#that after the second incident of moodiness between the boys

[darkwood-sleddog]

Well it was a decent run for about half the time.

[cheriladycl01]

Ghost - Oscar Piastri x UnknownDriver! Reader Part 2

Plot: Reader is the first female F1 driver of the century, however no-one knows that as you are a ghost on the grid. You started in 2022, coming in P12 in the championship. You get moved to Red Bull Racing in 2023 with the off year for Sergio Perez.

"Ghost, Radio Check Please" you engineer says as you pull from the pits.

You hadn't got a win yet, of course you'd had many podiums. Some even last year when you were with Alpine, more this year with Red Bull.

You wanted the win, even though it meant showing who you were and that came with a price, you felt ready. You just needed a reason to come forward with it.

However, even with Oscar's assuring words earlier in the day your P15 start because of the way qually went for you didn't feel like a win was applicable.

"Check" you say before driving out of the pits and into P15 behind Sargent and in front of Tsunoda. You really though that today might be the day and it would have been iconic it being your home Grand Prix and all. But it just didn't look possible when you weren't even in the middle sector of the grid.

You released a big breath as the red lights went out, you dived forward taking over Sargent gaining one place. Esteban who was ahead of him, seeing your Red Bull immediately forgot about Stroll ahead of him and starting defending against you.

For the first 14 laps, in your sector there weren't many changes in positions. Up ahead you had no idea what the grid looked like. But nothing much had changed behind you.

It wasn't until you could feel your tires both getting warn out and starting to struggle with the typical UK drizzle that was upon the race.

"Need to pit soon, cars getting harder to manage with the rain" you admit, knowing that the pit crew already probably have the intermediate tires ready for you.

"Pit on the next lap. Max will pit after you" he advises. However as your coming into the pits, you can see that Vertsappens Red Bull is currently there having its tires changed.

"What the fuck is going on?" you ask pulling up behind Max just as he leaves making you pull forward.

"Copy" is all you get and you let out a frustrated sound that was between a yell and a grunt.

Red Bull made up for it with an exceptionally quick stop for you and you got out on the track again. Luckily, others had pitted as well due to the weather conditions, so you came back out in P15.

"Look, I'm sorry about the incident Christian and the strategists are looking into it but there something I got to ask you, because clearly these methods are no longer working!" you hear you engineer say, you ignore him for a split second taking the corner before you throw back your moody reply.

"What?"

"Who runs the world?" he asks and a smirks comes onto your face. Lewis may have hammer time, but boy oh boy...

"Girls, John, Girls run this mother fucker" you shout into the radio before breaking late and overtaking Lance who was the unfortunate soul currently trying to defend from your driving.

You gain further up, Ocon ahead of you.

"Gap to Ocon?" you ask.

"0.3" you hear, you drive up so your behind him, you swerve the tiniest bit right, he does the same making for a accelerated swerve from you to the left and a clean move up to P12. And just like that you started combing through the grid, Hulkenberg, Gasly, Alonso, Albon, Russell, Sainz and Leclerc all got combed through until you were sitting sweetly in P5, Max, Lando, Lewis and Piastri just ahead.

"Lewis and Piastri are ahead. Fighting for P3, if you catch them both by surprise thats a podium. Gap is 1.2 seconds. Increase on Sector 2"

"Copy that" you say, both the McLaren and Mercedes drivers once you get closer to them are dancing around each other slipping in and out of P3.

"Like two ostriches doing a tango up ahead John" you laugh into the radio.

Just as you manage to overtake the two distracted drivers down the small straight John comes back onto the radio.

"Max has damage to his car. He had to come pit and he's currently P9. You can win this, go prove Beyonce right" he says, this was all you needed. You were currently P2, Lando the only driver ahead of you and thanks to the straight a significant gap had been created between you and Lewis and Oscar.

"Distance to Lando"

"2.4 seconds, speed up that Sector 3 now and you've got him. He's on the newer tires but you can get him. Bring it home" he tells you and you go very serious. No thoughts just the track, you catch up to Lando within a lap, fighting with him for P1.

"Max has climbed back, he's P5 and Oscars trying to defend" you engineer says, you didn't currently care about how close Max was to you, just getting that stream on Lando that would get you the overtake.

