded in agreement, looking back at Abaddon with a small smile. Satan paused in his tracks and was silent for a minute, then burst out laughing. "How pathetic is that! You really don't know, do you? I have total control over you!" He reached into his coat and pulled out a worn and old contract. It unfurled and Satan flashed his sharp teeth. "I believe you'll recognize the signature at the bottom."

Abaddon squinted at the parchment, trying to decipher the signature at the bottom. A wave of cold washed over him as he realized who’s name was signed on the line. “That’s… no, it can’t be…”

"That's right: Joseph Payne!" Satan cackled and tossed the contract to them. "Your religious father begged me for help since the Almighty didn't help him. Shows how good of a god She is, doesn't it? I wonder what it was he begged me for, why don't you take a look at what your dear old dad did~" He pointed at the signature and the last paragraph before it. Joseph was pale-faced and looked away out of shame. "Son...I am so sorry…"

Abaddon shook as the contract was tossed to him, landing on the floor in front of him. He looked to his father with rage and disappointment. “What did you do?!”

Joseph heaved a sad sigh and his eyes glanced at the contract. "...I asked for you. For a son. I was terrified that I would get a daughter, you remember that they were treated so poorly back then. I tried to pray to God...but I got nothing. I prayed and prayed for hours, days even...still nothing. With desperation, I turned to him." He looked up at Satan with a frown. "He gave me what I asked for. In return- you would be his when you died…forgive me, Jeffrey."

Abaddon was stunned to silence, trying to process everything that was said. “...All this time… I thought what I did caused me to become… this. Turns out, like most of my problems growing up, you were the cause of it.”

Grim placed his hand on Abaddon's shoulder. "Abby...we can deal with this later. Right now, another asshole requires our attention. Let's focus on getting him out of here and getting everyone to safety." Satan chuckled darkly at the display in front of him. "Oh boo hoo~ Such hurt and betrayal. Come now, come back home with me, my son. It's time for you to really learn how to be a princely demon."

“I am not your son! I’m not your anything, not anymore. You don’t own me.” Abaddon stared down the man that had caused him so much anguish for centuries. “I don’t care how much power you think you have, because you have none against me.”

“You should care, Abaddon.” Satan sneered and brought a hand behind his back. “While I have power, I know that you hardly have any left. If I have to kill you to bring back the demon in you, I will.” He pulled out a horrid scythe from behind him, its blade pulsing with one of the most powerful demonic auras ever felt. It was jagged and purple, adorned with a skull frozen in mid-scream. The humans shrieked and started to flee in random directions at the sight of it.

“Not if I have any say in this. You won’t lay a finger on my bride!” Grim glared at his boss and turned to the podium where a golden cross hung. He pried it off and revealed it to be the holy spear he had ordered from Heaven, the blue spearhead glowing brightly. “Abaddon, stay close to Alistair and Raphael. Have the others help the humans out of here.” He ordered, stepping forward in a defensive stance. “I promised I would keep you safe, and I meant it!”

Abaddon hesitated for just a moment, not wanting to leave Grim to fight by himself. “Alright, just… be careful.” He stood back, the angels standing in front to protect him. He hated not being able to help, but he knew just how dangerous getting in the line of fire for that weapon could be.

“Playing the hero, are we Reaper? That’s gutsy. I’ve always wanted to know what would happen if I killed you, looks like we get to find out today!” Satan charged forward and raised his scythe at Grim. It was blocked by the spear, the holy and hellish auras crackling and sparking as they met with each clash. Koban and the other demons tried to help the humans out of the garden, while Alistair, Raphael, Reaper, and Abigail stuck close to Abaddon. Reaper whimpered at Abaddon’s feet, scared out of his puppy wits. “Papa, I’m scared! What’s gonna happen to Daddy and the bad man if this keeps going? Is he gonna come for us?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that…” Abaddon was just as scared as Reaper was, the only difference was that he had to hide it for the sake of everyone around him.

Spear and scythe continued to strike against each other, the skies overhead growing dark as their fight continued. The Lord of Hell was starting to struggle at this point, but he had just begun his real fight. “You honestly think you can save your ‘bride’, Reaper?” Grim let out a laugh and smirked with determination. “Of course I will, we love each other and I know he would do the same for me.” The Devil narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? Perhaps he was under my command this whole time, I own him after all. Would he do this for you? Or maybe…” “Maybe...what?” “Maybe he was using you, trying to reach the one thing he lost long ago. He was using you to get to Robin, his first love~ Didn’t you try to get it for him, didn’t the thought of getting Robin back make him happier?”

Grim drank in Satan’s words, repeating them in his head. No- no that wasn’t true- was it? He remembered their conversation they had long ago when Abaddon was recovering his memories. He recalled the kiss he was given when Abaddon was told that Grim would go get Robin’s soul. He did want to see Abaddon happy, and Abaddon seemed overjoyed at that. Did...did he really still want Robin? After all the things they went through together? He paused and shook his head to clear the doubt and lies Satan wove with his words, and that gave Satan his window of opportunity. With a swift swing, the spear was knocked from Grim’s grasp and the blade pierced through his skin. A deep gash opened on Grim’s body, sending blood into the air like rose petals. Thunder could be heard above them as Grim was struck, a flash of lightning streaking across the sky.

There was only silence after the sound of thunder, the world too shocked by what had just occurred. Satan’s laughter was the first thing to break the silence, followed by Abaddon’s blood-curdling scream. “NNNNOOOOOOOOOO!” He fell to his knees, sobbing as his beloved fell to the cold ground, a pool of crimson around his limp body.

The angels, remaining humans, and the demons all stared in horrid shock as Grim now laid on his back in his own blood, lying limp. His chest still rose up and down, he was breathing but for how much longer? Satan laughed, his scythe blade dripping with Grim’s red blood. The spear rolled in the grass, stopping near the podium. “You were always so quick to listen to my lies, Reaper. Now, look where it got you. All I need to do now is put you out of your misery and reclaim what is mine.”

Abaddon’s sorrow quickly turned to rage. He growled at Satan as his skin darkened, wings ripping holes in the back of his dress. Soon, Apollyon had taken over. “YOU BASTARD! I’M GONNA RIP YOU TO SHREDS!” He picked up the holy spear, smoke burning from where the weapon met his demonic skin.

Satan glanced up from the dying body of Grim and couldn’t help but snicker. “Are you sure? You can barely hold onto the spear, let alone contain your beastly demon side. What will you do if you hurt your family and friends? One false move and you could finish off your precious love before I get to~ Now be a good prince and let me end this.”

‘Prince?’ Something about those words struck something deep within him. Abaddon’s true voice came through Apollyon’s form. “The contract… You made my mother pregnant with me… which, ew by the way, but that means… I’m technically your son. I’m a prince of Hell.” As soon as those words left his lips, Abaddon was engulfed in blue fire. When Abaddon emerged, he was dressed in ancient clothing and armor, nine horns adorning his head. His eyes turned blue, as did everything else that was once red. “I am Asmodeus, Prince of Hell, the demon of lust, and the true ruler of the nine circles.” The holy spear had changed form to a demonic sword glowing with blue flames. “Looks like you're my bitch today~ I wonder, should I decapitate you, or castrate you first?”

Everyone now stared at what was once Abaddon, now Asmodeus. This was possible? Even Satan seemed a bit surprised at this. The angels and the others backed up and gave him space, knowing this was going to be a big fight between father and son. The Devil frowned, raising his weapon at the prince. The blood was still fresh and dripping from the blade of the scythe. “True Ruler? I’m warning you, boy. Back down and let me finish the Reaper, and I might let you off with an easy punishment when we return to Hell. You may be my son, but I can still kill you too.” Thunder rumbled again, louder this time as his red eyes burned at Asmodeus’ blue ones.

“Oh please, you kill me? I’d like to see you try.” Asmodeus readied himself for a fight, brandishing his sword. “Bring it on, Lucifer.”

“I plan to, Asmodeus!” Satan hissed and charged at his son, eyes blazing and teeth bared. He swung his scythe as he got close, causing Abigail, Reaper, and the angels to run out of the way. While Satan was away from Grim, Raphael rushed over to his dying body to try and see what he could do to heal him. “Get him, Papa! Kick his a- butt! Avenge Daddy!” “Go, Jeffrey! You can do it, sweetie!” Abigail and Reaper cheered him on from the side, giving the prince moral support.

Asmodeus yawned as their weapons met, easily parrying Satan’s attack. “Boooooring. Can’t you at least try to kill me? It’s no fun if it’s this easy.” He hurled a ball of blue fire at Satan, much more powerful than his usual abilities.

Satan gasped and dodged the blue fire as it landed in the grass a few feet from where Grim and Raphael were. “Eep! Careful!” Raphael warned as he was trying not to panic. Clearly, healing wasn’t going well and the battle wasn’t helping. The Lord of Hell growled and launched his own fire at Asmodeus, continuing to fight back with his bloody scythe. “I’ll add your blood to your love’s! Perhaps I can beat you close to death and you can watch as I kill everyone here!”

Asmodeus dodged the fire as it hit the podium behind him. “Now this is getting interesting~” He lunged at Satan, taking the fight more seriously this time.

Thunder clapped again with another flash of lightning, rain beginning to fall from the sky as their battle waged on in the Garden. Abigail and Reaper continued to cheer on Asmodeus while Alistair and the other demons finished getting the humans out of harm’s way. Satan realized he would have to start playing dirty again. “Are you proud of this now? Fighting your own father, your world crumbling around you, and your lover dying? It’s your fault you know~ If you never slacked off or met him, none of this would have happened. You caused Grim to get hurt, you’re the one who is letting him die~”

Asmodeus was unphased by his words, being the combination of Abaddon and Apollyon made him a surprisingly rational thinker. “Exactly, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for Grim. I’d still be working for you, doing a job Abaddon hates and Apollyon only tolerates for little to no pay. Instead, Abaddon is finally happy after centuries of your abuse. I can feel each scar that was caused by you. Now, you’re going to feel the same.”

Well, Satan didn’t expect this from Asmodeus. His little mind tricks usually worked on everyone, even demons. Now to have Asmodeus easily not play into his words caused him slight shock..and building anger. “Hate to break it to you, but I shall walk away without a scratch. You will have more than a few puny scars when I’m done with you. I’ll tear your tail off and let the dogs eat you alive!”

“Dogs, huh? Not a bad idea.” Asmodeus turned to look at the crowd of Abaddon’s loved ones. “Reaper, come to me.”

Reaper’s eyes flashed yellow and he nodded, taking off the pillow saddle and running over to Asmodeus. As he ran, his puppy body started to get larger and his horns grew on his head. His fur rippled as his fat turned to muscle, his teeth becoming sharper and his eyes glowing bright yellow. In a matter of seconds, standing beside the demon, was a full-grown Reaper the Hellhound. The giant wolf-dog growled at Satan, saliva dripping from his jaws. “I’m ready to fight by your side, Papa.”

“Good boy.” Asmodeus turned to Satan, a smirk on his face. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

“Grr, this will change nothing! This is just another creature I need to get rid of to end you!” Satan growled, seemed like his son didn’t even want to go with him by force. “Let’s finish this, you’ll have quite the punishment waiting for you in the deepest circle of Hell!” His scythe started to glow and purple flames lined the blade, light flickering against the crimson blood still there. “Now, show me what a ‘Prince of the Nine Circles’ can actually do.”

“With pleasure~” Asmodeus took a fighting stance once again, preparing to strike. “Reaper, sick ‘em.”

“Yes, Papa!” Reaper charged at Satan and bared his teeth, latching on to the arm that held the scythe. His teeth dug into Satan’s flesh, causing his own blood to trickle down the wound. “AGH! Get off of me, you stupid flea-ridden runt!” He shouted, dropping his scythe and smacking Reaper in his face to get him off.

Asmodeus saw his opportunity, striking Satan straight through his heart (if he even had one). Black blood pooled around his sword, adding fuel to the blue flames that engulfed it. “Too easy. Better luck next time, Satan.”

“GAH-” Satan only had time to gasp as the holy blade impaled him, and he looked down at his own chest as his blood dripped down his coat. Reaper let go of his arm and Satan looked at Asmodeus. “Heh..kind of funny, isn’t it? One life for another… I couldn’t be more proud of the bastard you are.” As he spoke, his physical form started to fade away in the wind like ash. “Good luck, Prince Asmodeus. If you defeated me, then you’ll make a damn good ruler of Hell.”

“I’ll see you in the 9th circle… father.” Asmodeus removed his sword from Satan’s body, causing the rest of his form to turn to ash. He fell to the ground, exhausted as he returned to Abaddon’s form which was now bruised, bloody, and burnt.

#grim corvis #grim the reaper #abaddon payne #abaddon #satan #angst #angst writing #wedding angst #death of a reaper #asmodeus #prince of hell #muahahahaha >:3 #one more part to go #and boi is it gonna be one hell of an end ;)

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joonsdragoneyes · 4 years

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Wizard’s Cottage

Genre: Fluff, fantasy, some angst

Warnings: Small mentions of past violence, mentions of and minor descriptions of injury, mentions of food and eating, some angst

Word count: 1.2k

You’ve been staying at this lovely cottage in the woods for a a few months. You didn’t remember how it happened. You just remember waking up in a comfy bed, in a room that wasn’t yours. Since then you’ve been fed and taken care of. You’ve grown close to the owner of the cabin during that time, a sweet wizard by the name of Namjoon. By now you considered him a friend, and you were able to somewhat walk again, which means you’ll be able to go home soon. So why did you feel so sad.

The aged stairs creaked from under you, your hip aching with each step. Your thigh was sweaty and itchy under the tight bandages, the limb trembling weakly as you hobbled down. The smell of herbs filled your senses as you grew closer to the lower floor, your stomach growling.

Namjoon turned to face you as you finally reached the bottom, a smile spreading across his face. He was already fully dressed, his hair slightly damp- you assumed due to it still being wet outside from last nights rain. As you drew closer to his tall form, you noticed how much he smelled like the outdoors.

“You’re up! You seem to walking well.”

“Ah, it still hurts, but I manage.” You groaned a bit, plopping down into one of the surprisingly soft wooden seats. A couple of baskets full of various plants rested on the counter tops, drops of water slowly sliding off onto a small striped towel.

“What’re you making? It smells really good.” Your stomach growled once again, and you could feel yourself beginning to salivate. You woke up later than you usually would, and for the the first time in a while your appetite was as big as normal.

“It’s a surprise.” He spoke, his voice soft. “It’s almost done, though. I can hear your stomach from here.” You heard him chuckle, your face starting to burn. You hated how his jokes made your ears burn, your heart skipping in your chest when he said something he noticed about you. He remembered so much about you, and you felt comfortable when he took care of you.

The soft clink of a cup was heard next to you, the smell of peppermint and lavender emanating from it. “This should help with some of the pain.” Flustered, you mumbled out something along the lines of a ‘thank you’, his smile still present as you took a long sip. Your felt your body warm immediately as you leaned against the back of the chair.

“This is really good.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He sat across from you, setting the plate down in front of you. The heat of the freshly cooked food hit you immediately, you practically able to taste it just from the smell. “Oh, it looks so good.” You drooled, taking a bite. The flavor exploded in your mouth, the peppers and onions crunchy compared to the rice and zucchini. “Ah, that’s so good~”

He laughed as you took another large bite, a loud sound, but one that brought you joy. “You almost swore, I figured that was a good thing.” He joked, his eyes bright as he grinned. “Would you like some more?”

“Yes.” You lifted up to meet his gaze. “Ah, you’re not eating.”

An eyebrow lifted a little, the cape around his shoulders flopping over the side of the chair as he leaned forward to stand. “I already did before you got up. Did you want to eat together?”

A cough escaped, your ears burning slightly at the offer. “Ah, uh-” You shuffled, your hip aching slightly at the movement. “No, not if you already ate.”

He frowned, his lips forming into a pout. The sight made your heart flutter once again. He had a habit of doing that.

“Later then.” He stepped away from the chair. “I’ll make lunch and we can eat together. That sounds fun.”

You watched him set another full plate down, you beginning to eat immediately. A date. You were going on a date.

“Are you sure?” You asked, looking at him as he sat down once again. “You’ve already done so much to take care of me.” His eyes widened at your words, his head coming to rest on the palm of his hand. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Isn’t that something that friends do?”

Something about his question sounded genuine, as if he really didn’t know what to do. You didn’t remember much about how you got here, hurt, or much of anything about him. His deep brown eyes felt so familiar by now though, and the sun pooling into them was a sight to behold. So it surprised you that he didn’t know. Had he lived alone before this?

“It is. But, do you really want to?”

He nodded excitedly. “Yes, of course! Taking care of you was no issue, and it’d be nice to spend time with you. We’re friends after all. It’d be so fun to talk like we used to.”

He was right. You had been in so much of a hurry to heal and go home that recently you had stopped talking to him. Your late night conversations and the time you spent laughing and talking about your lives- it all just stopped. Honestly, you missed him. It would be nice to be around him again.

“It would.” You smiled. “Hey, Joon?”

“Yes?” His eyes focused on you, the brown melting into yellow at the light flooding in through the windows. His eyes alone seemed to be magic, as if they held centuries of stories within them. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“Thank you. I’ll remember this when I go home.” Your voice had lowered, his expression unreadable as his eyes darkened. His full lips pressed together, his brows furrowing together for a split second before he leaned back against the chair. “Right...home.” His eyes were dull, almost black now, the sky outside seeming to darken along with him.

“Are you okay?” You leaned forward. The wind outside picked up, whining through the open windows. “Yes, I’m fine. How are your bandages?” He suddenly changed the subject, slipping around the table to bend down.

The whining of the wind outside continued, rain starting to pour as it grew darker and darker. You watched the man carefully remove your bandages. You had stopped bleeding a while ago, scabs now present where your leg was once open. Your leg, knees and hips were still badly bruised, but you seemed to be healing well. “Looks like you won’t need these anymore.”

“Joonie, do you want me to go home?”

He paused, standing up as he went to dispose of the old bandages. The rain outside only grew stronger.

Did you want to go home?

“It’s nice to have a friend around.” His steps could be heard in the otherwise quiet room, the smell of the rain snaking in through the windows. “But you have a home. Your family must miss you.”

“To be honest, I don’t know where my home is. I feel like I’ve always only known here, with you. I...don’t know if I want to go.”

The room grew deathly quiet, the rain and wind seeming to calm down as quickly as it started. Your breathing was slow, your mind racing as you tried to think of something to say.

His arms suddenly caged around you, his hands soft against your skin. His form was strong and hot against your own, as if he could crush you in an instant, but simply chose not to as he pulled you close. He had never hugged you before. Even touching you to take care of you seemed to worry him greatly, yet this gentle and surprisingly intimate gesture was welcomed.

“Keeping you is selfish.”

Your arms wrapped around him in return, your hands cautiously running through his soft, shiny hair. “I only know here.”

Your heart was racing, the feeling of a soft kiss on your cheek making you warmer than he was. “Then you’ll stay. I can be your home until you can find yours.”

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edream93 · 4 years

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You’re a Gryffindor, Hook: Year 2, Part 1

Okay, so I thought I posted already this but then Tumblr ate it? So essentially, here’s part 1 of Year 2 of “You’re a Gryffindor, Hook” . You can also read it on AO3. Enjoy!

She ignored the stares and odd looks she received as she made her way into the stands. It wasn’t a surprise that she stood out with her emerald green robe in a sea of red and gold.

A snake in the lions’ den, she thought with a roll of her eyes, unconsciously holding herself taller. Honestly, she would have thought they would have gotten used to it by now.

But this wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time that Uma Tritaea gained stares. It had become almost a daily nuisance since her first class where she chose her best friend, her closest confidant, over a centuries old house rivalry. Shouldn’t the noble and brave Gryffindors know something or two about loyalty?

Several older Gryffindors hissed as she passed them by. She hopped smoothly over a purposefully extended leg that happened to be in her path. Uma made a mental note of them. She would get them back with stinging hexes that would have them howling anytime they tried to sit on their behinds.

Not now though. Too many untrusting eyes watching the Slytherin witch. Now she had to be on her best behavior. After all, there was a reason she was in the stands belonging to the house of lions.

“Anyone sitting here?” she asked a familiar looking boy. Ben, she thought. From Herbology. He was one of the few Gryffindors that didn’t make Uma want to hex them.

“Yes!” a brunette girl sitting next to him glared at Uma just as Ben said “No,” already making room and genuinely giving a smile that took Uma off guard.

“What Audrey means is, it’s all yours. Promise,” he said, his smile growing impossibly brighter despite his companion’s glare twisting into an offended sneer as Uma gave a nod of thanks, sitting down. Ben opened his mouth, as if to say more but was interrupted by the game’s announcer.

Diego DeVil, a fourth year Slytherin boy that Uma always saw flirting with anything with legs at their house table - the ghosts included - sat with microphone in hand at the stand where the professors, other school staff, and a few bored looking representatives of the Ministry were congregated.

“Hello ladies, gents, and non-binary friends to the first match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin!” DeVil smoothly crooned into the ancient looking mic, waiting a moment for the crowd’s enthusiastic screams to die down. “This is surely going to be one for the books, folks! The players are now getting into position as Madame DunBroch steps out onto the field to begin the game!”

What looked like small figures, in red or greens, hovered hundreds of feet above the ground on their brooms as the fiery red haired Gamekeeper and Flight Instructor walked towards the sealed chest in the middle of the field.

“Which team are you watching for?” Ben startled Uma out of her intense stare of the field just as Madame DunBroch released the bludgers and the snitch, the small gold ball a fleeting speck of glimmer in the air before disappearing. It was a strange question, Uma thought. After all, it was the assumption that if your house was playing, you were cheering for them.

Uma’s gaze was instantly drawn to the source of an excited crowing that she could still easily pick out despite the loud roar of the crowd as the quaffle was thrown up into the air.

“Not watching for a team,” she said, watching as one of the players in Gryffindor red snatched the quaffle from the air, taking off with surprising speed towards the Slytherin goal post.

Merlin, she hoped that her idiot of a best friend didn’t get himself hurt. Again. (Harriet had a habit of sending both Harry and Uma a howler when Harry got himself in dumb situations.)

Uma found herself sitting up straight and tense, hands fisted in her robes as she watched one of the new Slytherin beaters, a second year named Jay Abanazar, sneak up from behind and club a bludger at the Gryffindor chaser. Uma leaned forward, eyes never leaving the chaser as he quickly spun out of the path of the bludger with fluid ease and scoring in one move.

“Whoa! Looks like the infamous second year Harry Hook is trying to make a statement, scoring the first goal of the game!” DeVil chuckled despite the obvious booing coming from the Slytherin stands. A little bit of tension released from Uma’s shoulders as Harry completely bypassed the few members of his team that attempted to congratulate him. Instead, to Uma’s annoyed amusement, he flew towards the Gryffindor stands, blue eyes on her.

“Ye see that?!” He grinned, all windswept hair and boyish charm as he leaned forward on his broom to get as close as possible to her. “Uma, did ye see that shot?”

“Harry! The game is still going!” One of his teammates yelled as they zoomed past, chasing one of the Slytherin chasers, a sixth year with long ice blonde hair pulled into a high bun, who now had the quaffle. But Harry didn’t even look back, waiting expectantly for Uma’s response with a wide grin.

“Yeah, you did good Hook,” Uma allowed herself to smirk as she tried to push him away. “Now go and try to make Jay cry.”

Harry’s grin widened as he grabbed her hand, pressing a soft kiss on the back of it. “Aye aye capt’n!”

Again, Uma refused to acknowledge the stares directed at her as the Gryffindor chaser zoomed off with surprising speed back into the game. Harry was just being his usual showboat self. It tended to grind on most people’s nerves but Uma found it as normal as the sun rising and setting.

The Gryffindors around her jumped to their feet in a deafening roar as Harry intercepted and flew away with the quaffle before the blonde Slytherin chaser could even comprehend that the ball was no longer in her hands. Harry swooped back towards the Slytherin goals, two of the school’s numerous part dwarf cousins who were the Gryffindor beaters flanking him to keep the bludger off him before he scored another point.

The entire House of Gryffindor cheered wildly, everyone’s focus on the field. One stare though did itch against Uma’s skin enough for her to turn with a glare, hand already reaching for her wand, just in case.

“Do I have something on my face, Florian?”

A blush that had nothing to do with the crisp wind filled Ben’s cheeks. “Oh. Uh. No, I was just- nevermind,” he awkwardly turned back to face the game. Uma’s eyes narrowed but sensed no maliciousness from the boy, turning back as well to watch the game.

Hours later, while Slytherin would be celebrating late into the morning hours thanks to their Seeker finding the snitch before Gryffindor could score any more points, Uma would find herself spending the night in the infirmary (long after Madame Flora had tried to kick her out). She had carefully wedged herself next to Harry on the bed, finishing a letter to Harriet explaining to the older witch how her only brother had yet again wound up in the infirmary again, said wizard next to her, sleeping off the Skele-Gro potion that was repairing his left arm with cringing pops and snaps that Uma bit her bottom lip to ignore.

After finishing the letter, she was just about to read the section on cecaelias in her book of water-based magical creatures Harry had insisted on buying for her when they had gone school shopping when she felt him shift next to her. He reached out sleepily with his good hand, fingers lightly twisting in her braids like they always did when he wanted to make sure she was close. “Did ye, did ye see me, Uma?” he mumbled, already falling back to sleep as he curled closer to her.

Uma gave him a fond smile, carding her hand through his wild hair. “I saw,” she said, pausing for a moment before leaning over and pressing a quick, feather light kiss on his brow before returning back to her book, ignoring the happy sigh that escaped from her best friends lips or the way that she slowly let her breath match his until they were both asleep.

#disney descendants #uma descendants #harry hook #hogwarts au #descendants fanfic #edream93 fanfic #edream93 fanfiction

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dewitty1 · 5 years

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All I Want For Christmas (Is For You To Stop Talking)

Femme (femmequixotic) @femmequixotic, noeon (noe) @noeeon

Chapters: 25/25 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, Ginny Weasley, Albus Severus Potter, James Sirius Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Kreacher (Harry Potter), Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Yule pageant, Bisexuality, Post-Divorce, semi-epilogue compliant, no ex bashing

Summary:

The Niffler's Garden is the most prestigious wizarding nursery school in England and has been for the last century or more. Harry Potter's boys are both enrolled as pupils at the Garden. When he volunteers to assist with the Yule pageant, he has no idea that he'll be working closely with another parent, Draco Malfoy. Although they haven't seen each other much since their own school days, Harry faults Malfoy for not being a hands-on dad to little Scorpius. Will the intense weeks of preparation fan the fires of enmity or something else entirely?

Warnings: Background discussion of divorce, coming out, parenting, very brief mention of difficult pregnancy.

Excerpt:

Potter returns with a few more loads of props, and Draco sorts everything into its proper place whilst Potter watches him, hands him boxes without Draco even needing to ask. They work together smoothly, easily, much to Draco's surprise. Without speaking, everything is fine between the two of them. Without speaking, Draco's actually enjoying stealing glances at Potter when he's not watching, enjoying the line of Potter's back as he stretches for another box, studying the way Potter's muscles move beneath the thin cotton of his dress shirt, the shift of Potter's arse under the wool of his trousers. As fetching as Potter's face is--as long as he's not saying something incredibly stupid--the view from the back is even better. Potter has an Auror's body, long and lean, even after years of being sat behind a desk. Draco wonders how he keeps so fit, if he goes down to the gym Draco's heard is hidden away in the Ministry bowels. Potter's broad shoulders look as if he lifts weights, and Draco envies him, wants to touch them to see if they feel as firm as he expects they are. Draco runs himself, or he did before he took on Scorpius's care full-time. Now his five-mile runs every morning before work have been subsumed by the time it takes to coax Scorpius into putting on his underpants before breakfast.

"McKinsey's right, you know."

Draco looks back at Potter, takes the ornaments Potter hands him. "About what?" He doesn't want to talk to Potter; he wants the illusion that comes with their silence, the belief that he can appreciate Potter's attractiveness, even if the rest of the man drives him bloody mad.

Potter gives him a half-smile. "You're good at this." He gestures with a small box towards the front of the stage. Draco can hear a loud laugh. Not Scorpius's, thank Merlin. "The kids. You know how to manage them."

"It's not that difficult." Except Draco knows that it is. He's not certain why he can capture their attention, even if only for ten minutes at a time. He tucks his hair behind both ears, doesn't look over at Potter as he contemplates where to slot the box into. "They're just toddlers."

"That's the point of it." Potter leans against a hip-high table that's tucked up beside the prop cupboard. "I've only two of them, and they can be a handful."

Draco puts the box onto the top shelf of the cupboard. "Well, they're Potters, so there's that you have to manage. Two Gryffindors in nursery school can't be easy."

"Yeah, well." Potter hands over a heavier box; Draco's not quite prepared for it, and it nearly slips from his grasp. He catches himself just in time, though. "Jamie's probably all Gryffindor, but I suspect Al might end up in your House."

The box barely fits into the last spot on the bottom shelf. Draco glances back at Potter, his eyebrow raised. "How absolutely scandalous," he says. "Not to mention surprising."

"Not so much." Potter pushes his dark curls back from his forehead; there's a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the warmth of the stage. Whoever's set the warming charms in the assembly hall has a heavy hand with them. "I almost went into Slytherin, you know. The Sorting Hat went back and forth on that one."

Draco blinks, his gaze sliding towards Potter's forehead scar. "Oh," he says, and Potter gives him the faintest smile.

"It's not just because of this." Potter's fingers tap his scar. "I'm man enough to admit I'm not entirely Gryffindor."

"You might have fooled me." Draco's gaze slides down to another scar on Potter's face, a thin, pale line that crosses his cheek, so small one might not notice it. Except Draco has. It's newer; Draco doesn't remember it from school. "What happened there?"

Potter looks confused. "What?"

And Draco can't help himself. He reaches out, brushes a fingertip just barely across the scar. Potter's eyes go wide, and Draco drops his hand, his face burning. He looks away. "Nevermind."

There's a silence, barely more than a breath, a heartbeat, and then Potter says, "A year after Auror training, We were going after a group of undermarket potioneers. The kind that don't even sell their stuff through Knockturn shops. Nasty lot."

Draco's gaze is pulled back to Potter's face. In the shadows of backstage, the scar looks deeper. "You were hit by a hex."

"A Sectumsempra," Potter says, and there's an odd note in his voice. He's looking down at Draco's chest, at the buttons on Draco's shirt. It takes everything Draco has not to flatten his palm across the cotton, to feel the twisted scars that are still scored across his pale flesh. They're fainter now, and they've sunk into his skin a bit more, but they spider over his torso, a constant reminder of his youthful stupidity, just as his Mark.

But more than that, they're a memory of Potter. Of the hate Potter had towards him. Of the fury.

They're another Mark, one just as powerful bound to him as the Dark Lord's, but this one Draco knows he deserves. Knows he asked for. And they're a reminder that there had been a moment in his life that he had been so broken, so damaged, that he had done anything he could to goad Potter into hurting him, into destroying him.

Potter'd failed. Just as the Dark Lord had. And Draco's stood here today, so glad that Potter hadn't taken his life. So glad that he hadn't forced Potter into that horror. That tragedy. They'd been young and senseless and arrogant, both of them. Each one so certain he was right. So certain he knew best.

Circe, they'd been such fools.

"I'm sorry," Potter says, and Draco knows what he's apologising for. He also knows he doesn't want Potter to do that, to acknowledge that bond between them.

And so he shakes his head. "Don't."

Potter falls silent. They look at each other for a moment, and then Draco turns away.

"Just finish this," Draco says. He stares at the potion cupboard. He's no idea how anything else might fit in, no idea if there's space for one more box.

For a moment, he thinks Potter might protest. But then Potter exhales, slow and heavy, and then he shifts behind Draco, the floorboards creaking beneath his boats. It smells musty and dank back here behind the curtains, and Draco catches a whiff of old paint and wood polish and the faintest scent of lemon cleaner.

"Last one," Potter says, and he hands the final box to Draco. Their fingers brush, warm and rough against one another, and Draco's breath catches. They're all alone back here, Draco realises, the clamour of the assembly hall muffled by the heavy velvet stage curtains that hide them away from everyone else.

Draco slides the box into the very last available space. He has to wriggle it deeper, but it finally pushes in enough for him to close the door to the prop cupboard. When he turns around, Potter's looking at him.

"What?" Draco hates how defensive he sounds.

Potter just reaches over, brushes a bit of something out from Draco's head. "Sorry. You had fake fir needles in your hair." Potter mimics touching his own head. "Thought you might not want to walk about with them tonight."

They stare at each other, their bodies still, tense. Draco breathes in at the same moment Potter does, and it's as if the world has shifted, shrunk to the foot between them. Less, even, Draco realises. He can see the stubble on Potter's jaw, the way Potter's throat moves when he swallows. There's a smudge on the bottom of Potter's glasses, and behind the smooth lenses Potter's eyelashes are dark and unbearably long. And then Potter's lips part, and there's a soft huff, warm and gentle that crosses between them, and Draco inhales, breathes in Potter's breath, letting it waft across his mouth.

He stills. Potter does too.

And just when Draco thinks it will finally end, thinks this spell holding him will break, will shatter, will fall away, Potter leans in and kisses him.

It's not at all what Draco was expecting, and it takes him a moment to figure out what's happening. His mouth moves against Potter's, ever so slowly, opening up to Potter's kiss, and Potter's hands cup his face, heavy and hot against Draco's cheeks, and oh, Potter smells brilliant, like cloves and juniper, and he tastes even better, a faint sweetness that slides across Draco's tongue.

Draco's body responds to Potter's touch. Arches against Potter, and Draco's hands settle against Potter's hips. This is everything he's wanted. Everything he's dreamed. Potter's lips are soft and warm, and Draco can't think of anything except the feel of Potter against him, heavy and hot and perfect in every way.

Until his common sense kicks in.

He's kissing Harry Potter. In their children's nursery school. With teachers and parents outside. With his child waiting. Potter's boys stood outside.

What the bloody hell is he doing?

Draco breaks the kiss and steps back. His breath is coming a bit unevenly. Potter's face is unguarded, his mouth slightly open. Draco drags his fingers across his swollen mouth, his anxiety rising in his chest, clawing at him. No. He can't do this. Not with Potter. Not here.

"Malfoy--"

Draco shakes his head, pushes Potter's hands away. "No," he manages to say, and how that word rips at his heart. He draws in a ragged breath. Stares at Potter, at the stunned look on Potter's face. "Just. No. I can't. Not with you."

And he turns away. Behind him, he hears Potter say, "Wait. I'm sorry. I should have asked--"

Draco's hand shakes; he presses it against his chest. His heart gallops, so loudly that Draco's certain the entire assembly room must hear it, like that tell-tale heart in Poe's story, giving him away.

He wants Potter. He wants that kiss. He wants to turn back to Potter, to go to him, to let Potter have him in any way Potter wishes. Because Draco is that pathetic. Slag, he says to himself, and when Potter reaches out for him, Draco pulls away. He can't be held responsible if Potter got the wrong idea. And trust the Gryffindor idiot to just lean in and kiss him, with never a by-you-mind or thought for what could happen if anyone saw.

Draco's furious with Potter. Utterly. He's angry with him for not asking, he's angry with him for being too bold, too brash. He's angry with him for assuming that just because they're both gay, Draco wants him.

And if he's very honest, Draco's angry with Potter for being right.

"Don't," he says to Potter, from the shadows of the stage. His voice shakes, and he hates himself for that. "Please don't."

Without waiting for a reply, Draco strides from the room. He doesn't trust himself, and he can't afford to be made a laughingstock. Not when everything is apparently going so well.

His breaths come quickly, sharply as he walks across the stage into the light. He blinks when it hits his eyes, and they sting with the brightness. His heart is racing, and his chest feels hollow. He's running entirely on adrenaline, on fear really. He feels a bit numb, and very, very confused.

Draco can't afford confusion right now.

His son is waiting for him, sitting quietly between Ava and Al in the assembly room seats, Uri and Jamie on the floor in front of them, putting on their trainers, as Uri babbles about the candles and about a beetle and about Hanukkah tomorrow and playing, Jamie just nods and holds his trainered foot up for Pansy to tie his laces.

Pansy looks up at Draco. Takes in his flushed face, his shaking hands. "Draco, is everything quite all right?"

Draco can't look at her, can't lie to her face. "Yes. I'm just tired." He hears Potter come out behind him, catches the quick glimpse Pansy throws Potter's way, the soft intake of her breath as the Knut drops, as Draco's deepest secret becomes so painfully obvious.

"Tomorrow," Draco says, before she can ask. Pansy reaches for his arm, squeezes it lightly, and then Draco pulls away. He puts on his coat, takes Scorpius by the hand, and walks to the Floo like a puppet controlled by someone else.

And around him, his carefully constructed world crashes into a thousand tiny pieces.

#All I Want For Christmas (Is For You To Stop Talking)#femmequixotic #noeon #Drarry #Drarry fic rec #fic rec #Drarry fanfiction #Drarry squad #Drarry smut #at the end honestly #Carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's personal Bookmarks #Long post

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xx-thedarklord-xx · 5 years

Text

Thine Enemy is Sweet (Part 9)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

Harry Potter to Sue the Ministry with Ex-Death Eater Boyfriend?

Harry Potter, the Wizarding World hero, has a pension for Slytherin men it would seem. Last night, lead reporter for the Daily Prophet, two-time award-winning Journalist of the Century, Melanie Turner, spotted Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy out on a date in Hogsmeade.

Malfoy was adamant about suing the Ministry over a perceived slight against Potter. With the lack of integrity he possesses, one would not be surprised if he did. With the new policies and procedures the Ministry has in place, and their strict attitude towards change, Malfoy’s hatred for the Ministry shows his true character.

Reliable inside sources have given insight into the unlikely duo. The start of their relationship has not been revealed but they seem to be relatively comfortable with each other. Hands had groped, lips too loose and smiles far too happy to be anything but real were seen.

Potter has never been too bright, but some would wonder what he sees in Malfoy. Especially when one considers the type of disposition the latter has. Opposites attract, but we are all thinking the same thing; should they?

Will Potter sue the Ministry alongside his troubled boyfriend? How serious is their relationship and will it last? Neither Malfoy nor Potter was available for commentary so only time will tell.

More speculations on page 3

“Never been bright?” Harry scowled at the paper before he balled it up and threw it behind him on the floor. Turner was up there with Skeeter as his least favourite reporters. The Quibbler and the Daily Prophet had arrived together, both foreboding enough to make him paranoid. He wasn’t sure what to expect with Luna’s report but knowing her, it would surely be an experience.

Harry Potter Taken in by Burrowing Amares and Fallen in Love?

Reports have been made that Harry Potter, most sought after Chocolate Frog Card owner, has recently fallen in love. The sources cited in those reports is none other than the Quibbler’s very own Luna Lovegood, Quibbler Journalist of The Year six times running.

It’s unclear whether Burrowing Amares were spotted with the happy couple or not. Due to the nature of the energy they release into the atmosphere, the chances are high. The Ministry refuses to admit the validity of the intelligent creatures but their knowledge on the matter has been widely documented as sources inside the Department of Mysteries have alluded to over the years with subtle gestures and exaggerated winks.

What the Ministry refuses to admit is, unfortunately, a list that would be too long to report on. Dacken Malfoy can attest to that if the rumours are true.

Will the Ministry ever admit the existence of Burrowing Amares? Is the Minister a front for Muggle Aliens? Has Dacken fallen in love? What really is the cause of love outside emotional dependency?

Find out more on Page 5

Harry tried not to find it funny, he did, but, “Dacken.” Malfoy was not going to like that.

The sound of someone coming down the stairs had him leaning back in the kitchen chair to watch Malfoy enter the room.