SKYSPORTS LIVE: David Croft- Can i just say Martin todays race has been one of the best of the season, for some reason we haven't been allowed to aire the radio between Ghost and his engineer but whatever was said... he's had an amazing drive today, going from P15 all the way to P2 and potentially P1 depending how Norris actually ends up defending against him. Its just been tremendous Martin Bundle- Yes its been amazing from Ghost's comeback to, Lewis a 7 time world champ struggling to overtake and defend the current rookie on the grid, to Max Verstappen reporting car issues, to the lack of DNF's we've had here today at Silverstone David Coft- Oh my lord whats this? He's going for the overtake

Lando goes too wide, his wheel clipping against the track edging making you be able to accelerate past as he struggles to re-gain control.

You manage to get a good gap ahead around corners that prove difficult for the McLaren now behind you.

"One lap Ghost, hold" John advizes and you keep driving, the last lap feeling like a cool down, the sweat drenching all around you due to the panic and sheer oomph of the driving conducted today.

SKYSPORTS LIVE: David Croft- AND WITH THAT FOLKS, WE HAVE THE FIRST WIN FROM GHOST WINNER OF THE SILVERSTONE 2023 GRAND PRIX, LANDO NORRIS BEHIND HIM AND OH MY GOSH A LAST MINUTE OVERTAKE FROM HAMILTON MEANING A TRIPLE PODIUM HERE FOR BRITAIN! Martin Bundle- What a day here at Silverstone, and now three brits are on the podium at their home race

You took yourself out the car, handing the wheel to a Red Bull member before pulling yourself with the halo to stand on the front of the car. John and a few other members pull you down to celebrate with them, before you are ushered off to be weighed.

The cool down room was awkward as you could never speak to the people in there, so you would shake hands before excusing yourself. You took the balaclava off, before tucking your hair in and placing your helmet back over your head.

Now it was time for the podium! Your first winning trophy and you couldn't be more excited, nothing could bring down you mood!

Or so you thought.

You went onto the stage, knowing this was the reveal. You and Christian had spoken about it, knowing your first win was inevitable.

"Today has been a historic day at Silverstone. Not only do we have three Brits standing proud on their home podium, we've had one of the biggest comeback of the year today, despite the mistimed pitstops and the weather, he has pulled his first win out of the bag!" an announcer says coming onto the stage.

"Before we go any further Christian Horner would like to say a few words" an announcer admits, Lewis and Lando turn to you excited to finally see the person behind the helmet. Lando had this running joke that you must be obscenely ugly which is why the helmet is kept on because 'Ghost' is intimidated by him and all the other attractive faces present on the grid.

"Hello everyone. Today doesn't just mark historic reasons for the ones just said. Ghost joined us at the end of the 2022 season when we brought them out of their 2 year contract with Alpine, there was ability and promise there that the team didn't want to both miss out on or go to an enemy team and become a menace on the grid. However, Alpine let a few of us at Red Bull in on Ghost's little secret and to say we were excited was an understatement. This year they have proved their worth and i cant wait for their future at Red Bull. That being said, i think its about time i introduce you to Ghost" he says gesturing towards you.

"This is Y/N Y/L/N" he shouts as you take of the helmet displaying your face to the world. Not only could gasps be heard from the drivers right next to you but from the whole crowd not expecting this outcome.

Lando was in a state of shock, he didn't know what would unveil from that helmet but Oscars longtime crush Y/N Y/L/N the sweet Social Media Manager for Ghost was not one of them.

He was confused at how she had managed to pull of this double life, but ultimately was so happy. This was an important day for her, being the first female to ever win a F1 race.

His eyes flicked down to Oscar in the McLaren section as he'd promised to come watch his best friends win, even if he wasn't up there with him. Lando's gaze met his and there were too many emotions upon the usually chill and placid male that he couldn't dechiper what he was feeling.

There was anger, sadness, frustration, betrayal. And he could have sworn, there were a couple of tears brimming the edges. Lewis had you pulled into a hug right now, congratulating you for everything you've achieved up until now, as all of your achievements were bigger and meant more.

As you went to turn to Lando to pull him into a hug, seeing as you guys were friends as yourself, but seeing his gaze fixed on Oscar a feeling of hurt formed in your chest. His gaze locked onto you and the force of his anger and betrayal could have knocked you back.