“I’m going to kill Lovegood,” Malfoy grumbled, hair dishevelled, clothes the still mess from the night before. There was a red mark along his cheek, as if his hand had been pressed against his skin the whole night.

“Right after I kill this headache I have,” he finished with a yawn, arms stretched above his head. Harry was distracted by the way his hair stood up; it was almost like looking in a mirror.

“I don’t know, Dacken, I didn’t see anything wrong with the article.”

“I’ll kill you too.”

Harry didn’t doubt it, not with the way the temperature in the room spiked and Malfoy’s jaw tightened. It was chilling but way too amusing to back down.

“You don’t look that threatening to me, Malfoy.” He leaned forward across the table to where Malfoy was standing, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed.

“You’re lucky I need you,” Malfoy said as he plopped down on a chair with little to no grace. “Or I wouldn’t put up with you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

There was silence as Malfoy’s brows furrowed. “Why? Did we do something last night? I think I’d have remembered that, I remember everything else.” He cocked his head to the side and his forehead wrinkled. “My arse doesn’t hurt, so if we fucked you might need some Murtlap Essence, my girth can hurt.”

“No we didn’t—wait—Murtlap Essence? Just how big are you?”

“Ah, so we didn’t fuck.” Malfoy picked up the Daily Prophet, one side of his mouth quirked upward.

“No, really,” Harry pressed, far too curious for his own good. “How big—”

“You want to find out?” Malfoy peered over the top of the paper, eyes twinkling in a way that was new. “I can show you.”

“Erm,” Harry flushed as he looked down at the table.

“I promise I’ll bite.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

“What saying?” Malfoy frowned. “I’m into biting.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, well in that case, no.”

Malfoy pointedly raised the paper until it covered his face in what Harry assumed was a silent snub.

“I hate Turner,” Malfoy grumbled before he began muttering too quietly for him to hear.

“I imagine a lot of people do.”

“I can’t believe I threatened to sue the Ministry.”

“It was very sweet of you,” Harry said with a straight face as Malfoy bent one side of the paper over to glare at him.

“You really do want to protect me,” finished Harry with fluttering lashes and a hand on his cheek.

“I will break up with you.”

“Draco—”

“Whoa,” Malfoy held up a hand before he stood up to rummage through Harry’s fridge. “We are not on a first-name basis.”

“You were the one who said you weren’t sure if I knew it.”

“Sarcasm, please learn the definition.”

When Malfoy shut the fridge with a grimace and settled on toast, Harry pushed away from the table and caged him against the wall.

“I know the definition,” Harry whispered, pleased to see the surprise on Malfoy’s face. “How could I not around you?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“That I never know what’s real with you.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed briefly before they widened in a way that made Harry uneasy. Hands slowly—far too slowly to not be calculated—trailed up Harry’s stomach up to his neck where they intertwined tightly.

“That’s the beauty of liars,” Malfoy leaned up till his lips were pressed against Harry’s ear. “The truth is often laid out, but no one can ever see it.”

“Which one of us is supposed to be the liar?”

“Oh,” Malfoy exhaled deeply, the sound almost delighted. “Now that’s interesting.”

A bite to his ear had Harry jerking forward in surprise.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes biting.”

The warning sound of his floo went off but Harry’s focus was solely on Malfoy. He tried not to think of what else Malfoy would bite.

“You can call me by my name when I get what I want.”

He knew it was bait, he did, but he couldn’t help but ask, “And what do you want, Malfoy?”

The slow creepy grin on Malfoy’s face and the way his arms tightened around Harry’s neck was concerning.

“I want what I deserve.” Malfoy tilted his head back, lips moving along Harry’s skin in the process. “I want more than I deserve. I want everything. I want it all.”

“I might—” He shivered when Malfoy nipped at his throat. “I might be the saviour, but I can’t get you all that.”

“Then don’t call me by name, Potter. That’s an intimacy you haven’t earned.”

“Earned,” Harry repeated, the sound far more breathless than he intended.

“You like earning things?” The grin he had previously turned into a smirk and Harry definitely regretted saying anything. “You like being good?”

Harry tilted his head away from Malfoy’s wandering lips. He wasn’t going to respond, nope, not happening.

“I think you’re already good.”

“Fuck.”

A low chuckle, more air than anything could be heard, and it had Harry closing his eyes. Fuck Malfoy.

“You like praise,” Malfoy stated confidently, as if it were a fact. “I can work with that.”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “You will not.”

The creepy grin was back, and it was ominous in the way that Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

The whoosh of the floo had him turning his head only for Malfoy to grip his chin and force it back.

“Maybe I’ll have you begging for it,” Malfoy’s teeth scraped his bottom lip and he wasn’t sure if it was a tease or if it was on purpose. “Maybe on your knees, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Yes, yes, he would. “No, I don’t—"

“Ah, fuck, not this shite again.”

The sound of Ron’s voice had Harry jumping slightly but he couldn’t move, not with the grip Malfoy had on him.

“Can you two do that elsewhere?”

“It’s my flat, Ron,” Harry said, eyes still on Malfoy as he tried to appear unaffected. The small quirk of Malfoy’s lips let him know he had failed.

“It’s not very hospitable,” Dean argued, and Harry knew that meant the rest of them were there too.

When Malfoy’s hands went lax, Harry was able to step back. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“What do you mean what are we doing here?” Neville asked as he sat on the couch, knees tucked underneath him.

“Where’s Finnigan?” Malfoy asked as he stepped beside Harry and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“I told him we’d meet him at his house.” The satisfied smile on Neville’s face was enough to have Harry snorting.

The sound of the floo went off and out came a very frustrated Seamus.

“I want it to be known that I have the worst friends.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Ron asked, tone aghast. “We told you we’d meet here.”

“Liar,” Seamus pointed an accusatory finger at Ron before rounding on Neville. “I just know it was your idea.”

“It’s what you get for smoking my last batch of Belladonna leaves. You know how poisonous it is.”

Finnigan waved his hand back and forth. “I stippled most of that out.”

“That would still leave hallucinations,” Malfoy said. “Possibly leave you delirious too.”

“That’s the best part,” Seamus argued. “No one smokes Belladonna for their good health.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Ron interjected, frown on his face and hands on his hips. “Your last check-up was pants, I told you to lay off—”

“Oh Merlin,” Seamus groaned as he collapsed on top of Neville. “I didn’t come here for another lecture.”

“What did you come here for?”

Seamus lifted his head to stare at Harry incredulously. “What do you mean? You told us to come.”

“What? No, I didn’t—”

They all turned toward Malfoy with varying degrees of annoyance.

“Now that you are all here,” Malfoy clapped his hands together. “How about we continue with the plan?”

“You could have just sent your own Patronus and we’d still have showed up,” Dean said with a yawn as he too sat on Neville.

“Oi, get off me!”

“There’s no fun in that, Thomas.”

“Can we make it quick?” Ron asked as he checked the time. “I’ve got a nap scheduled in about a half-hour.”

“No.”

“I don’t like you.”

“I’m sure that will keep me up at night,” drawled Malfoy as he rested his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“You know what’ll keep me up at night?” Seamus asked, still on top of Neville. “What the bloody hell are you wearing?”

Harry could feel the heat of Malfoy’s cheeks and he hated that it was endearing.

“My students helped style him.”

“Certainly looks like it.”

“I’ll have you know,” Malfoy sneered. “That bright colours are in this year.”

“Are they though?” Ron’s eyes were squinted, and doubt was all over his face.

“I’ll be sure to let my students know,” Harry said as he arched his brows. “They happen to adore Malfoy.”

“Did he confund them?”

“Finnigan, I will kill you.”

“Can we move this along?” Dean talked over whatever comeback Seamus came up with. “I don’t have any naps scheduled but I do have to be at the museum later.”

Harry cleared his throat when it looked like Malfoy wanted to keep arguing.

“Alright, Weasley, would you still happen to be a part of your wife’s Equality Movement?”

Ron narrowed his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Yeah, didn’t know you knew about it.”

“Every pureblood does,” Malfoy mumbled. “Usually, it’s made fun of in private.”

“Charming.”

“Your job for the party is recruitment.”

Ron looked around the room before he theatrically cleaned out his ears. “Pardon? You want me to recruit bigoted blood purists into an Equality Movement?”

“We both know no one will sign up for it.”

“Right, so why bother? Why waste my time?”

“You are a distraction,” Harry said with a little laugh. Malfoy was smart. “You get to harass them about their choices while we have the rest of you do something else.”

“Excellent,” Ron’s grin was bordering on a smirk and he almost worried for the people at the party.

“What about me?” Dean asked. “I can’t just be the person who brings in the painting.”

“I have something special for you, Thomas.”

“Oh God, why does that make me nervous?”

Malfoy pulled out his wand as he fished out a small box from his robe pocket. With a swish of the wand, the box expanded up to Harry’s thighs.

“What the hell is in that? It’s massive.”

“This is where I keep Bandit.”

“Bandit?” Neville asked warily as he clung to Seamus and Dean. “It sounds foreboding.”

The box required a key and Harry had to agree with Neville. What on earth needed to be locked in?

“Bandit isn’t as sweet as he looks, so don’t let him fool you.”

The warning had Harry taking several steps away.

“I keep him in here for his safety. The box is charmed on the inside, so no worries, he has all he needs.”

“But what exactly is he?”

Ron had his wand already raised and his other hand covering half of his face. Harry was tempted to pull out his wand too until Malfoy lifted a baby Niffler above his head.

“Oh, he’s so cute,” Harry cooed. “I want to pet him.”

“No,” Malfoy moved Bandit away from Harry. “I wouldn’t advise that. He doesn’t like people to see him.”

“See him?” Dean asked, head barely peeking over the top of the couch. “What do you—”

Bandit’s whole body started to change, and Harry couldn’t help but walk closer to investigate. The brown of his fur started to lighten in colour until it was a pale white that blended in with the wall.

Malfoy lowered Bandit to his stomach, where he cradled the Niffler in his arms and they all watched Bandit shift colours to match the gaudy robes. If one didn’t know that Bandit was there, it would be hard to spot.

“I’ve never seen a Niffler like that,” Neville pushed Seamus and Dean off him to the floor. “What happened to him?”

“He’s a special breed,” Malfoy tightened his hold on Bandit and Harry could have sworn he heard a low purring. “I got him off a Magical Breeder.”

“Which is illegal,” Ron threw his hands in the air. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I saved him, okay?” Malfoy sneered “He was bred with a Fire Chameleon and no one wanted him.”

“With good reason,” Neville backed away towards Ron. “Fire Chameleon’s are outlawed in Europe.”

“Bandit only hurts people I tell him to.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Ron said, eyes on Malfoy’s arms. “Honestly it makes your case worse.”

A low whine left Bandit before a puff of fire left his mouth, a mouth that they couldn’t see.

“Ahh,” Dean was already on the floor, but the fire caused him to rush backwards so fast he got tangled in Ron’s legs.

“Oh, he’s hungry.”

“For what?” Seamus asked curiously from his spot on the ground.

“Same as all Nifflers,” Malfoy said slowly, as if Seamus was stupid. “Plants are his favourite.”

“I’ve got a little garden out back,” Harry said, trying to ignore the way Ron looked between them with narrowed eyes. “He can find something to eat out there.”

“You hear that, Bandit?” Malfoy whispered. “Food is outside.”

When Malfoy lowered Bandit to the ground, Dean let out a little whimper. Bandit changed to a light brown to match the hardwood floor before he zoomed to the back door where Harry opened it wandlessly.

“Hagrid would like him,” Harry mused. “Exactly the kind of animal he’d enjoy.”

“Oh really?” Malfoy asked, eyes a little brighter than before.

“That’s not a good thing,” Ron argued. “Any animal Hagrid is interested in, is one that should be kept at arm’s length.”

The light left Malfoy’s eyes and Harry kind of missed it.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with Bandit?” Dean asked, still on the ground and behind Ron’s legs. “And why me?”

“You, Thomas, are going to let him loose inside the party.”

“What?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“He’s a Fire Chameleon!”

“He’s kind of cute though,” Seamus said, eyes on where Bandit had left. “In a dangerous sort of way.”

“See,” Harry pointed at Ron. “Hagrid would say the same thing.”

“That’s not helping, Harry.”

“Shut up all of you,” Malfoy yelled. “Tell me something. If any of you sorry lot were Aurors, and we steal the ring, how easy is it to come up with suspects?”

“I almost became an Auror,” Ron grumbled.

“But,” Malfoy continued, ignoring Ron completely. “If everyone there is stolen from, there is no obvious target. No one will know that Astoria was our main mission.”

“Wait,” Harry shook his head. “I didn’t want to steal from Greengrass in the first place and now you want us to steal from everyone.”

“They’ll get it back,” Malfoy shrugged. “Mostly.”

“What do you mean mostly?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, and do I get any of it?” Seamus asked curiously before Neville smacked him on the back of the head.

“Ow, you fucking—” Neville smacked him again and the two began pawing at each other. “I’m just saying, I’m not getting paid a whole lot and I could use—”

“No, Seamus,” Neville argued. “We aren’t keeping their shit.”

“I don’t like this,” Harry said. And he didn’t. It made him uncomfortable. Part of him still believed that if he talked to Greengrass, she might just give him the ring.

“Well, you are the one who wanted the ring back, you get to pay the price.”

Malfoy’s eyes were cold and familiar. They could talk about it later; he wasn’t done with the discussion at all.

“Can Bandit steal without anyone noticing?” Dean asked as he stood up. “People are going to notice a fire breathing Niffler.”

“Not with the Chameleon blood in him,” Malfoy shook his head. “He doesn’t like to be stared at, the chameleon part of him kicks in on instinct the moment he is uncomfortable.”

“That only covers one aspect,” Neville argued. “Does he have experience stealing?”

Malfoy’s lips twitched and Harry was already concerned. “He might come to work with me.”

“You steal from your patrons?” Seamus’ mouth parted.

“Only the ones that refuse to tip my girls and are less than polite.”

“That’s—”

“Illegal, yes I know,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve established by now that I’m not the best morally.”

“Have you ever had morals?”

Malfoy shot a stinging hex at Ron who yelped and rubbed his buttocks.

“Anyways,” Malfoy glared when Ron opened his mouth. “Bandit can do it and he can do it without getting caught. I’ve trained him to take more than just shiny things, he can wipe them clean.”

“Well, that’s just lovely. Remind me to never go to your club.”

“Who said you’d be allowed in Weasley? My club has standards.”

“Okay,” Harry held up his hands when Ron raised his wand. “That’s enough of that.”

“If Ron is the distraction, Seamus is the entertainment and Dean releases Bandit, what’s my job?”

“Ah,” Malfoy’s brows wiggled. “You, Longbottom, are very important.”

Harry rolled his eyes when Neville puffed out his chest.

“The Party Planner’s chosen Herbologist company has conveniently fallen through and they are in need of some plants.”

“How convenient?” Ron crossed his arms.

Malfoy’s nose scrunched up with how wide his smirk was. “I have my ways.”

“Merlin, you are scary,” Seamus mumbled. “It’s hot, but scary.”

“What kind of plants?” Neville’s thumb rubbed his chin. “I mainly grow plants used in potions and sell them to Apothecaries. I have my own personal greenhouses but not a whole lot for a party.”

“I want plants that stink.”

Ron’s forehead wrinkled and Seamus’ head tilted to the side as a silence broke out.

“What?” Neville snorted. “You want me to provide ones that smell?”

“The stronger the smell, the better.”

“The only plant I can think of that would smell bad enough is Witch’s Ganglion. It’s usually found in swamps. I have a few in stasis charms for the wealthier clients, the ones that refuse to travel to get it.”

“Perfect.”

One of Neville’s eyes was closed as his teeth sucked on his bottom lip. “The problem is the climate difference causes the bulb of the plant to wither. Without a stasis charm, the bulb of the plant will release fumes that are bad for the body.”

“I know,” Malfoy said, face emotionless and tone serious. “I need it.”

“You want to poison them?” Dean asked aghast.

Neville waved a hand back and forth. “The effects of the fumes are mild. Only repeated exposure is worrying. I’d say the worst anyone at the party gets is a headache.”

Headache. Harry frowned, something was niggling at the back of his mind, but he wasn’t quite getting it. When he looked up to see Malfoy’s eyes boring into him, he felt like he should know.

“Which is why I also want you to provide peppermint plants.”

“Oh,” Neville’s shoulders relaxed. “That will ease most of the effects of the plant.”

If the peppermint would counteract the Witch’s Ganglion, then why have either plants in the first place? Something else was happening, only Harry couldn’t figure it out. But the way Malfoy was still staring at him made him want to find out.

“That’s all I have for you today,” Malfoy said, eyes still on Harry. “Any questions? No? Good, now leave.”

“Actually,” Seamus piped up with a mouth full of whatever liquid he carries in his flask. “I still am not sure about what I’m supposed to do for the entertainment.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Never said I would be.”

“Some master planner you are,” Seamus grumbled as he made his way to the floo. “I have to do everything around here.”

“Merlin help us if you ever plan anything,” Neville said, stepping behind Seamus in the fireplace.

“That hurts, Neville. I’ve never been anything but kind to you.”

“Ha! That’s—”

Whatever it was, Harry wouldn’t be able to hear it as the floo turned green and the two of them were gone.

“You coming, Ron?” Dean asked over his shoulder, hand holding some floo powder. “We can stop at yours first if you’d like.”

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“I’m going to go get Bandit,” Malfoy said with a curious glance towards Ron. “Be back in a minute.”

It wasn’t until the door shut behind Malfoy that Ron leaned against the fireplace and looked at Harry.

“Weird that Malfoy didn’t know you had a garden, huh?”

Harry looked at the ceiling as he debated what to do. He could admit the truth, but he didn’t want to hear the lecture, didn’t want to hear the reasons why it was all a bad idea.

“I spend a lot of nights at his place.”

“Do you?” Ron didn’t seem to buy it at all. “Not to mention Bandit came as a surprise to you.”

“Bandit is new, he would have told me eventually.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Is it supposed to?”

Ron huffed, head shaking and hands gripping his robes. “I’m trying to understand this; I am but it makes more sense that it’s all made up than to think you’d actually be with him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s Malfoy.”

“Yeah, the same Malfoy who is my boyfriend, my partner.”

“I don’t want to be rude—”

“Really? Could have fooled me,” Harry closed his eyes as his fingers clenched. He didn’t want to argue with Ron. Not over Malfoy. Not when he was lying, not when the whole situation was a mess.

“You don’t know him, Ron. Perhaps that’s on me, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t question my choices.”

“You like him?” Ron asked seriously. “You truly like him?”

Harry looked at his feet as he thought about Malfoy. There was so much to Malfoy that he was wary of, so much that he didn’t trust. But there was a lot that was appealing, a lot that made him curious and made him stop to think.

Malfoy was a prick, an egotistical one who thought of himself first. But he was also a prick who offered to help Harry with funding, one who was kind to his students and wasn’t afraid to make a fool of himself around them. He was a prick who drunkenly declared to sue the Ministry on his behalf and one that kept smiling into his skin. Malfoy was a whole lot of contradictions. There was a lot Harry didn’t like but then there was—

“Yeah, I think I might.”

Harry jumped when he felt an arm circle his waist and his cheeks pinked in embarrassment. Fuck. Malfoy was never going to let it go.

“I think it’s time you go, Weasley.”

“Harry—”

“It’s alright,” Harry peered up at Ron. “I get it.” He could tell Ron wanted to say something, possibly even apologize but Ron glanced at Malfoy before throwing in floo powder.

Ron took all the noise with him and all that remained was silence. One that was stifling.

“So,” Malfoy began with way too much enjoyment. “I caught the end of that discussion.”

“Drop it.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

Harry turned to look at Malfoy and a small squeak left Bandit the moment Harry looked at him too and now the Niffler was the exact shade of Malfoy’s robes.

“You like me?” Malfoy teased, a small quirk of lips drawing his attention.

“How do you know I wasn’t just saying that to get Ron off my back?”

“I don’t.” Malfoy began to pet Bandit and a small purr could be heard. “Could be both or neither for all I know.”

“And yet you are cocky already.”

“That’s me,” Malfoy’s brows wiggled. “Always cocky and confident.”

“You’re wrong, I don’t like you.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.” Malfoy’s eyes were bright.

“I don’t know if I care.”

Malfoy took a step forward and Harry tried not to be concerned about Bandit.

“Harry.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “Why do you get to use my name, but I don’t get the same courtesy?”

“Do you want me to stop, Harry?” Malfoy grinned when Harry said nothing. Loud breathing could be heard, and he knew it was Bandit, the breath was hot on his arms, far too hot to be normal.

“We can do fair,” whispered Malfoy. “I’m not good at it, but if you don’t want me to, I’ll respect that.”

With Malfoy inching even closer, words were lost on him.

“Is that what you want?” Malfoy prompted. “You want me to stick to surnames?”

Did he?

“No,” Harry admitted. “I don’t.”

“Harry,” Malfoy breathed, eyelashes glittering in the sunlight.

“Stop that.”

“You like it.” A small smile accompanied the statement and Harry didn’t want it.

“Maybe.”

“I want to know what else you like.”

“Maybe you’ll have to earn it,” Harry repeated Malfoy’s words back to him. He had to look away from the knowing glint in Malfoy’s eyes.

“I think I just might do that,” Malfoy said before he shrunk Bandit’s box and put it away. “How about you come see me sometime at the club.”

Harry arched a brow. “You want to spend more time with me.”

“Maybe,” Malfoy shifted Bandit to his hip before making his way to the fireplace. “Or maybe I want to give you a private dance.”

Harry choked in surprise and all he heard was laughter as a flash of green signalled Malfoy’s departure.

What did he get himself into? And did he even want to get out?

---

Hello! It’s been a bit longer than I’d have liked but I am here bringing you a 5k word update so there :P The beautiful and amazing @snortinglaughter was my beta. I love her.

I hope you liked Bandit, he stole my heart the moment I thought of him and I just adore him to pieces

I’m hoping the tag list works just fine, I am just copying and pasting it over.

@biconpotter @ive-been-found @h2octopuppy @watermystic78 @its-soupin-time @a-couchpotato @meghansm @portiamarie02 @irishbeings @lilyinthebreeze @rumpixel @idgiedw @tommydarlin @dolewhipdreamer @trans-nik-sion @mistydeath @yourspookysoul @bubbleblower @renas @silver-mercurials @puffbts @jasmine-tw @victorieinthesmallthings @gens-venturia @unicornhair-core @orkedad @juju092118 @pilesofriles @drarryybabyy @sweetlialia @bughug1999 @thesimplethingsaresweet

#Drarry #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #Fake Dating #Enemies Fake Dating #Ron Weasley #Neville Longbottom #Seamus Finnigan #Dean Thomas #Flirting

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yinyangswings · 4 years

Text

Nightmares

Here’s one fanfiction I made for Love & Legends/Harry Potter crossover. My MC in August’s route was named Cassidy. So that’s what her name is here.

She was 12 around the time frame of the Second Wizarding World. Enjoy.

--------------

Cassidy barely managed to stop the yawn as she and August entered their room. The day had been long, though she should have gotten used to it.

Still, even August looked tired.

So maybe that was why she was so tired.

“You’re just looking for an excuse because your exhaustion is something else, mudblood.” A voice whispered in her head. Of course that came out whenever the nightmares did

“Cassidy?”

She jumped slightly turned, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah?” She asked

“Are you alright?”

She blinked and looked at August, who was pulling his shirt off, glancing at her in curiosity. Her cheeks turned red.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” She said, sticking her tongue out. “Someone decided to up the training.”

He flushed.

“It was not that bad.”

“Sure, sure.” She teased. He rolled his eyes, kissing her forehead. Her eyes closed, relaxing in his hold.

“Are you sure you have been sleeping well?” He asked and she chuckled softly.

“I’m fine, really.” She promised. “It’s just training. Unlike you, my previous lifestyle didn’t have much of this.”

“Alright.” He said after a moment and she grinned. Getting ready for bed took little time and soon she was curling up under the blankets, laughing when he pulled her to him. She looked up, staring at him in confusion.

“I love you.” He said and she smiled, and pecking him lightly on the lips, curling up to his side.

“Love you too.”

He smiled, kissing her lightly before relaxing into the covers. She curled up to him, listening to his heartbeat against her cheek, praying he could not hear hers.

She didn’t know how long she lay there as she listened to his breathing slow and quiet with the tendrils of sleep taking hold. When it felt long enough for him to have fallen asleep, she slid out from his hold for a moment and grabbed her wand.

“Silencio.”

After a few seconds she tested it and when she heard nothing, put the wand back onto the nightstand and curled up, letting sleep take over finally.

She hoped no dreams would come, but she knew it was never going to be that easy.

---------------

She blinked and looked around her heart hammering into her throat as she recognized the room, the decor of a young girl not understanding her life was about to change. She shook her head.

It was ridiculous. This had already happened. She was a woman now. An adult. This was in the past.

Yet as she heard footsteps get closer to the door, it was the child that shook.

Suddenly hands dragged her out of bed, the world blurred, softened by memory as they pulled her down a warped hall into the living room. Yet her parents kneeling in front of her was crystal clear, wands pointed at their heads.

“Choose.”

“I can’t.”

“Choose.”

“I can’t!!!”

“Fine.”

She opened her mouth to beg, to take her instead. They were young, they could have other kids. Other non-magical kids. They could forget her. They-

But a sickly green glow filled the shadows, the sounds of their bodies hitting the ground echoed in her ears, and her scream filled the space.

Then her home became bars of a cage, a chain around her neck as a leash and collar, a man’s laughter echoing as she curled up, trying to ignore it. Trying to forget.

She was jerked up by her hair, a mask staring at her. Mocking her.

“Stupid little mudblood. Stupid, stupid. Stealing our magic. Think you could get away. Think you could be sent to another world and you’d be safe?”

She blinked and looked up in surprise. What? He had never said-

She looked down and saw she was an adult now, looking around in panic.

No...no...this wasn’t a memory...this wasn’t real...this-

But all reasonable thoughts stopped as a form appeared prone in the shadows, his sword laying nearby, eyes vacant. Lifeless. She felt her legs give out and then she reached for him, but was unable to reach him.

She screamed.

“AUGUST!!”

Her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring at the ceiling, arms reaching up in a desperate reach to grasp the nightmare. Blinking several times, she sat up and looked around the room, before sighing weakly, rubbing her brow.

Not Earth. She wasn’t in England. There weren’t Death Eaters around every corner waiting to kill her. Sure there were the Witch Queen’s soldiers, but she could handle those.

She wasn’t in Chicago, but she was home.

Safe. She was safe.

However she couldn’t stop jumping when a hand captured hers and she looked up to see August staring at her, eyes alight with concern. Eyes…that weren’t remotely sleepy looking. She frowned, and concentrated, dispelling the charm quickly.

“August?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m...fine…” She said, blushing brightly. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“I never went to sleep.”

“...yes you did. I literally watched…” she trailed off in realization and frowned. “Wait, did you fake falling asleep?”

August’s silence was answer enough and she frowned. “Okay, why?” She said, crossing her arms. “I told you I was fine.”

“The others have been noticing that you were tiring quicker in the daily activities. And the last few days, I have noticed as well. Despite you reiterating that you were fine, I can tell you are lying. Gods Cassidy, you were having a nightmare moments ago.”

“I’m not allowed to have nightmares?”

“Of course you can. Nightmares occur...however you knew there was a possibility of it before we went to bed, given that you put a spell on yourself so you would not awaken me, which informs me you have done this before and recently. And tonight I witnessed you screaming, yet I could not hear you. And I cannot help but wonder how many times you had been tormented by these nightmares and I lay sleeping beside you unaware.”

She opened her mouth before closing it and looking away.

“It has been happening awhile then.” August said with a sound of hurt in his voice. She shook her head frantically.

“August...it…” she huffed, “The nightmares are just...they’re just replaying old memories. It’s not every time, it’s just been happening a little more recently. That’s all. I didn’t want to bother you. You need your sleep and it…it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” August replied gently, brushing a strand of hair back, before cupping her cheek. “Please?” He asked. She bit her lip, before sighing and leaning against him.

“...I told you once, that when I was younger there was a war in the Wizarding World, right?”

“Yes. It was after you returned from the Witch Queen’s castle.” He replied.

“And I told you that people like me were not well received during that time.”

“You did. I do not completely understand what you meant by that though.”

Cassidy was quiet for a moment. She couldn’t back out...not now.

“...I’m a muggle-born witch. It means neither of my parents had magic, while I do. People like me are...looked down because of our bloodline by purebloods; those who can track their magical lines for centuries. During the war it was worse...those who were in league with a dark wizard named Voldemort hunted down and killed people like me. They were called Deatheaters. Of course, I was only a kid, so while I knew that bad shit was happening...I don’t think my parents or I really realized how bad things were. One night...they found us. It wasn’t hard for them to capture us. I mean I wasn’t even a teenager and my parents had no skills on this. Capturing us was easy enough.”

She could tell that August was looking at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. Softly she felt his hand reach and brush through her hair. It was such a soft gesture, a familiar one that the tears came unbidden, falling down her face.

“...they told me to choose.” She finally said, clearing her throat to dislodge the knot in it. August’s hand faltered for a moment in confusion as she let out a broken laugh, wiping at her eyes. “Because it’s my fault I ‘stole’ this magic…I was told to choose which of my parents was going to live and who was going to die. I was only twelve, and I was going to be one of my parents' executioners.”

“Cassidy…” August said softly.

“And the worst part? I couldn’t. I couldn’t choose who they were supposed to kill. So they killed them both, right in front of me.” She said, the tears sliding down her face. August’s grip tightened on her.

“After that I’m sure they planned on killing me too...but one of the death eaters decided to take me, keep me to study. I guess he wanted to figure out why a girl with parents who didn’t have affiliation with magic was a witch. I was there for a month and barely managed to escape. After the war was done, I went back to school, graduated, started my career as a healer and moved to Chicago. I tried to move past it, but I relive my parents death and that month in the nightmares every now and then. I figured out how to deal with them by placing a silencing charm on me.”

“And you chose to not inform any of us of this? Not inform me of what plagued you at night?”

“What good is it going to be with me bringing up things that were my fault to begin with?”

“That was not your fault.”

“August-“

“It was not.”

She looked up at him.

“You were a child, Cassidy. I cannot say for certain what would have happened had you followed their orders. I was not there to witness it. However, I believe that they had no intention of following through with letting one live. They gave you that option just to hurt you further in the long run.” He said after a moment. She bit her bottom lip.

“I cannot take away those memories or wreak vengeance on those who hurt you, as much as I want to.” August said softly. “However, do not hide this from me. Or the others. We all care for you, and I love you. It is never a burden for us.”

Tears slid down her face, breath hitching in her chest

“Sorry...I’m sorry.” She murmured.

“Do not apologize.” He said softly, kissing her forehead softly. “You had your reasons. However, I am here for you. I will not let you suffer alone anymore.”

She began to sob, covering her mouth to try and stifle the sobs, before she felt August pull her to him, rocking her as she cried. She felt the anxiety, the anger, and the fear that the 12 year old girl held onto to survive years ago breaking away little by little. She wished she could go back in time and tell that girl that it would get better. That she wouldn’t be alone and afraid forever. Instead sleep began to claw its way over her and she fought back a yawn. August pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I believe it is long overdue for some sleep, my love.” He said softly. She let out a weak huff but made no attempt to move away as he maneuvered them back to where they were laying down. He held her close, brushing her hair back.

“You are safe, Cassidy. No one will hurt you while I am here.” He said softly and silently she nodded, curling up to his warmth, closing her eyes. She fell asleep to the lull of his heartbeat pressed against her cheek, his warmth enveloping her again.

When she woke up again, her eyes felt swollen, and ached. She shifted when a hand ran through her hair and she sighed, curling up to August.

“Mornin’.” She murmured, internally groaning at how horrible and croaky her voice sounded.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Better than the last few nights…” she admitted with a soft yawn. “What time is it?”

“I believe it is late morning.”

“Late…” she trailed off, looking at him in confusion. “You wake up early every morning.”

“I do.”

“But you’re here.”

“I am. For one, you were clutching me the entire time, so extracting myself was nearly impossible.” He said with a teasing grin, earning a blush. “Secondly, this is the first night in several days you have slept peacefully for the majority of it. And thirdly, I swore to you no one would hurt you while I was with you. I was not about to abandon you here or awaken you early to train.”

And now she knew her face was on fire.

“You realize the others are going to tease us something fierce.”

August chuckled, brushing a strand of her back behind her ear.

“Let them.” He replied. “Your well being is far more important.”

She looked at him, biting her bottom lip. She then slid onto his lap, straddling him and had to laugh as a light pink dusted his cheeks.

“I love you.” She said softly after a moment and a gentle smile slid across his face, before she bent down and kissed him.

Knights in armor weren’t just in fairy tales, she knew that well enough. But this knight was hers only, and she couldn’t be happier.

#lovestruck #lovestruck story #love and legends #love and legends story #harry potter mention #august falke #jamfics

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yeollieayheehoo · 5 years

Text

Repair

Authors note: So this is a little different than how I usually write, it’s more dialogue. So yeah. Don’t come for me.

Summary: There’s never a right time to confess

Pairing: Jongdae x Reader (female)

Genre: fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: explicit language, drug mention (ya’ll it’s weed.)

Word Count: 2.5K

OneDae [11:32AM] you ridin’ or you rollin’?

Y/N [11:32AM] im always rollin’ wym

OneDae [11:33AM] are you ridin’ with me or are you drivin you fuckin nerd

Y/N [11:33AM] depends

Y/N [11:33AM] do I get to dj or are you gonna play that dubstep trash you call music?

Y/N [11:51AM] did you die?

OneDae [11:54AM] im looking up a facility to put you in

OneDae [11:54AM] cause you’ve clearly lost your mind

OneDae [11:54AM] out here callin my music trash

Y/N [11:56AM] that’s cause it IS trash

OneDae [11:57AM] yall just have no sense when it comes to music. Yall just don’t have an ear for it

Y/N [11:58AM] I literally own an instrument repair shop

Y/N [11:58AM] fight me you fuck

“I would but my mama told me not to hit girls.”

“That’s because you’d lose. What’d you bring me?” You didn’t look up from your work order as Jongdae walked in, the smell of something toasted wafting from the entrance of your shop, filling the front room.

“Pizza, extra mushrooms and bacon. Half with pineapple because it’s clearly the superior topping.”

“Why are you always wrong?” You finished filling out the paper, scribbling your signature at the bottom of it before attaching it to the saxophone case on the back counter.

“I’m not wrong. The rest of you are just lacking in intelligence. Why the fuck do you have 15 conga drums around the corner?” Jongdae paused as he walked around the counter, setting the pizza box down in the middle of it as his attention went to the back room where the drums in question sat.

“Blue Meadows High School dropped them off about 10 minutes before you got here and asked to me to repair the heads. Apparently the percussion director tore half of the hides the last time he tried to repair them.”

“Do you need help with them?”

“I might get you to start soaking the heads while I start on this Yanagisawa.” You leaned back in your stool, stretching your arms above your head before reaching for the pizza box, gesturing with your head to the stool beside you, telling Jongdae to sit.

“When do they need them by?” You shrugged, taking a large bite of the slice of pizza in your hand, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you spoke, “they didn’t give a time frame, but I’ll probably have them done by the end of the week”.

“What else do you have?”

“The Yanagisawa is an A-WO1, it’s got a leak and I’m gonna have to replace all of the key pads and see if it’s that, the drums, I have a guy dropping off a guitar at 2, the Davis kid popped the strings on his cello AGAIN, so there’s that too. That’s it for now.”

“Will his parents ever learn that their kid has no idea what he’s doing?”

“Probably not. You know how private school parents are.” Jongdae rolled his eyes, folding a slice of pizza in half before shoving half of it in his mouth. You chuckled as you stood, walking around him to the back, grabbing the roll of paper towels from your work bench, setting them down in front of Jongdae before eating another slice. There was a comfortable silence as you ate, falling into your weekly routine of almost eight years.

2011

“Wizard?”

“I’m in the back!”

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” You looked up from the piano you were working on, grinning from ear to ear as you got up from your seat. “So get this Chan. I’m working on a ukulele right? My front bell rings, so I get up to go see who it is and it’s this like huge, buffy dude, covered in dust and he goes, ‘do you fix instruments?’ and I say yeah, and he goes ‘me and my crew are cleaning out the old church on Dolson road to renovate it and there’s an old piano in there and my guy John lifted the lid and it’s a J&C, whatever that means, but I wanted to see if you wanted it? I don’t know if it’s worth anything but you could probably make a good penny off of it if you can fix it up’. And of course, you know me, I’ll try to fix anything.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Look that neck was warped and split, I was going to have to make a new one.”

“Finish your story.”

“Oh right. Okay, so I say sure I’ll take a look at it and they’ve already got it loaded up on the back of a truck, so they bring it in and Chanyeol. They just gave me an 1883 J&C Fischers and Sons upright piano. Just gave it to me! They were gonna trash it! So of course I got it loaded on the tilter, and I’m taking out the pins and strings now and hello, who is this?” You pause, just now noticing the unfamiliar face that seems to stick out the side of Chanyeol’s bicep. You grin brightly and offer your hand, pulling it back quickly and wiping it on the leg of your jeans before sticking it back out.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Jongdae.” He took your hand, smooth against the slightly rough skin of your own, but pleasantly warm as he shook it.

“This is Jongdae, a friend of mine from high school. He just moved to town, I was showing him around, thought we’d swing by and see if you wanted lunch, but it looks like you’re busy.”

“No, I could go for food. Let me wash my hands and get the dust off me.” You disappeared into the bathroom, making quick work of the tasks ahead of you, drying your hands on a paper towel as you walked back out, safety glasses hung on their hook next to the door.

You can still hear him ask if you were always this eccentric as you climbed out of Chanyeol’s car when they dropped you back off at your shop. There was something in his voice, the way his tenor words dripped off of his tongue, pitch elevated in wonder, the laugh at the end of his question light, airy and full all at the same time.

You saw Jongdae almost daily after that. You took to each other quickly, finding his lean frame filling your doorway so often that you found it necessary to get him his own chair. He stayed late with you a lot of nights while you repaired that piano, watching you, almost mesmerized as your hands seemed to flow like water, gently caressing each string, carefully sizing the pins for the century-old piano. He helped you refurbish the keys, listened avidly as you instructed him how to sand the body, delicate hands cautious to keep the wood carving against the body as you prepared the instrument for staining. The glossy red-brown stain was his idea. The idea to keep it in your shop was his too, and most days you were glad for it. The idea for him to be the first to play it was your own after learning he could play, a way to repay him for spending so many hours working on it.

“So you never answered my question.” Jongdaes voice pulls you from the past, his head tilted as he stands, taking the leftover slices with him to your fridge in the back office. “Honestly, I’m probably not going. I want to get started on these drums, you know how I am. Will you take the goods with you when you go?”

“I’ll stay too.” You can feel your brows furrow as you frown, shaking your head.

“You should go, how are they gonna get their gas if you don’t?”

Jongdae shrugs, “I’ll text Baek to come get it. I’m not going to leave you here to do all of it by yourself when I know I can help.”

“Yeah but you told me yesterday you’ve been stressing about your apartment search. Go, smoke, relax. We’ll go hunting next week.”

“This is how I relax.” Your hands go to your hips and you raise an eyebrow, looking at Jongdae as if he's lost his mind.

“Dae. Me bossing you around is not relaxing.” Jongdae grins, laughing softly.

“Okay maybe not that bit, but watching you work is. Hearing you play is relaxing. I dunno, just being around you is relaxing, whether we’re in the shop or not. You’re my relaxation.”

There’s something heavy in the air between you at his confession. You figured he liked spending time with you from the way he was always with you, whether it was at home or here, but you would never call yourself relaxing. If anything you were exhausting, especially lately.