He ran off into the crowd back towards the paddock, you wanted to go follow but Lando shook his head. As much as this had hurt Oscar, you deserved to enjoy this moment.

But knowing you'd hurt Oscar, you didn't enjoy a single moment.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover

[idk6123]

Durmstrang Champion (Viktor Krum X Male Reader)

Hogwarts was quite different now that there are two other magical schools use the same building. That being said, there are barely any problems with it. In fact, the students between the three schools get along pretty well, most of the time. Along the students, four of them stand out, because the Triwizard Tournament. One of which is Viktor Krum from Durmstrang Institute. Since he came from a school where being taught curses is normal, it’s only natural Slytherin students are seeking him and his school mates out. That being said, Viktor found them annoying and just ignore them. However, one student stands out from the crowd.

His name is Y/N. He’s a fourth year. The first time Viktor notices him is during lunch, as his classmates were harassing the other students, Y/N is sitting by himself, eating lunch. The second time he notices him is when the tribute visits the library to notice him study, alone again. The third time is during his physical training outside. As a crowd of girls are following him, eager for his attention, from the side, he notices the teen taking care of some magical creatures.

Then he saw him for the fourth time. It’s again in the library, where Y/N is checking out some books. He’s standing near a desk, where his pet Puffskein observes him. As Y/N grabs a book from the upper plank, a couple of them drops, hitting him and get them on the floor.

“You gotta be…” Y/N sighs. Just before he crouches down to pick them up, a certain someone walks to him.

“Need help?”

And that’s how to the met. Ever since that day, the two became friends. The Slytherin’s don’t understand why someone like Krum would hang out like Y/N. That doesn’t bother him though, since when he got some rude comment about it, Y/N merely said back it says more about them then him.

Viktor and Y/N made sure to hang out whenever they can. Both of them share stories very often about their school. The Bulgarian was very surprised the amount of incidents happened ever since Y/N enrolled the school. It also helps that he’s friends with Harry and his friends, thus getting the information pretty quick.

During a sunny day, Viktor is jogging on the grounds of the school. As he trains, he notices at the magical creature pens Y/N, who’s taking care of some Kneazles.

“Come here, kitty kitty kitty.” Y/N crouches down as one of the Kneazles walk towards him. Once near him, the student brushes him. “Good girl.”

Viktor jogs towards the pen. He grabs the fence and stretches as he waits until his friend is done. After a couple of seconds, Y/N stands up. “You such sweat heart.”

Y/N yelps as he quickly turns around. He feels reassured it’s someone he knows, but he should’ve recognized him by his voice. “And you’re sweaty.”

“It’s that you say ‘hi’ in your country?” With a smirk, Viktor jumps over the fence. Once in the pen, he leans against the fence with his back.

“It sure is in Slytherin.” Y/N chuckles. He walks over to his friend. Once next to him, he sits on the fence. “Training for the first task?”

“Yes, but I’m doing this regular.” Y/N find Viktor’s broken English bit endearing. “It take lot of effort to be fit.”

“I can imagine. Anyway, what do you think your chances of winning are?”

With a smirk, Viktor replies with any doubt in his voice. “I’m sure I’m going win.”

-

Y/N is happy his friend came first during the first task. Viktor faced the Common Welsh Green dragon and used the Conjunctivitis Curse to blind the dragon before quickly retrieving the golden egg. Though being happy for him, he also wanted to congratulate his other friend, Harry. Though the boy who lived quickly called him out for supporting Krum more than him. An argument came and Y/N just left him be. Knowing how he treated Ron and Hermoine; he knows he’s way too moody to be deal with.

So instead of hanging out with people who are just in a bad mood, Y/N hangs out with Viktor more often. The two of them are walking around the grounds. The champion is wearing a bag with something in it.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him.” Y/N confides with his friend. “I understand that it’s all stressful, but he keeps lashing out.”

“Give it time. I’m sure after while he realize what he doing is wrong.” Viktor advice. “You’re good guy. Don’t think otherwise.”

“Thanks.” Y/N replies with a smile. He looks around the gorgeous forest. “How are things with you? Enjoying the attention?”