You didn’t really have the patience to teach, had turned down multiple music majors who had asked to learn under you. It took Jongdae seven years of watching and observing and proving he could repair something with the mentality that what he was fixing was his. Seven years before you finally decided you would give him a shot and you were surprised he was still around. You could be rude, short-tempered and impatient, something you thought he would have learned by now.

“Dae… I think you need your head checked..” Your voice is soft, demeanor vulnerable.

“They can admit us together, yeah? So what do you want me to do?” He’s the same as he’s always been, cheerful and optimistic Jongdae, like what he said didn’t create an earthquake in him also.

“I guess we need to get the old heads soaking so we can pull the rings from them. It’ll take a few hours. Go ahead and grab the basins from the back room and start filling them with warm water, I’ll start pulling the heads off.”

“I can do that while the basins are filling.”

“Okay then. I’ll start on the Davis kids cello, if you need me let me know.”

Jongdae watches you for a moment, the way your body moves into autopilot, years of routines taking over. It’s stupefying. He could spend hours watching you work, but he’s not here to do that today. Right now he’s here to make your life easier, so he goes to work.

He’s finishing taking off the last head when he hears you play. It’s not pretty at first, though it never is but that’s because you choose to tune by ear. The melody is in dissonance at first, low notes clashing with each other for the spotlight.

He puts the last head in the bin to begin soaking and as he stands, the melody begins to form. He's careful to stay quiet as he leans through the window between work rooms. If he’s being honest with himself, he finds you breathtakingly beautiful like this. Your eyes are closed, head tilted to the left as you focus. The bow looks elegant in your hands, fingers moving gracefully across the strings and frets. It’s almost sensual like they were dancing across a lover's body.

“What are you doing? He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice you’ve stopped playing and are standing in front of him, leaning against the window pane.

“You’re beautiful when you play.” It’s the only thing that comes to his mind and he finds himself delighted in the blush that colors your cheeks.

“Are you saying I’m ugly the rest of the time?”

“Have you seen yourself when you wake up?” He laughs, quickly stepping back when you try to thump his arm.

“Fucker. All the heads soaking?”

“Yup.”

“Cool we can start on the saxophone. You wanna go ahead and remove the pads? I’ll grab the replacements.”

“Hey Y/N.”

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“I don’t know if there’s really ever a good time to say this-“

“-I swear if you tell me you’re quitting after begging me for years-“

“-I like you. I really like you . I don’t know if you know. I’m hoping you know. I’m hoping you like me the same way. I always have to be around you, I don’t know if you’ve realized that yet. It’s like I can’t breathe if I’m not. At first, it was just because you were so different, you were so weird, it was like the strangest breath of fresh air I’ve ever had. And then I watched you as you fixed the piano in the front room and I realized I’ve never been so in love with something the way you are with your work. You put every part of you into an instrument when you repair it, and it gives you those pieces back when you play. It’s like watching a witch cast a spell if I’m being honest with you. You put your soul into repairing something and when you play, it’s like the melody is the instrument returning your soul back to you. And maybe that makes no sense. Maybe I make no sense. Maybe all of this makes no sense and it all sounds insane and it’s not cute or romantic, but we aren’t romantic people. We try to make it through our days and try to find the meaning of life in the smoke we drown ourselves in. All I know is somewhere between us fixing that piano and now, you put your soul in me to fix me and I can feel you everywhere and I want you to feel me too.”

It’s silent after Jongdae stops speaking. He can’t read your face or body, still leaning against the window frame.

“Start on the pads Dae.” He nods, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he feels the adrenaline from his confession fade. “Yeah, okay.”

“And Dae?” He must walk past you to get to the front workbench where the saxophone sits. Your quick to reach out and grab his hand as he walks by you. You pull him back to you, tracing your finger along the lines of the palm of his hand in yours, trying to remember a time when his hands were smoother

“Yeah?”

You have to lean up slightly to press your lips against his. It’s quick, a confession of your own, more than you could say in words. You grin as you realize for once in his life, Jongdae is speechless and you take charge of the opportunity.

“I feel you too Dae. Don’t wait that long to ask me out on a date. Go start on the pads.” You pat your hand against his cheek and walk to the storage room.

“Wait you can’t just do that and then walk away!”

“I just did fuck head. Saxophone. Go.”

#kim jongdae #jongdae #kim chen #chen #exo chen #exo jongdae #exo fluff #exo au #exo fanfic #exo ff #exo fanfiction #exo #jongdae x reader #jongdae x oc #exowritersnet #kpopwonderlandtag #kpoptrashtag #yeollieayheehoo

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littlemisssquiggles · 6 years

Note

Have you considered Ozpin eventually taking over Oscar completely and that perhaps Oscar himself will not be present anymore? According to Oz, their souls will eventually become merged. I know you don't want anything to happen to Oscar, but what if that is what his trial will be during this volume?

I have actually anon-chan. After all that is the looming concern with the merging of the two souls, right? That Ozpin mayend up leeching his way into poor young Oscar's mind like a parasiteand becoming the dominant mind between the two souls.

I've actually wondered if that too is part ofOzpin's cursedilemma or is just the "truenature" of Ozpin---a downside to his reincarnation cycle that he has nocontrol over. I know painting Ozpin as a secretly villainous person on parwith Salem is a common trend amongst the FNDM community but this squiggle meister is still adamant on remaining on the side thatbelieves in the good in Ozpin. He isn’t without his own fair share of faults mademore prominent by his past sins but I’d like to stand with the firm opinionthat every deceitfully wicked action that Oz was forced tomake in his previous lifetimes was not of his own accord. After living forthousands of years fighting off the same evil entity that seems to be as immortal as the shattered moon that orbits Remnant, Iwouldn’t be surprised if Ozpin had been forced to resort to desperate measuresto acquire more fruitful results. He’s not proud of them but…bottom line is, Idon’t think Ozpin is evil. Just flawed.

But in spite of pondering on this, I don't think Ozpineclipsing Oscar will be the case. Why waste establishing Oscar as his owncharacter with his own personality and characteristics that differentiate himfrom Ozpin if the CRWBY Writers' intentions weren't to make him a permanent character?

My firm belief is that either Oscar willinherit Ozpin's power and memories and move on in his place as his fully-realizeddescendant while still retaining his old personality, justreplacing Ozpin on the main cast or...he and Ozpin will become one and bereborn as the Wizard---theperfect culmination of both minds.

As I described in this musing post, the Wizard isboth Ozpin andOscar but neither ofthem at the same time. The Wizard will be his own persondespite being a fusion, like how Garnet from Steven Universe is her owncharacter despite being the fusion of Ruby and Sapphire. Same for other fusionslike Stevonnie.

That being said, I’m also starting to quite likethe idea of the Wizard formally being called Ozcar. I mean it’s fitting since,like the Wizard, the name is an anagram of both Ozpin and Oscar’s namescombined. That way he can still retain the Oz nickname for the allies who knew Ozpin best(like Qrow, Glynda and Ironwood) yet still be called ‘Oscar’ forthose better associated with the precious freckled farm boy(like Ruby).

I wouldn't be surprised if part of Oscar's trial asthe next Ozpin is learning to accept his inevitable fusion with Ozand all that brings. It'll be a strenuous one since Oscar will show resistance,dreading that he might lose himself to Ozpin.

Iactually had this scene in my head where part of Oscar goes on a sort of spiritualjourney where he enters his own mind palace to confront Ozpin. It's kind of similaridea to this art post by @xhikarixyamix butin reverse. In my scene, Ozpin's resting period becomesso serious that Oscar is forced to take a deep dive intohis own mind to venture alone into Ozpin's corner of their shared mentalmindscape---the Labyrinth of Memories.

Insidethe Labyrinth of Memories, Oscar is forced to relive some of Ozpin’s mostdetrimental memories of his past that shaped him into the man he is currentlyincluding the one where he first failed against Salem and was then cursed bythe Brother Gods. Oscar even relives one of his own memories of his childhoodthat he had long repressed---the day he lost his parents (granted that thePines are still canonically alive or not).

Throughoutthe mental excursion, Oscar is pursued and tormented by a mysterious nightmarishentity; who occasionally rises up to thwart Oscar’s progress with obstacles suchas sicking cognitive versions of past foes that Oscar/Ozpin have faced in the past.

Butfortunately for Oscar, even in his own mind, he surprisingly has allies. Toassist him on his quest, Oscar is aided by his predecessor---the memory of the previous Ozpin who was the Headmaster of Beacon we all know andlove from V1-V3.

Ireally love the idea of Oscar getting the opportunity to meet Professor Ozpin,the version of Ozpin fans are most familiar with. However this Ozpin asks Oscar tocall him by his true name since in the Labyrinth of Memories, both him and Oscar,as well as the other Ozpins are all Ozpin. So according to him, to avoid any confusion, it’s bestto call each other by their actual names.

Sincethe previous Ozpins were confirmed to have true names, this is a cool way forOscar to meet them---especially the Ozpin we all know. I’m especially curiousto know what Professor Ozpin’s true name was.

In the original Wizard of Oz story, Oscar is thefirst name in the Wizard’s O.Z.P.I.N.H.E.A.D initials. Since Oscar is the firstname, if I had to guess the true name of the last version of Ozpin, it’d be...Norman.

Ifwe’re only focussing on the Ozpin part of O.Z.P.I.N.H.E.A.D, then Normanrepresents the ‘N’ initial. Not to mention that in the alphabet, the letter ‘N’comes before ‘O’ which fits into the lineage because Norman came before Oscarin the cycle. So for the sake ofthis theory of mine, I’ll refer to the Headmaster Ozpin as Norman.

Normanhelps Oscar traverse the Labyrinth meeting other recognizable Ozpins such asthe King of Vale and even the Old Hermit.

Eventuallythe two are able to find the Ozpin they were looking for---the Original Ozpin---Ozpin the First.He is believed to be locked away in a deeper part of the Labyrinth representingOscar’s subconscious. Ultimately through further guidance from the King of Valeand the Hermit,Norman and Oscar make it to the chamber, but as they arrive, they encounter thenightmarish figure again. While the entity subdues Norman, it reveals its trueform to Oscar.

Andto the farm boy’s astonishment, he is face to face with himself. The Nightmare is a manifestationof all Oscar’s insecurities and fears taking his form only inversed. Basically picture an Ozpin-skinned Oscar Pine with silver hair insteadof black, pale skin instead of his usual tanned complexion and his hazel eyesare replaced with venomous blood red eyes with a pitch black sclera.

AsNightmare Oscar speaks to him, in Oscar’s own voice, he taunts theboy with every deleterious thought that Oscar has thought and felt abouthimself since he met Ozpin. He even taunts him with thoughts from his pastinvolving his parents and family.

Atsome point, Nightmare Oscar even summons a Nightmare Ruby Rose; going so far as to play intoOscar's possible romantic feelings for the huntress by having her counterpartberate the idea of even caring for Oscar. Nightmare Oscar even cuts down Normanin front of Oscar while the predecessor jumped in to shield the farm boy.

Ihave this theory where, just as the Maidens chose themselves, the Ozpin cyclekind of works the same way. A long time ago, back during V5, I shared a theoryabout Ozpin---well Norman Ozpin possiblymeeting a toddler Oscar in his past and unknowingly forming a connection withthe boy which transcended into his next life.

Sowithout realizing it, Norman chose Oscarbecause he sensed something great in him. I know this sounds farfetched butthat’s why it’s an old theory. Anyways, Norman sort of sacrificeshimself to help Oscar and it’s with his aid ,that Oscar comes to therealization that Nightmare Oscar is actually Ozpin the First corrupted byOscar's negative emotions.

Longstory short, Oscar is able to overcome his negative counterpart and Ozpin the First is finally set free. Even Norman turns out to beokay, to Oscar’s relief since after all, he’s a memory and so inside theLabyrinth, no Ozpin is truly gone because they get to live on in their nextheir---Oscar. It also turns out that Nightmare Oscar wasn’t just amanifestation of Oscar's qualms but Ozpin's as well.

Ozpinthe First laments his guilt for the past millennia, apologizing to Norman andOscar---his two recent successors as well as the others thatcame before them, practically breaking down before them both.

We'venever actually seen Ozpin cry before. We've heard him express his guilt but notthrough tears. This is a tortured soulwho’s been forced to not just spend countless of years trying to fix a mistakehe made but also force his way into the lives of other innocent men who had noplace in his never-ending feud with Salem yet they had to die because of him.

Ozpinhas bound to be harbouring some majorly heavy feelings he's been forced to repress.So can I have Ozpin cry in front of Oscar, like inside their mind palace orsomething to that similarity. Let Ozpin feel the full weight of his guilt andshame. Maybe even have Oscar allow Oz to take over so that he can personallyapologize to everyone---Yang and Ruby especially.

IfOzpin is to truly repent for his sins then he needs to come fully clean abouteverything.Confess over a thousand years’ worth of sins and all theheartache that came with them. It’s as Yang made him promise during V5, nomore half-truths and/or lies.

Neverthought I'd say this but let Ozpin cry for V6. Let him be allowed to beemotional, fall on his knees, clutching his chest as the man crumbles under thefull weight of everything he’s been forced to hold back for so many centuries.

Onecommon line that Oz always repeats is ‘I’m sorry’. Now I can understand why Oz sawPyrhha as his guardian. He probably saw a lot of himself in her. That sameselfless pride. If Oz is truly sorry for everything he’s done or has been forced to do or hide or lie about,let him try apologizing a thousand times over in the dirt bawling his eyes out.

It’stime for Ozpin to confess all his sins. Only then will he be saved from furtherdamnation and can start anew. And perhaps then folks will stop painting him as sucha devious individual; both in the show and in the FNDM.

Theman has so much against him. I just would like for V6 to finally clear the air on all of Ozpin's suspicions so that hecan move forward with a clean slate.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2018)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #professor ozpin #oscar and ozpin #rwby volume 6 #rwby theories #Anonymous

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samingtonwilson · 7 years

Text

Relationship Tutor: (7) Critical Mural Analysis

relationship tutor masterlist

Summary: College AU. Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: language

A/N: i really love this chapter-- not sure why. maybe steve? also, the gif below is not mine. if you’re reading this after may 7, 2020-- just know i’ve edited a part about the scrub because we should not be using scrubs on our faces, ladies! chemical exfoliation is the way to go.

The night of Bucky and Natasha’s first date, you spent hours in Steve’s bed— the two of you rolling around, tangling the sheets, and breathing heavily as you finally lay beside one another.

Of course, you were fully clothed, covered in different colors of paint, and the sheets were made of canvas so you could help Steve with a piece he had due for one of his many art classes— but it would be much funnier to tell Sam the first synopsis upon his asking of where you’d been.

You turned your head to laugh with Steve, your orange, yellow, and red paint covered hand set atop your stomach. You pinched the fabric of your equally colorful t-shirt, spreading and blending the paint to form brighter, deeper, and even murkier shades before lifting that same hand to brush the latex swim cap stretched over your hair. “This is getting uncomfortable.”

“Would you rather get the warm colors in your hair?”

You shrugged, wrinkling your nose upon noticing the blue, green, and purple spread on his skin brightening the baby blue of his eyes while the swim cap made him look like some sort of Olympian. “You’re very pretty. Cool colors and all.”

“Yeah? Set me up with Wanda.”

You snorted. “I’m not running a dating service.”

“You should.”

“Like Will Smith in Hitch?”

“Haven’t seen that.”

“Have you seen anything from this century?” you asked, carefully peeling yourself from the canvas to avoid any marks that Steve didn’t approve of. You stepped onto one of the many tarps, fanning your toes out to watch the color bleed over the fabric. “You’re in your twenties, you know, not your nineties. There’s no harm in watching corny popular films, and listening to corny pop music, and paying attention to corny pop-culture.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you wiped your fingers onto the holey black leggings you didn’t mind wrecking. “And liking corny pop art.”

He gasped dramatically, lifting his head to meet your gaze with a playfully offended expression. “Pop art? How dare you?”

“There’s integrity in pop art, Steve.”

“There is,” he agreed with a nod. “I just subscribe to a more… meaningful style.”

“It’s a wonder you manage to stay upright with a head and superiority complex that large,” you quipped, laughing when he shot you a glare. “Relax, I know you’re joking.”

“I still hate pop art,” he added after a moment, managing to stand upright without so much as rustling the sheet.

“Just like you still have a bit of a superiority complex. Only a small bit,” you clarified with a single nod. You yanked the cap from your head and shook your hair out while very loudly sighing in exaggerated relief.

He rolled his eyes as he asked, “Was it really that bad?”

“No, they just always do that in the movies.” With a swirling motion of your index finger, you told Steve to turn around, pulling the stained clothes from your body and changing into the clean pair you’d brought with you.

Once you tied the drawstring at the waistband of your wide leg cotton pants and a plain t-shirt was slipped into place, you cleared your throat and smiled at Steve when he spun to face you. “What’s this for again?”

“Background of a mural I’m doing,” he shrugged with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You sure you didn’t want to shower before changing?”

You nodded, seeing color already smudged onto the cuffs of your sleeves. “I’ll just wash off what I can at the sink and have Sam deal with whatever paint gets onto these later. He’s a wizard with a spray bottle of Oxyclean.”

Steve frowned in consideration and motioned to the bathroom down the hall. “By all means.”

The bathroom was tidier than you expected. You’d never known Steve or Bucky to be particularly messy— they would spend the morning after a party they’d hosted scrubbing everything down and not minding it one bit, they actually kind of enjoyed it— it was just surprising that everything seemed to almost sparkle as soon as you flicked the lights on.

You scrubbed your forearms with a large glob of antibacterial soap, trying to scratch the paint off your palms if you had to. You then snagged the green tea cleanser you remembered Bucky bragging about and squeezed out a little, inhaling the matcha as you spread it over your cheeks and forehead.

The iciness of the cleanser tingled across your face, brushing your cheekbones, chin, and jaw with your fingertips and sighing contentedly. It suddenly made more sense to you why Bucky’s skin always looked like velvet, why the peach that had a tendency to flush constantly glowed.

You leant against the counter and found yourself imagining what he must smell like, if you could catch a whiff of mint and tea when you got close enough to press your lips to his cheek, his jaw, his lips, his—

You shook your head to yourself and patted your skin with the hand towel one last time, your hair smoothed well out of your features which looked refreshed and renewed once you’d stolen a bit of the matching moisturizer, too.

“Steven,” you called while stepping into the hall. “Are we ordering dinner or are you the type to take a tumble in the sheets and not feed a girl afterwards— Bucky.”

His head was tilted as he gaped at you, slate blue eyes wide and hair appearing as if he’d only just combed his fingers through it, left shoe halfway off. His eyebrows came together. He stared silently for almost twenty seconds.

You opened your mouth. “Uh, —”

“You and—” he paused and shook his head. “You and— Steve and you, you and Steve.”

You raised your own eyebrows, leaning your shoulder against the adjacent wall and biting down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “How was your date, Buck?”

He blinked a few times, his mouth fallen open. “My, uh— My— You and Steve.”

“Italian?” Steve asked, emerging from his room in all his blue, green, and purple glory. He smiled at you knowingly. “Or Thai?”

“I’m in the mood for Thai,” you replied, nodding at him once with a sly wink. “Could you call the place on Benton? I want to say it’s called Jasmine?”

“Sure. What’d you want?”

“Veggie pad thai— extra tofu, extra spicy.”

He nodded before sparing Bucky so much as a glance. “You hungry at all, man? Want me to order you—”

“The two of you?” Bucky interjected, looking between you and Steve. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “You two?”

“Buck, I want you to look at Steve,” you said, nodding towards the man you referred to. “Then look at my hands,” you held your palms out and rolled up your sleeves to show the paint you’d missed, “and my ears— which I’m very confused by.”

You grinned when Bucky began to stammer once more. “The jealousy was very cute, though. What was that? Twice in two days? First with Tony, now with Steve.”

“S’not jealousy,” he snorted, shaking his head unconvincingly. “I’m just— I’m attached to the fabric of our group.”

“The fabric of our group?” Steve repeated, holding the phone to his ear as he squinted.

“Yeah, you know, the quilt of our friendship,” Bucky nodded. “Our friendship quilt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right, and our love blanket and kindness parka.”

“Our sensitivity comforter,” Steve added, leaving the two of you in the hall as he ventured back to his room to rattle off your joint Thai food order.

“I wouldn’t fuck Steve without telling you, you know.”

Bucky looked up from his own phone wordlessly.

“You two are practically brothers and you’re one of my best friends. Kind of makes Steve my brother by proxy,” you shrugged with a laugh. “It’d be like incest, or something.”

He quirked a single dark eyebrow. “Does that make you and I like siblings?”

You shook your head with a wrinkled nose. Had the two of you actually been like siblings, your thoughts of how snuggly he would fit inside you would render a need to take yourself to a mental health professional immediately. “You and I— You and I are like husband and wife.”

“Husband and wife?” he echoed, smiling in that soft way that flipped your stomach and ached your chest. “Old married couple?”

“Absolutely. So old and dull, in fact, that your wife is helping you bag a mistress.”

He frowned in consideration and pushed off the wall, walking towards you to seemingly reach his bedroom at the end of the hall. He stopped when his shoulder brushed yours, however, and leant towards you to whisper, “S’a good thing this husband-wife thing is metaphorical.”

You looked at him, your noses close enough to bump together. You could smell the mint and citrus on his skin. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “If we were married, even for fifty years, you’d never catch me so much as looking at someone else. Forget about having you bag me a mistress.”

You simply stared back, your lips parted. Your heart felt as if it had stopped altogether, your ribs aching. You managed a smile when reality forced a thumping that could have brought you to your knees and pushed him gently. “I hope you used some of that charm on your date.”

He started down the hall again. “You’re not gonna split as soon as your food gets here, right?”

“Depends on what you want me to stay for.”

“Dissect the date with me,” he told you, tossing his navy blue bomber jacket into his room along with the shoes he’d toed off earlier.

You laughed dryly, loudly, and very sarcastically. “Yeah, no thanks. I have to watch the paint dry in Steve’s room. There’s also some grass outside I wanted to watch grow.”

“Very original.”

“Thank you.” You tipped your nose toward the ceiling. “I’ll stay here on one condition.”

“What?”

“You tell me where the fuck you got that skincare shit in there. My face smells like a matcha latte.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “S’my sister’s. Stole it from a package she got from Korea.”

“Well, I guess I’m going to lose more than half my paycheck to Korean skincare this month.”

“Beauty is pain, Y/N.”

It was a half hour before the food was delivered, Steve’s head in your lap so your fingers could fiddle with his blonde hair while the two of you watched recorded, protected, and backed-up episodes of The Wire— something you only agreed to upon Steve’s promise that you’d get your fill of Idris Elba.

Bucky set the two brown paper bags onto the coffee table and collapsed beside you, hair still wet from his shower. He wiped his hands down the lap of his sweatpants, leaning his head back against the upper edge of the couch. “Can we talk about the date now?”

You nodded and hoped the deep breath you took was inaudible. You shook Steve’s shoulder and laughed when he grumbled and sat up with hair pointed in every direction. “You good, old man Rogers?”

He offered you a sarcastic expression. “Phenomenal.”

As Steve busied himself with his dinner, his phone, and any tidbits of The Wire he could pay attention to, Bucky handed you your container and a pair of chopsticks before pulling out his own food.

You rose from the couch only to sit on the floor, your back against the foot of the sofa and your legs folded beneath you. You smiled at Bucky as he joined you, his back against one of the large lounger chairs. “Tell me about the date.”

“Well, we got coffee.”

Your voice thick with an unswallowed bite, you quipped, “Call me psychic, but I already knew that.”

“D’you ever consider being a stand-up?”

“I did, but they get paid dirt and I’m worth more than that.”

He shook his head with a small smile, his eyes on the contents of his dinner. “We sat at the booth you said she’d like. Back corner, with the amber hanging light.”

You nodded for him to continue, adding a bit of Sriracha to your noodles.

You continued to add hot sauce to your food until the heat became a distraction, until you could no longer blame the warmth in your cheeks and the warmth creeping up your neck on what Bucky was telling you.

Just like Bucky, you were unable to admit to yourself that you were jealous.

The delight over his features, the nervousness in the faint tremble of his fingers, the simple laughter in his voice made you wish you could be in Natasha’s place— but how could you admit that to yourself when the noble portion of you wanted his happiness above all? Selflessness was a virtue, wasn’t it? And selfishness a sin?

You were above petty jealousy and selfishness, you wanted Bucky to be happy and wanted the tears in your eyes to be blamed on the chili sauce in your food rather than the aching in your chest.

“When’s the right time to text her?”

You snorted, using your sleeve to wipe your eyes when he pushed off the floor and walked to the kitchen. “That’s not a thing worth being concerned about.”

He cocked an eyebrow as he came back into the room, occupying the same space as before. He watched as you set your container aside and polished off half of your beer in one ago, a smile pulled at his lips. “They’re always concerned about it in the movies.”

“Because movies do mirror real life seamlessly.” You set your bottle onto the table. “Just text her, tell her you had a good time, and want to see her again soon.”

“What about a casual run-in?”

“A what?”

“A casual run-in. Do you just not watch romantic comedies?”

You frowned. “I watch romantic comedies. I’m a complex person, James. I just— The idea of a casual run-in makes me uncomfortable. Like, what? Are you gonna stalk her and wait for the perfect time to jump out and make it look casual?”

He wore a scowl of his own. “When you say it like that, —”

“So that was the whole date? Coffee, talking about your lives, and walking her to her place?”

He nodded. “Kept my hands to myself, too. Slow and organic.”

“Slow and organic,” you agreed with a small, maybe even relieved smile.

PART 8: TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY ROMANTICISM

TAGLIST, if you’re crossed off your tag isn’t working! (send me an ask to be added): @sweetstilesofmine @dugan365 @lowkeysebby @eufeme @marveling-at-marvel@anyakinamidala @spookyscaryscully @sighodinson @feelmyroarrrr @sarahp879@spidey-linquentimagines @mackenziesmarvelousgalaxy @aholland01 @lostinspace33@clairedycat1810 @softwhispers @apolleo @sebstancial @buckylovelybarnes@chrys-1029 @sheddingpounds @brooke-supernatural16 @seargantbcky@someonekindalikeyou@marvel-trash07 @chuckennuggets1213 @captainmisfit13@ailynalonso15@lilypalmer1987 @nasasoldier@snuggleducky @acebabe @melswolf19 @e-g-b-o-k @iamzion-therealhabesha @fancybasementpersona @hercrazyfandomobsession@ohmybuckybarnes @sarahp879 @lovely-geek @void-imaginations @mad-girl-without-a-box @stomachfilledwithbutterflies@joulien @followeroonieclassic @tomdarlingholland@rebelfuckingblack @bakerstgirl@starkxpotts @jimmyisfab @normalperson1351 @jehun-prouvaire @peachy-vixen @mcheung0314 @wowbarnes @thiccmillions@sumafamouxx @quinn-n-quill @amcrasnow @wheneggsymetbucky @krockszz @brokenanxiety @addictionmarvel @closerstars @captainradicalpassion @rockagurl @directionerfae @shawnsassymendes @irella-nyari @cadence-jeannette @rebel-emerald @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @little-miss-headphones @winternatalias @iwishiwasnicki @writingcroissant @finallybreathee @saul-buttson @potterglory

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes college au #rt

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1d-sexualdesires · 6 years

Text

Frat!Harry (3/?)

GUYSSS THOSE PICS... I HAVE BEEN BLESSED AND HEALED FOR THE NEXT CENTURY. ALL IS WELL IN MY HEART.

There’s also a sweet surprise at the end!:)

As Harry had suggested, he and Y/N started hanging out more; in just a week’s time they started taking turns giving each other a ride home after the library. By the second week they started to study at hers and other times at his and the guys from the frat would take advantage and get the help they needed while they were both around, like now, they were helping some of the freshman with philosophy.

“You two almost done?” Niall asked as he peeked into the living room.

“Yeah, just about.” Harry said before Niall reminded him that he was starving. They had planned on going to a sushi restaurant that also doubled as a karaoke bar, they were all excited to try this place out. So as soon as they finished with their last thing and were piling into Liam’s Range and headed to the place. Naturally, Harry squeezed in beside Y/N, his hand landing on her knee as he leaned forward, between the two front seats chatting and giggling with Niall and Liam. They were fun people to hang out with, Y/N also became more acquainted with Niall’s girlfriend and she had lunch with her a few times in the last few weeks or so.

“So, the Halloween party…” Liam started and Harry glanced back to Y/N, rolling his eyes because usually the responsibility ended up falling on him, “It’s this weekend, have we started buying things?”

“Yeah and I decided to recycle some stuff from last year so that we don’t spend so much, just gonna buy new cobwebs and cups, everyone will be too hammered to notice it was the same as last year.” Harry said.

“Yeah, that’s for sure!” Niall chuckled.

“Will you be coming to the party, Y/N?” Liam asked and she bit her lip.

“I wasn’t invited.” She said smiling at Harry.

“Well, I’m inviting you since your boyfriend here, seems to have forgotten!” He said making Y/N and Harry’s eyes both widen at the title Liam just threw at them so lightly, both laughing it off.

“Do you know what you’re dressing up as, Liam?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, actually-”

“He spent a fortune on this batman costume, looks like the one from the movie! Swear it’s fucking sick.” Niall cut in, angling a bit in his seat to face Y/N.

“She was asking me, asshole. Geez…” Liam grumbled as Niall burst into laughter, as usual. “Niall is going as Scare Crow from Wizard of Oz so his girlfriend can be Dorothy.” Liam informed and Y/N hummed.

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah, she looks real good in the outfit.” Niall said grinning. “What are you guys dressing up as?” He asked looking between her and Harry, who both exchanged a glance.

“I was thinking Wednesday Adamms.”

“I can totally see that!” Liam said excitedly and Y/N smiled.

“What about you, Harry?”

“M’not sure…” he said glancing to Y/N.

“What about Ace Ventura? You’ve got some of those dad shirts, no?” She asked and everyone laughed, besides Harry of course who narrowed his eyes at her playfully. “M’just suggesting! I always dress up to characters with similar fashion as I so that I don’t have to spend money. Or very little if any at all.” She explained and Harry chuckled.

“Ace Ventura it is!” He said with feigned excitement and Y/N squeezed over the hand that was on her knee, just to assure him that she meant no harm and he flashed a little smile to her.

Dinner was going great, Hailee had met them there, and her and Niall were just so adorable, Y/N couldn’t help but be endeared by the pair. Y/N always wanted to have a boyfriend, she had only had one (which did not end well), but that didn’t tarnish her idea of caring fro someone and just being all domestic and consumed by them; she was a sucker for romance. Harry was the same, he loved company and the more innocent parts of relationships, the getting to know someone was what did him in. Sex could be received from anyone, but really falling for someone was such a lovely feeling; yeah, it led to hurt more often than not, but to him it was always worth it; he’s a true hopeless romantic.

“I’ve got you for dinner, okay?” Harry said turning to Y/N and she shook her head.

“Oh no, Harry! I got paid this weekend!” She assured him and he shook his head.

“No, please I insist. You can get next time if you really want to.” He said and she finally gave in after several attempts. They might as well have gone to sushi alone because they were wrapped up in each other completely and Liam, Niall, and Hailee were just anxiously waiting for one of them to make the damn move.

When they headed out and got back in the car Y/N let her head rest on Harry’s shoulder, his heart was hammering against his chest because he wanted to hold her hand, it was just laying idly on her lap and he really considered reaching over and intertwining their fingers together. It was a fifteen minute drive to the frat house… he had a little time to decide. The radio was playing I Melt With You and she was softly singing along to the words and he just took the chance, reached over in the dark and let his fingers fall into the spaces between her fingers and she stopped singing and he panicked for a moment until her hand squeezed his lightly and she resumed humming. The grin he was wearing was almost embarrassing, but he didn’t care. He was just happy that this was actually happening, that Y/N was holding his hand, he even moved their hands onto his thigh, letting his thumb run over the side of her hand soothingly until they were pulling up to the house. He still needed to drive her home… She let go when they needed to unbuckle their seat belts and what not, but as soon as she had hugged Niall and Liam goodbye she hurried to Harry’s side, taking his hand again and making the short walk to his car, he was speechless really. He let her into the passenger side and then he let himself in and as they drove the short distance, their hands were connected over the console.

“I think we fit rather nicely.” she said and grinned over at him.

“Me too.” He smiled back brightly. He stopped in front of her complex and put the car in park. “I know that things are still a bit… complicated for you, but I really like you and I would love to keep getting to know you.” He said and she smiled softly at him.

“Y’know what? I don’t think they’re so complicated anymore… I worked on myself all summer, I’m happy with who I am becoming and Mike… I think I just wasn’t prepared to encounter him - and to be fair I was a bit buzzed - I really don’t feel anything more for him. I enjoy spending time with you, Harry. A lot.” She admitted.

“So, let’s go to the halloween party together.” He said and she nodded.

“Let’s do that.”

“I’ll pick you up Friday night then? 8:30?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She smiled and then let go of his hand to lean over the console and press a kiss to his cheek once more, leaving him frozen and she giggled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before stepping out of the car.

Harry was left blushing, the skin over his left cheek was tingling with the feeling of her lips, his mind playing the moment over and over as she walked off, digging through her purse for her keys. He wanted to kiss her so badly, his lips were tingling to press against hers and just feel them plush against his own. Before he even knew it he was jogging up to her, she turned around when he called her name and he just walked right up to her, taking her face in the palms of his hands and gently angling her up, they were both panting, as he looked into her eyes, she was nervous, but he smiled and leaned forward until his lips pressed to hers. He heard her keys drop to the floor and her warm hands slide up against his own hands as her lips molded together with his softly. Fireworks were exploding behind his eyelids when they fluttered shut and something about being with her this way felt so familiar and right. These little jolts of electricity seemed to be shooting all over his body every time their lips connected and his heart was pounding harder than it ever had. Y/N was putty in his hands, he was soft and smelled incredible, his lips were smooth and inviting, she could feel the butterflies swarming in her tummy non-stop until she pulled back for a breath and smiled up at him, her bottom lip swollen nicely and bitten between her front teeth.

“Wow.” She whispered, her lips tingling and he blushed, hard, his own lips felt all tingly and warm.

“Sorry, I just really needed to kiss you.” He whispered, looking into her eyes and she smiled, looking down at her shoes, still a little too shy too look directly in his eyes, especially after that kiss.

“S’alright, it was very nice.” She said, finally managing to look into his eyes, she couldn’t even suppress a smile.

“That’s good.” He giggled before squeezing her into a hug, “I’ll uh- see you tomorrow.” He said and she nodded, waving him off until he took off.

Once behind her gate, Y/N was smiling so hard it hurt, and much like Harry’s skin, her lips were buzzing and veins pumping with adrenaline at the thought of having kissed Harry, even if it was just one of those very simple pecks.

She couldn’t really explain it… the things she felt for him were wholesome. She’d never experienced such blossoming and evolving things for someone. Harry was like those eight-sided Rubik’s cubes; he seemed impossible to figure out, but it was worth it in the end. There was always something interesting to learn about him and if they disagreed on anything they would talk about it, not avoid it.

Y/N found that if she didn’t see him she missed him, his voice, his warmth, and smile. She loved his corny jokes just as much as she loved making him laugh, it was quite the contagious laugh. She also caught herself thinking about him more often than not… in just three months he had settled into this spot in her heart that seemed to have been created specifically for him. She was falling for Harry Styles.

#1D-sexualdesires #harry #Harry Styles #one direction mini series #one direction #frat harry

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magicalsalamander · 7 years

Text

Copper Scales and Blue Wings

Pairing: BTS Kim Namjoon/RM (Ravenclaw) x Reader (Hufflepuff/mermaid)

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Mermaid au/Hogwarts au/Soulmate au/Shifter au

Word count::5 K

Summary: Kim Namjoon, a head boy for Ravenclaw, ends up finding out the deep, dark secret of a Hufflepuff (reader) girl by stumbling upon something he shouldn’t have seen. He entangles himself to protect her and her secret. This Leads to a connection they would’ve never expected. A forever promise

A/N: Hi. This is my first time writing a Hogwarts and mermaid au, I did the best research I could to make things as “accurate” as possible. I hope you enjoy this! I wrote this as an intermission and step back from Kitten’s Little Flame (Suga/Yoongi Dragon hybrid au). Check out my masterlist here when you finish this one shot! Thanks for reading!

Light filtered through the trees creating prints of erratically shaped gold stars painting the floor beneath the trees with. Oak trees stood tall and proud with centuries of time to provide a sturdy foundation surrounding vast lawn. The younger trees were close to the shoreline of the southern side of the castle. The water was a dark, deep blue and clouds of emerald glimmered on the sunny, end of Summer day. It’s been a month since Hogwarts is back in session for a new year, and already Namjoon was looking for a simple escapade from his head boy of Ravenclaw duties. The other boys were hanging around him insisting they should look for some mischief, but that only caused Namjoon to roll his eyes and wish the boys luck in their shenanigans. As long as he wasn’t caught up, or there to witness their mischief for today he was content. Being cooped up in the library studying for hours on end was really taken a toll on him. The lack of sunlight and contact with the outside has made him antsy.

During the Second event at the Black Lake last Spring, while spectating the Tri-Wizard cup hosted at Hogwarts, he came across a secluded spot where he could observe the whole event. It was hard finding a spot where you could watch in comfort and ease without being crowded out on the towers over the water. The rest of the group gathered and sat in the tree’s along with Namjoon in the secluded area to support Jungkook, a Gryffindor and the school’s representative for the Cup. Jimin, a Slytherin, transfigured branches of the trees to form seats for all the guys to sit in. They bundled up their cloaks to form small pillows or blankets to block out the cold of early Spring. From this spot they were clearly able to see their friend shoot out first and onto the landing of the tower with his pseudo-gills from the water with his rescuee.

Ever since then, Namjoon has been coming back every now and then to that spot as a hiding spot away and a little escape from his responsibilities. Even if was for just a few hours it still did wonders. The calming crashing of the waves on the shore and rustling of the leaves created a soft melody that made for the best background music. He walked down the hill, crunching on old leaves that haven’t been disturbed since a few weeks ago that he’s last visited. He climbed up his way up his favorite tree and took his spot in a tree chair. He removed his cloak and created a pillow the best he could out of it. It was a warm day, but the breeze in the air helped relieve some of the heat. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and reclined into his makeshift cabana and pulled out his potions textbook to start an outside study session.

The sun was now setting past the mountains casting the lake with an orange, pink and lavender shadow. Namjoon has been stuck in the same position for hours, even finishing the chapters he was supposed to read and then some. A splash and then the sound of water pouring tore his attention away, breaking the white noise of the Lake and his concentration.

You emerged from the lake with water flowing down your body, waist length hair covering your bare breast. Silhouetted by the sun behind you, copper and gold flaked off your every step closer to the shore. Your body transforming into your human form the more in land you emerged. You peeled off seaweed and other kelp stuck to you as you continued to a tree where you placed your uniform neatly folded inside.

Namjoon couldn’t believe his eyes that someone literal was walking out of the water, and nude! His lips were parted in surprise. He was so bewitched taking all his inhibition, he’s never seen someone like you. Your beauty was that comparing to Aphrodite. The river jewels and pearls strung in your dark hair crowed around you. If he’s not mistaken you were a mermaid, a real-life mermaid. He couldn’t believe it, rubbing his eyes to clear any possible illusions. As far as his education has taken him, he’s only ever heard of sirens, not mermaids. They said mermaids went extinct centuries ago due to poaching.

By rubbing his eyes, the thick textbook sitting on his lap began to slip off and descended to the floor causing a thud near the roots of the tree he was perched on. Your pants were already slipped up and buttoned securely on your waist when you heard a thud a few tree’s away from the tree in which you stood inside. The tree provided a small cavern big enough for you to change privately in. The sound brought your attention away from changing and you turned on your heels as fast as you could. Wand ready in your hand while your other brought up your shirt to cover your chest. You stepped outside the cavern and was confronted by the just as shocked Ravenclaw. You met his eyes and then turn away looking for anyone else who could’ve been with him. You didn’t expect a perfect to be in your secluded area that you’ve laid claim to since your first year. The little cavern even had hooks now and little trinkets of yours you found at the bottom of the lake. You found no one else, but in fear of the boy asking you any questions you rushed back into your cavern, slipped on your bra and buttoned up your shirt. You didn’t bother putting on your cloak and you shoved your tie into your pocket along with your wand. Your shoes in hand not wanting to take time to lace them up. You were afraid to say the least. Was this the end of your secret? You hoped and prayed to Poseidon that he just thinks you’re just a swimmer who enjoys going in nude. You came out of the cavern with Namjoon still staring at you. You began to run back up the hill towards the castle, but he called after you. “Wait, wait, I won’t hurt you! Who are you? I promise I’m not a pervert.” You kept going even though he calls for you to wait and discuss the misunderstanding, but your so embarrassed. With flushed cheeks you keep towards the castle and leave the boy in the tree.

A few days has passed, and you’ve avoid Namjoon successfully so far, up until now. You both have History of Magic together today. It seems he’s never noticed you before, as when you were running from him you heard him ask who you were. However, you’ve known of him since your third year. During your third year you were walking with Jimin down the corridor to your shared potions class, discussing if it was better to use dragon scales or powder unicorn horn for the recent potion’s assignment. He’s a friend you met on the first day here sharing a cart on the train to Hogwarts, even though he’s a Slytherin he’s a complete Hufflepuff at heart. He’s become a person you treasure and feel the most comfortable with. Which is rare you don’t really socialize much outside your small circle, you fear that by getting close to people you’d eventually slip up and let them know you’re a mermaid. Your grandmother and mother always warned you to be careful and not let anyone know that our species was still thriving. Many members of your tribe and family have been caught by the poachers; even your grandfather fell victim trying to save other mermaids. He sacrificed himself to save some kids who migrated farther up the river than they should have. Jimin was best friends with six other guys from all different houses, one of them was Namjoon. Every time one of Jimin’s friend would come around him you told him you’d catch him later. Especially if Namjoon was around, you had a crush on him ever since you saw him in the Library. You were so attracted to how hardworking and kind he was to his friends. His patience to repeat and teach his friends and random students warmed your heart. You wanted to get closer to him, but your grandmother’s words echoed in your head. Jimin didn’t know about your secret, no one did, except now. Until Namjoon you’ve been able to avoid every possible exposing of your family, your species secrets.

You make your way into class and quietly avoided Namjoon as much as possible. You sat a few rows behind him, sitting next to your housemate and friend. You keep up a small conversation before the professor walked in. The class carries on as it would with a boring lecture on History you’re never going to need to apply outside of this class. None the less you still concentrate because good grades mean a lot to become a caregiver of magical creatures. You wanted to graduate Hogwarts with the best grades you could and attend Hogwarts’s University to become a Magizoologists with an emphasis in aquatic creatures. You enjoyed terrestrial creatures, but it helped being a mermaid who could communicate with the aquatic life. After all you were one of the main caregivers for the magical creatures on campus already, starting out third year with the smaller critters.

Today there’s a change in the flow of class, the professor announces that a joint history research project will be due in a few weeks. He will assign you a partner and you need to research an event in time and turn it in by the deadline. You don’t mind partnering projects, you work quite well with others, but now that Namjoon is in your class your palms start sweating. Your professor calls out student’s names and the list starts dwindling with possibilities of pairs. You start fidgeting your hands and pray you get paired with your friend, but she gets paired with a Gryffindor girl. The professor finally calls your name and you look up with wide eyes and he calls your partners name. “Y/N, you will be working with…Namjoon.” He reads off the remaining pairs and then dismisses class. You sit in your seat frozen. In the name of Merlin, what kind of luck do you have?

As your packing up to leave, he knocks on your desk changing your direction of motion from putting away your quills in your bag to his face. You take in his blonde styled hair and dark eyes curiously looking you over. You see the question in his eyes, but before you can run off again he asks, “Y/N, right? Hi, I’m Namjoon. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He reaches his hand out for a hand shake, but you timidly grab onto his fingers and shake his hand. “Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you too Namjoon.” Your blushing enough to resemble embers. Namjoon notices and takes in your fidgeting and blushed figure. He thinks it’s so cute that you’re nervous with such a simple interaction. Before you turn to leave he stops you again, “Would you be able to meet me later tonight in the library after dinner for the project?” You turn to him and give him a nod in response and put your strap on your shoulder exiting the class. It’s still early in the day and you make your way over to your next class with the same girl who sat next to you. She elbows you and raises her eyebrows in suggestion at your interaction with Namjoon. You roll your eyes and lightly shove her causing you both to giggle. She throws her arm over your shoulder and you both make your way to Herbology.

After herbology you make your way over to the magical creature shelter next to Hagrid’s hut to tend to the animals. Your mentor, Professor Hagrid, tells you that some newbie upset the Fire crabs and they still needed cleaned. You facepalm and grumble as you walk away cursing the kid who now is probably going to cause you to lose your eyebrows. Surely enough, you almost lose your eyebrows to the crabs’ wrath. You walk down the corridor to the Hufflepuff’s common room, but you’re still lightly smoking. The ends of your hair got singed and were smoking, also your shirt had holes in it now from nearly dodging the fire blast from the feisty crabs. Black ash covers your face and arms almost like war paint as a sign of victory for cleaning the pen. As you shuffle down the hall at the other end Jimin, Jungkook, Jin and Namjoon are walking in your direction chattering about who knows what. Jimin is first to catch sight of you and calls out your name. He jogs up to you cutting of mid conversation with his friends asking what happened to you. He wipes off some ash on your face and you lick your index finger and extinguish the plume of smoke arising from the ends of your hair. “Y/N, are you okay? Did you get into a fight with Blast-Ended Skrewts?” Sighing you respond back, “No, Jimin. It was the fire crabs. Some newbie went in there earlier thinking it would be a piece of cake but angered them instead. I was sent in to clean up still.” Jimin turned back to his friends and introduced you. You shook everyone’s hands minus Namjoon’s as he let everyone know he’s already meet you. Jimin a bit surprised at you knowing Namjoon turning to you, in which you shrugged. Even though you were still embarrassed you weren’t going to be rude, but you really wanted to clean up before dinner. You excused yourself from the group and made your way to your room.

You entered the hall to see the seven boys of all different houses collected together at the middle table of the dining hall. Yoongi was smacking Hoseok’s back while he was coughing because he ate so fast he swallowed wrong. You could tell he was getting a scolding by his older friend. This caused you to laugh to yourself, but suddenly became sad wishing you could be a part of such a bright atmosphere. You carried on to your houses table and sat next to a few familiar faces and served yourself dinner. Namjoon was caught staring at you by Hoseok once he recovered. “Hyung, if you stare any longer you’re going to cast a curse over whomever your looking at.” Nonchalantly shrugging and bringing his eyes away from you as you sat down with friends to his dinner plate. Everyone at the table was laughing at how obvious he was being, Jin even cracked a dad joke. Yoongi rolled his eyes and ignored the joke all together grabbing a sweet off a plate. Jimin couldn’t help laughing harder at Yoongi’s reaction. Jimin began to entertain Namjoon’s interest in you. He told Namjoon as much as he could about how he met you your first year at Hogwarts, you were a quiet independent kid. You’ve always had accessories in your hair, but he just figured you liked to be extra. You never told him much about your personal life besides you wanting to become a magizoologists here at Hogwarts. Everyone listened attentively, but then continued with their shenanigans when Jungkook threw a bit of bread when they made a comment about his collection of white shirts.

Later when the halls were lit by torches and only a few souls and ghost wandered the halls, you made your way to the Library. He was hidden away in the corner of the library already with books covering the subject you needed to write about. Your heart was racing looking at his face, the same face that made your heart race when you first saw him. As he was lost in concentration studying whatever was in front of him, you knocked on the table interrupting his train of thought. He smiled up at you and pointed to the empty chair across from him. You sat down with a small creek of the chair and set your bag on the floor next to you. Namjoon and you without wasting time carried on a conversation about the project securing all parts and assigning who would cover what aspect.

Spending as much time as you could working on the project with bits of conversation here and there, the library closed before you knew it. At the grand Library doorway when everyone else was gone and it was just you two, you turned to him but not facing him directly you spoke softly, “Please, don’t tell anyone about what you saw.” You looked up at Namjoon with pleading eyes and he’s finally able to take in your (eye color) that sparkled the same color as when you emerged from the water. He was dumbstruck. He took in how pretty you were; the way your face looked at him pleadingly and trusting him with a life or death secret. “Of course, you can trust me. Can I ask something though?” You nodded your head in yes and waited for the question, “What are you exactly?” You look around once more assuring that the hallways are clear. For some reason you felt at ease and you could lean on him to trust him with your whole being. You figure since this guy has seen you as exposed as the day you were born, might as well clear up any misunderstandings. Namjoon reassures you as a head boy no one will question why you’re in the hallways and that no one is around anyways, not even the ghosts. As if a literal weight is lifting off your chest you reply, “I’m a freshwater Betta mermaid, well at least part. My mother’s side of the family are freshwater Betta mermaids from Hawaii, but my father was a human a wizard. Only my mother and I can go back and forth between forms as far as I know. Both my parents were students here and eventually fell in love. My father was even a Gryffindor Quidditch player at that.” Namjoon nodded along listening to your story, and you took a visible gulp. “Please, don’t take anyone about this. This could cause my family to truly become extinct.” Finally taking in the extent of your secret and letting the truth set in, he promised you to not tell anyone and that you’re secret will follow him to the grave. Truthfully, he was shocked by your honesty and how interesting your story was. He wanted to ask more, but held his tongue questions for another time.

Another time did come, you spent more time together working on the project and even a few instances of just walking around enjoying a stroll together. Namjoon introduced you to his Siamese cat, who took an instant liking to you. Namjoon swore you were an animal whisperer and asked if he could come to you if his cat was ever sick. You giggled at how highly he thought of you but agreed and promised you’ll do all you can. Jimin even invited you to the table, you declined the first two times, but the third time was the charm. You sat down at the table next to him and greeted everyone, fully introducing yourself to everyone. They treated you as if you’ve always been a part of the group since the beginning. They took you under their wing even giving you a nickname the first time you sat with them. You were now (your nickname) to them. As you were taking a stroll with some of the guys Namjoon noticed bruises along your legs, he stopped you when the guys were walking far ahead enough. “Hey Y/N. What happened to your legs? Did someone hurt you?” You looked down at your legs and saw big purple and blue marks blossoming all along your legs. You knew they were from not transforming into your mermaid form, your body craves to shift every two weeks at minimum. The longer you go not shifting the more intense the bruises get and the pain reminds you to shift back. Brushing Namjoon off you simply lie and say “Oh, the goblin’s got a little aggressive because they weren’t feeling well and started stoning the caregivers. I’m truly fine, it’ll heal in a few days.” Unsure and not totally believing your answer, Namjoon decided to trust you and catch up with the rest of the group.

You have your own room in the castle as per request, so you don’t disturb anyone when you have to get up at night to answer an emergency call for any of the creatures. Realistically it was so you don’t have to reveal what you are to any unsuspecting roommates. Professor McGonagall and Professor Hagrid are the only one who knows about your identity. Professor McGonagall already knew your parents and your family secret even before you started schooling. She was able to set you in a room with a bathtub for anytime you needed to transform, but didn’t have time to go to the Black Lake.

One afternoon you opened the skylight on your celling in your bathroom and lit up candles by the frosted window on the adjacent wall. The fresh air already was unwinding your tense muscles and easing the itch to shift. Your body and soul were calling out to return to the water. Your bathroom was a greenhouse in the works. The vast amount of plants in your bathroom gave it the effect of being outside. You had ivy vines draped along the tiled wall and encircling your windows. Succulents were suspended at varying lengths from the celling in glass terrariums. You even had a small tree that acted like a towel rack. Being a Hufflepuff this was a stereotype you were totally buying into, plants were your second most favorite subjects after animals. Your family’s Aumakua was different species of turtles, and your snapping turtle name was Kahu. Your mother’s mother, grandmother, thought it would be a fitting name since he’ll be your little guardian. She was Hawaiian after all and wanted you to have a spiritual guardian to protect her little Betta. You set Kahu in his own little basin next to your in-ground bathtub and he started nibbling on one of the plants that dipped into his little pool. You filled the tub almost to the brim with lukewarm water to simulate the actual environment of lakes you were used to. It won’t ever compare the lakes of Hawaii, but it’ll do. You sat at the edge of your tub and began to undress. You slipped into the in-ground bathtub and began your transformation. Your rose tail hung over the edge of the bathtub with deep purples and reds reflecting off the light shining in from the skylight. You began to sing to yourself. The song was a song that has been passed verbally through generations of your people.

You were supposed to meet up with Namjoon in two hours, so you thought you would have enough time to soak and make it to the library. You didn’t realize time passed by so quickly and Namjoon was left waiting. He approached Hoseok and Taehyung and asked if they’ve seen you in the Hufflepuff common room or anywhere for that matter today. Pondering for a second thinking back to when they saw you last, Taehyung responded with, “a while ago in the morning, but not since then.” He told them he was supposed to meet you, but you were already half an hour late. Namjoon started to get worried because you’re never late, you were never one to break a promise. Loyalty was the prevalent trait of Hufflepuff’s. He couldn’t enter the Hufflepuff room since he didn’t know which Barrell to enter. Taehyung and Hoseok promised to let him in but they would have to leave him since they had herbology class to attend shortly. He’s been in here a few times with the others to hang out and nibble on snacks late at night from the adjacent kitchen, but he’s never made his way towards the rooms.

He walked into the common room and made his way to your room after asking your friends who were hanging out near the fireplace. They giggled and elbowed each other and as he walked away they after getting his answer, called after him “don’t forget to use a protection charm at least!”. Blushing like crazy he made his way up the stairs banking down the right hall not caring to entertain your friends any longer and made his way to the last room at the end of the hall. It was scandalous enough that he was in the female corridor, but your safety came first before any rules. He knocked a few times listening for a response but got nothing. He was quiet listening for any sound. The silence only made him nervous. What if you passed out? What if you were hurt? Those bruises on your leg looked painful. He took out his wand and pointed it at the door handle and whispered “Alohomora”. He rushed in checking around for you.

He called for you but stopped when he heard your voice, you were singing. The sound was coming from your bathroom. The song was enchanting him and drew him to you as if under a spell, all he could hear was your call. He opened your bathroom door and stood in the doorway taking in you in amongst your garden in your in-ground bathtub. He was mesmerized by your fluke, the colors reflecting off your rose tail. The way your scales trickled up your waist covering your chest like petals in the wind. Your dark hair was in a half up do with river jewels and pearls crowning around your head.

You turned your head to the side taking in the agape mouth man staring at you. You yell at Namjoon asking what he’s doing in your room by slipping further into the water. His eyes finally came out of their haze and he said “Huh, oh, y/n, I’m so sorry.” He turned around covering his eyes and then said “You’re late for our meeting and I was worried. I mean those bruises on your legs looked painful I thought you were hurt or something.” Gaining some confidence, you came out of the water and sat at the edge of your tub, you called him over saying it was okay to look. He already knew anyways. He turned around slowly and finally took a good look at you. Your eyes changed not a dramatic change, but now they seemed to glow warmth. He sat next to you by the edge inching closer to you. He asked with reluctance, “can I touch your tail?” You’ve never had anyone touch your tail before much less any skinship with Namjoon but, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He ran his hand over your thigh first to see how the scales felt. As he ran his fingers lightly over the scales they rippled gold and cooper. The sensation was more intimate than you expected, an electrical shock ran up your spine. That zing you felt is only felt by soulmates. Love was unique for mermaids. A mermaid only gets the zing once in their life, if its unfulfilled she turns into foam.

Your eyes widened because Namjoon must’ve surely felt it too. Namjoon felt a shock and noticed you shivering and removed his hand as fast as possible. You grabbed his hand before it could get far and said it was fine to keep going. Namjoon didn’t know anything about mermaids he even tried to do research, but the library had limited knowledge. He didn’t want to hurt you. He was sure the electrical shock he felt was sure normal; it’s not every day you touch a mermaid. He then went to your rose tail and traced his hand over the royal purple, burgundy, and gold of the fanned-out tail. He could only muster out a wow its beautiful as a response. You blushed and looked away from his wandering hand. He finally removed it and asked the questions he’s been holding back since you first revealed yourself. You answered everything to the best you could. You told him your mother and father lived together in the muggle world in London. Your father retired his career in athletics and now worked in a clinic as a physiotherapist. Your mother worked with as a professor at a local university teaching marine biology. He asked if transforming ever hurt, to which you replied the actual transformation doesn’t hurt, but it’s a funny sensation that takes time adjusting to when your legs fuse. Kahu didn’t even snap at him, but kept a watchful eye from his little basin. You ended up forgetting about working on the project and just stayed by your little pool and learned things about eachother.

Even after the project was done you still hung around the guys.

Two and a half weeks later coming back from the magical creature shelter after taking care of the Hippogriffs you were walking down the hallway humming a song to yourself. A throbbing pain shot through your lumbar plexus and then echoed all the way down your legs. This caused you to fall to the wall for any form of support. It took your breath away as the pain shot now all the way up your spine causing you to collapse on the floor in pain. The bruises migrated far enough up your leg all the way to your thigh. They were causing excruciating pain to the point your vision was getting blurry. Namjoon was monitoring the halls that night along with Jin, but he was in charge of the Northern side of the castle. He was reading his book and walking, confident he wouldn’t run into anything since it was now like clockwork to him. He heard a scream at the other end of the hallway. He neared your curled-up figure and sat you up from your fetal position. Your back was leaned against the wall, but sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. Namjoon was asking you what’s wrong, what can he do to help. You tried to push him away insisting you were fine. He grabbed your shoulder with one hand and your chin in the other centering your hazy gaze on him. He told you he’s not going to leave you, not ever and that he’s going to help you whatever it takes. You sighed and asked him to take you to the lake. It’s been a while since you’ve last shifted.

Springing into action, Namjoon picked you up with you and told you to hold onto his back in a koala hug. Securely holding your thighs, he lead you down to the Blake Lake. He was able to avoid Mrs. Norris and Flinch. He approached the secluded spot that you both now shared and walked into the Lake with you still on his back. You were breathing heavily from the pain, but once you touched the water you sighed in relief. He let go of your thighs slowly lowering you into the water to be submerged. You began to transform with your uniform still on. Shyly you asked Namjoon if he could turn around please and sense your need for privacy he did as you asked. You removed your wet uniform and handed it to Namjoon. He took it form you without turning around but you assured him it was safe to look now. Waist deep in water he finally turned to you to see your full form only illuminated by the moonlight. He simply said wow. No matter how many times he’s seen you, it still takes his breath away. You giggled and thanked him. You told him he was free to go back and dry off you would return to the castle later, but he refused saying he’d rather stay with you. With the excuse of making sure you’re okay, but really it was to spend as much time with you and watch you in your other form.

You settled on his response and carried on swimming around the lake. Your tail rose out of the water as you dove in. As a trick you’ve learned as a young Betta you were able to call upon the fireflies. They flew around you in a swirling pattern up and weaved throughout your hair. Even tickling your nose. “Absolutely incredible” he breathed out in awe as he watched the light show. You whispered to them and then they circled around Namjoon and remained with him to keep his spot a light while you kept swimming the lake.

An hour later you had your fill of swimming and came back to shore to find Namjoon in the same position as the day you “met” him. You smiled and walked up to shore this time covering yourself with seaweed. You finished dressing in your damp clothing in your small cavern, using magic to dry yourself you came out and called to him. He finally looked down to you noticing your bruises were gone. He made his way down from the perch and you went to grab his hand. Surprised by your forwardness, he held your small hand in his tight in response. You asked him if he knew the legend of the mermaids. He shook his head with a no. You told him that mermaids only fall in love once in their life and that it’s a lifetime bond, kind of like werewolf matting for life. With a pause you grasped his hand tighter and looked up to him. “I like you a lot Namjoon, and hope to fall in love with you.” His heart swells at your confession and confesses, “I like you a lot too Y/N, I may have even fallen head over tail for you”. You smiled at his cheesy pun and he went to grab your chin to tilt your head towards him. His lips met yours in a gentle soft kiss that sent jolts of electricity through you. It felt so right, everything clicked. You parted both grinning ear to ear. He placed in your hand the scale he has been carrying around of yours the day he saw you emerge from the water, “My mermaid”. You smiled back, “My raven.”

References:

Betta Fish Reference photo

Rose tail- shape of fin; resembled a rose petal

Aumakua- In Hawaiian mythology is a family god, often a deified ancestor.

Kahu- in Hawaiian (according to Google) means little guardian.

Alohomora- unlocking charm

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snailfloss · 6 years

Text

Mar 25 Day 1 – Firsts • Kitchen disasters @taakitzweek

First chapter for Taakitz week

Five unforgettable scenes from Kravitz's life with his love. Slightly AU: No Starblaster, still Reaper, still Wizards. Written for Taakitz week 2018, updating daily until the 29th.

(fears not)

Kravitz knows this is gonna be a weird one when his first foot touches down on the other side. He’s suspended for a second between the grave-silence of the astral plane, the lull of a billion souls at his back, and a disheveled, lavish parlor with a greasy sheen of necromantic energy slopped over it.

The rift hardens around him with a twang echoed by a ringing bell, goes viscous and sticky. He has to fight to get both feet on the floor before it closes up. A woman shouts and the bell quiets. Kravitz reevaluates from weird to dangerous and manifests his scythe.

“We’re in the kitchen!” someone calls in a high, familiar voice that makes Kravitz freeze.

He picks his way through the debris littering the parlor—dirty dishes, discarded clothes, nests of blankets like people have been sleeping there—and pushes the door open with his scythe.

It’s an abattoir inside. Every surface is covered in oilcloth tarps, but Kravitz can barely see them under the puddled blood. There’s a corpse open on the central table, intestines stretched and spooled on hooks overhead. Another corpse hangs upside-down on a hook over the sink, blood running down into the drain like a waterfall.

There are more corpses wrapped in shrouds and stacked like logs in the corner. This is where the necromantic energy is concentrated; Kravitz can feel eddies of magic like slick ice. Preservation spells. Bottom-tier shit, barely an infraction, but there are just so many. Not one of them raised, though.

He finally turns to the living people in the room. Normally he’d have dealt with them first, but, well. He doesn’t recognize the third—human, middle-aged, pudgy—but he’s not surprised by the bitten-off grins and glinting eyes of the two elves. Taako’s on a stool as far from the corpses as he can get it, booted feet crusted in blood and hooked up over the rungs. Lup’s at the table with the human, scalpel in her hand. She waves.

“What,” he says flatly. The twins snicker. They and their friend are in rubber ponchos and gloves pulled up past their elbows. The human avoids his gaze. The taint of necromancy is heavy on his skin, even worse than the parlor. But the few hooks it has in his soul are shallow. He sweats out his fears, hands trembling with both anxiety and fatigue. Right in front of Kravitz he starts prying the corpse’s liver free.

“That’s some sick shit,” Kravitz says. “What the fuck is wrong with the three of you?” Lup keels over and laughs helplessly into the corpse’s open chest. She’s punch-drunk with exhaustion, her hair a frizzy halo matted with sweat and grease. Neither she nor Taako wear the passage of the years on their skin. They won’t for many decades more. Kravitz isn’t used to people who know him. When even was the last time he talked to a mortal who wasn’t afraid?

Taako hops up from his stool. He shucks off his gloves before gliding over to take Kravitz’s arm. Kravitz lets his scythe vanish. “Let’s have this conversation somewhere not-gross, hun.”

Kravitz lets Taako lead him out to the parlor. Taako throws himself down in the blankets on the sofa, pats the cushion beside him, and kicks a cascade of dirty dishes off the coffee table to put his feet up. Kravitz raises an eyebrow at him.

Taako runs waves of prestidigitation up his arms and across his face. The tickle makes him sneeze as the grime vanishes from his skin in increments. “C’mon Krav, we ain’t got all day. Haven’t you heard there’s a plague on?”

Kravitz relents and sits down stiffly at Taako’s side. Taako grins and presses against him from knee to shoulder. He barely smells like blood, thank the gods.

Taako looks up at him through his lashes. He’s got days-old eyeshadow on, smeared a deep bruise purple and mirroring the dark bags under his eyes. He’s beautiful. He catches Kravitz’s eye and grins. “You can put your skin on. The vector’s bodily fluids, you’re fine so long as you don’t lick a corpse.”

The crawl of flesh over his bones unnerves Kravitz. He doesn’t do this often. The room dims and softens through the filter of physical eyes. Everything around him, though—the heat rolling off Taako’s body, the velvety crinkle of the cushions beneath them—that intensifies. Kravitz finds that Taako actually smells quite a bit like blood, and like stale sweat and fatigue and greasy food besides.

He also smells like himself. Kravitz has to turn a deep inhale into a discreet cough. “I hadn’t planned on getting as up-close and personal with corpses as you all have been. If this is what medical science is like then I would’ve been happier not knowing.”

“You’re telling me with a straight face that you, the Grim-fuckin’-Reaper, don’t slay corpses on the reg?”

“Zombies aren’t that juicy, Taako.”

Taako cracks up and fists a hand in Kravitz’s vest. Every single one of his knuckles burns like a brand, fizzles like electricity. It is suddenly very, very warm in the parlor.

It’s high summer. Kravitz knew this. He’s been busy in the area for weeks now. Necromantic activity surges after any disaster. Grief, despair, instability—a boiling cauldron of need and regret. He never used to understand why mortals would feel driven by all that to defy the peace of death. Looking at Taako, though—at the banked fear in his eyes, his tongue slipping out to wet cracked lips—he thinks he gets it. His face is mirrored in his sister’s, and they spent their youths clawing for every breath they drew.

They’re different. They’ve grown into their skin. Taako’s fingers aren’t wire-thin anymore, and his eyes are bright even through the fug of exhaustion. His hair’s thick and healthy underneath the grease, pulled up around his head in a burnished crown of braids. Taako’s watching Kravitz’s mouth, so he swallows hard and speaks.

“Tell me what you’ve found out about the plague. Assuming that is what you’re doing—you’re not just chopping corpses up for fun, right?”

Taako giggles. The tips of his ears flick, and he launches into an explanation about viruses and liver failure that uses words like cirrhosis and cholestasis and atresia. He says four times that it’s his sister’s project, her and her crush, and that he wouldn’t dissect a corpse for an entire boatload of gold. But he’s clearly been paying attention. And Kravitz knows Taako would do a lot worse for a lot less.

The twins are so much stronger now. Kravitz thinks it must be hope that has them staying in a dying city, doing their best to help. He’d thought they might be brilliant. Taako talks with his hands and laughs brightly—this plague is one of many tragedies to him, and he’s learned something like happiness despite it. Kravitz isn’t sure how much of that’s because the twins have a solid roof over their heads and the support of the human in the kitchen. He remembers Taako’s intensity; this vibrancy is a new look for him, and it’s breathtaking.

“I just killed a necromancer,” Kravitz says, when Taako’s story peters out. Taako’s moved his hand down to Kravitz’s thigh. That’s all Kravitz has been thinking about for minutes—he hasn’t learned a damn thing about medicine.

“We the bottom of your list, bubbeleh?”

“The very bottom. What’s Hallwinter’s deal, though?”

“Hallwinter? Gods, the man has us calling him Bluejeans,” Taako wheezes. No response from the kitchen. They can’t hear Lup and Barry—not their conversation, not the squelch of offal between their fingers. “He’s some university professor-type givin’ Lup magic lessons. And now anatomy, I guess. But not in the sexy way. She loved his thesis. He’s gone on her, it’s adorable.”

“He’s walking a dangerous line, Taako,” Kravitz says. He’s doing everything he can to ignore the magic permeating Barry’s house. He wants to focus on the rise and fall of Taako’s chest, on the curve of his smile. “I know of zero cases of ‘academic’ necromancy that didn’t end in tragedy.”

“Well of course you don’t,” Taako says, rolling his eyes. “Tragedy’s your whole schtick. Tell me this isn’t the longest you’ve ever just hung out.”

It’s not. It’s the second longest in several centuries, and Taako was there for the first as well. Kravitz doesn’t say that. The scratch of Taako’s chipped nails over the fabric of his suit has become unpleasant, so he captures Taako’s hand in his and squeezes it.

“Whoof, that’s a clammy one!” Taako says in a tone of pure delight. “Oh my gods you’re cold. Hold still.”

Taako steals Kravitz’s hand and presses it to his brow. His face is unbelievably hot. A pang of fear squeezes something in Kravitz’s chest. “You’re not running a fever, are you?”

“No-pe” Taako says, popping the p. “That was our first success—we’ve got a diagnostic spell now. Me ‘n Lup ‘n Barold are all squeaky-clean. You’re gonna be out of work in short order.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kravitz says. He trails fingertips down Taako’s cheek. Taako gives him a wolfish look and presses his face into Kravitz’s.

“Hey,” he says, breath puffing against Kravitz’s lips.

Kravitz pauses. Watches the light filter through Taako’s hair. “…Hey?”

Taako shifts back and levels a look at him. “Kravitz. I am flirting with you. Take a fuckin’ hint.”

The laugh bubbling in Kravitz’s throat catches him by surprise. He doesn’t know how Taako manages to do that to him. He loves it. He pulls Taako down on top of him and they both giggle helplessly, chests heaving against each other. Even after he catches his breath there’s still something moving under his ribs, steady and insistent.

“Can I kiss you?” Taako sing-songs against his neck. Kravitz has been asked this by him exactly once before, and he’d said no. He’d wondered afterwards for so, so long.

“Yes,” he says this time.

He doesn’t get to lecture Lup and Barry on necromancy. They have more than enough time to clean up and dispel everything. Kravitz spends the evening drinking in the feel of Taako’s lips against his, the scent of his skin and hair. It’s a first for him, and, like all firsts with Taako, he’s left yearning for more.

on ao3 here

#taakitz #taakitzweek #The Adventure Zone #my writing #stuff i made

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seigephoenix · 6 years

Text

Hangman’s Body Count

I’m just throwing this out there. Here we go. Corrupted Guardians|Graphic Descriptions of Violence|Excessive use of the word Fuck|Mild Torture (eventually not now)

If any other triggers pop up I’ll add them as we go. Here we go for this new story. Under a cut cause of length. For mood music:

https://youtu.be/FSIv5cveIxg

Siobhan scanned the horizon on Io, watching the Taken and Vex battle for domination. She’d picked off a few with her sniper, The Morning Comes, to help alleviate the boredom. It wasn’t enough to draw their attention to her, but it was satisfying seeing the creatures fall in her scope. The Hunter had done a few patrols in the area in hopes of getting the attention of whatever it was the Vanguard sent her after. They’d given her few details, which was odd and highly suspicious, as Ikora rarely let her go out without all the information they had. Whatever the threat was, it was great enough to have even Cayde be serious. She’d never seen him so quiet. Zavala told her it was of grave importance that she find what was attacking Guardians on the far flung reaches of the patrol areas. The Guardians were alone when attacked and had their Light drained and their Ghosts crushed. It was enough to send a shudder through her.

Which was why Siobhan sat on a ledge overlooking the basin on Io, a few minutes away from Asher Mir’s camp. The same camp that her Fireteam was at, ready to jump to her rescue if the need arose. Siobhan was studying the skirmishes when a flutter of movement in her peripheral vision snapped her attention away. Her heart kicked into a gallop and she jerked to the side. The sword crashed into the ground where she had been sitting, gravel spraying into the visor of her helmet from the sheer force. She reacted without thinking and threw the grenade in direction of her attacker, relishing the sharp yelp of surprise. She didn’t bother to dwell on the fact his voice sounded almost human, but there was something that sent a chill through her. An unearthly edge to it that reminded her of dark hallways and the shrieks of thralls. She shook her head once to clear it and jumped away from the Guardian bearing the sword. Her pulse rifle slid into her hands as she faced the Guardian. She froze as she finally took in their appearance.

The aura emanating from the Guardian sent a cold shiver down her spine. She felt frightened. Her heart raced in her chest and her legs twitched with the urge to run. A startling realization hit her, she felt like prey. The gaze practically pinned her to the spot, her stomach lurched at the crawling sensation she felt from his aura. That aura felt hungry, its tendrils reaching towards her Light. Siobhan started when she realized it wasn’t Light she was feeling from the sword bearer, it was far more sinister. Every instinct she possessed told her to run. The armor he wore bore a resemblance to the chitin found on Hive Knights and bled the dark ichor that seemed to sustain the Hive. Fear weaved an intricate knot in her belly as she stared at them, that helm with the three glowing eyes. Like a Knight’s death glare, like Oryx right before she and Nevia dealt the killing blow to him. She broke her out of her reverie, not the exact time for distractions, and froze as the hairs on the back of her arm rose in alarm.

She dodged to the side as the bullet rang out. A haunting melody, similar to a Wizard’s song. The bullet grazed her helm, sparks flying as metal struck metal. She grimaced and noticed the first Guardian was gone. Fear had all her muscles taut, ready to spring away, as her heart galloped in her chest. Her body prepared her for a fight as she tamped down on the rising panic in her chest. Was this how the other Guardians had felt? Before their Light was ravaged, their bodies left broken on the ground. Soil soaked with blood and littered with their remnants of their Ghosts. Anger bubbled up in her chest, an inferno as she realized these two were responsible for the deaths of so many Guardians. She wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

She felt the hungry aura at her back and panic filled her as she realized that she couldn’t dodge in time. This would hurt. She was fast but not that fast, and her body braced for an attack that never came. She heard the shout behind them and the sound of rapid footsteps. The shield of Void energy came flying by her head, knocking the Guardian to the ground. The sword skittered from his hand as the Titan landed beside her.

“Good to go Guardian? On your feet then.” The commanding tone jerked Siobhan out of her shock and on her feet. She faced the one with the hand cannon and narrowed her eyes. That gun looked familiar, dark chitin and strange symbols etched onto it. “Still dancing with the devil eh, Teben?” The Titan pulled out her own hand cannon and aimed it at the one she addressed as Teben.

“Why am I not surprised to see you here Demetria?” The man addressed as Teben spoke calmly, his voice devoid of emotion. It sent a chill down Siobhan’s spine, he sounded like he was speaking in a whisper. The words flowed together like a melody, like the humming she heard on the Dreadnaught. Siobhan threw the grenade at his partner, the curse breaking whatever standoff the other two had going on. Bright blue eyes widened in surprise as the man held up his hand and let the black flames lick at his body, the hand cannon burning with green and black flames. Siobhan brought up her hand, the bow already formed and launched the arrow. The tether slowed him enough to let Siobhan fire a clip of her pulse rifle into him.

“Let us retreat.” The smoke screen burst in front of her and Demetria. It was thick and cloying, coating her throat and mouth. The acrid smell burned her nose and eyes, it reminded her of the Dreadnaught. She coughed and retched as the smoke cleared, noting she stood alone with the Titan on the ridge.

“Are you alright Guardian? Where is your Ghost?” Demetria watched as Siobhan took a step back. Smart. Demetria could sense the unease in the Hunter easily enough, it was good to be skeptical. Even of an ally who helped in battle. This one had seen combat. That would make it easier.

“First off, who are you?” The Hunter’s voice was still hoarse from the smoke, but Demetria could hear the steel underneath. This was not a Guardian used to being pushed around, or one who stood up when she did get bullied. She was wise to not give out that information, Demetria studied the Hunter in front of her. She could use someone to help her get to the bottom of this, since her last partner left her. It still stung to know he just up and left because he was on a vengeance tear.

“My name is Demetria. I have been tracking those two assholes that attacked you for years.” Demetria pulled off her helm and saw the Hunter mirror her actions. Demetria was surprised to see a fellow Awoken, but the suspicion in her eyes had amusement bubbling in her. Juniper popped out and bobbed around the Hunter’s head.

“Her Ghost isn’t with her. I don’t sense his Light.” Her green shell quivered as Siobhan eyed her warily.

“My name is Siobhan. I’m a Hunter and was told by the Vanguard to investigate why Guardians were being drained of their Light.” Siobhan explained and propped a hand on her hip. “My Ghost is with a trusted friend. I knew Guardians were having their Light drained, so I wasn’t taking any chances.” Siobhan explained as they headed off the ridge. Demetria was surprised at her methods, but she could understand the caution. The plan was a good and sound one, so long as she fully trusted the Guardian she left her Ghost with.

“Siobhan!!!” The excited voice reached her ears and she smiled as Arawn flew around her head in greeting. He ducked into her hood, snuggling against her neck in his favorite spot. Demetria chuckled as she watched the reunion, a Guardian who had a Ghost react like that to their return was a good one. She watched the other two Guardians approach, a Warlock and a Titan. Those must be her fireteam.

“Were you successful?” The soft-spoken Warlock asked as she faced Siobhan. She shook her head in answer and spoke quietly to explain what happened. “What? They were wielding darkness?”

“They are called the Shadows of Yor.” Demetria spoke up as Asher perked up from his research.

“Ah Demetria. Pain in my side. Still tracking the shadows, are you?” Asher asked as he typed a few commands into his console. Demetria grinned at Asher’s cranky attitude, something that had not changed in all the years she’d known him.

“Yeah. This time the shadows have gone too far. They’re becoming too much like him.”

“Him?” The Titan tilted his head in confusion, but Demetria saw the recognition light up on the Hunter and Warlock’s face.

“Dredgen Yor.”

“Wait, the Shadows of Yor. That’s who is attacking other Guardians? So why didn’t the Vanguard tell me?” Anger threaded Siobhan’s voice, her eyes narrowing. Demetria could see the storm forming in her eyes.

“The Vanguard have never been that concerned with goings on of the Shadows. I need to find out why they suddenly turned to the darkness. They’ve always skated the line, but they have never consumed a Guardian’s Light before.” Demetria explained as Juniper floated over to Arawn. The Ghosts interacted with one another in their own silent language, transferring data and information.

“We need to talk to the Vanguard.” The Warlock spoke to them. “Maybe they’ll take your concerns seriously now.”

“I will meet you at the Tower.” Demetria told them as she turned and transmatted into her ship. She settled into the pilot’s seat, smiling as Juniper told her there was someone on the line.

“Demetria.” The softly accented voice was familiar to her, she’d heard it for centuries. She grinned at the annoyance there, he never called her by her full name. Not once in all the time they’d been partners since hunting Dredgen Yor.

“Shin.”

“I hear the Shadows have finally crossed the line.” Demetria scoffed and tossed her hair out of her face, the bun loosening after being free.

“Don’t act like you weren’t watching. I know you were.” Her lips quirked up as she heard the grumbles on the other side of the line. “But yes. They’ve attacked Guardians. I’m enroute to the Tower now. Hopefully we can get the Vanguard to listen to us this time.”

“I would not be so sure.” His tone was calm, but she knew how infuriated he’d been when Ikora had dismissed his concerns. She’d just been finding her footing as Warlock Vanguard, so Demetria could understand her hesitation.

“We’ll see. Will you be at the Tower?” She kept the hope out of her voice. It had been a decade since she’d been able to travel at his side. Possibly longer, the years flowed together as a Guardian.

“Yes.” Demetria’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped. “Close your mouth Demi.”

Amusement filtered in through his voice as she glared out the window as he chuckled. “I will see you at the Tower.” The comm line went dark and Demetria grumbled as they turned the ship towards Earth. The Vanguard would have to take their concerns seriously now.

#destiny #destiny the game #hunter guardian #titan guardian #shin malphur #shadows of yor #oc: siobhan #oc: demetria #corruption mentioned #but not in the main characters #my headcanons are applied liberally #warnings ahead #this is slow to update

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