“Not at all. I’m glad I’m with someone isn’t ogling me.” Though being annoyed by it, the champion smirks. “But that isn’t I’m worried about.” He stops and grabs his bag. Y/N then stops as well and looks back, seeing the Bulgarian grabbing the golden egg. “Everyone knows this is clue to next task.” He hands over the egg, causing Y/N to check it out. “Don’t open. You ears bleed.”

Y/N checks out any angle of it. “I don’t see or sense anything odd.”

“This thing bugging me. I don’t know how figure out.” Viktor admits. “Any chance you can look into this?”

“Sure.” Viktor is happy to hear it. “Before I try anything funny, I grab some earmuffs.” Y/N continues to check it out. “I wonder… would the Mandrakes hurt more, or this?”

-

During the week, every time he has some free time, Y/N tries to figure out the deal with the golden egg. He has a gut feeling it’s revolved around the ear piercing sound but doesn’t know what. He tried to figure out what kind of sound it is. And yet, he didn’t found what. He got to the library to find more info. Didn’t found anything. He then tried different spells on the egg on himself. Didn’t work. He tried some potions. Didn’t work. Y/N wonders what Viktor did, because the chances of him to figure this out becomes lower and lower.

He often takes strolls around the castle to remedy his mind. He sometimes figures something out just by doing something not relating to it. As he walks around in a hallway, he notices something odd happening to the wall. Slowly, a door reveals itself. Curious as he is, he gets through the door, entering a large room with a big bath. Feeling this is a sign, Y/N put his bag to the side and turn on the water.

After a few minutes, the bath become full. Y/N grabs the golden egg and some earmuffs. He removes his shoes and roll up his trousers’ pipes and his shirt’s sleeves. Then, he slowly gets in the water, putting the egg in it. After he adjusts his earmuffs, he crouches down to open the egg. To his surprise, his hears doesn’t start to bleed.

“Holy…”

Y/N slowly removes his earmuffs, hearing nothing. He throws it to the side and slowly put his head to the water. When he gets underwater, that’s when he realized he figured it out.

-

Y/N made sure to tell the news to Viktor in an instant. So, the Slytherin leads his friend towards the bath. Both of them still in shock that they cracked the code.

“Where we going?”

“It’s called The Room Of Requirements. It basically gives you what you need if your desperate of something.”

“You were desperate to figure out?”

“Yeah. I wanted to help you. I can’t go back empty handed.” Viktor smiles at hearing that.

They then get in front of the room, slowly revealing the door. Once revealed, they enter. That’s where they see the big bath.

“It basically gave me the answer.” Y/N comments.

Viktor is quick to turn on the water. They wait again until the bath is filled. This time, the bath is filled with a layer of foam. Y/N grabs the egg from his bag and hands it over to Krum.

“Thank you.” He then puts the egg on the floor. That’s when he starts removing his clothes, surprising Y/N.

“O-Oh. I thought we just…”

“Might as well have bath.” Viktor merely says, finding it not weird. He removes his shirt and pants, with Y/N awkwardly looking away. From the corner of his eyes though, he watches him, right until Viktor removes his underwear.

“Oh!”

“Relax. We’re both guys.” Viktor doesn’t understand why Y/N is being shy. He enters the bath. Once sitting down, he looks back at his friend. “You come?”

“Y-Yeah… Can you turn around?”

Viktor looks confused but doesn’t question it. He can hear his friend taking off his clothes. After a few seconds, he can hear him walking to the bath. The Bulgarian looks at his right, as Y/N enters to his left. Though next to each other, there is some distance between them.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Viktor asks.

“It’s just… I’m usually don’t undress and be naked around people.”

Viktor hums. “Glad you join.” He turns back to grab the golden egg. In his hands, he looks at his friend. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

Thus, after taking a deep breath, they get under water. The Bulgarian man opens up the egg, where they hear the true message.

“Come seek us where our voices sound. We cannot sing above the ground. An hour long you 'll have to look. To recover what we took…”

That’s how the message ends, and so they get back. After a few seconds for both guys to recover their breaths, they discuss the message.

“Let’s see…” Y/N recalls what it said. “’We cannot sing above ground.’”

“Like they live underwater.” Viktor comments.

Y/N nods in agreement. “Must be merpeople. They live in the Black Lake.” He continues to think further about what it said. “You got an hour for the next task, where you need to seek them out.”

“Sounds obvious.” Viktor says. “I’m more curious what they took.”

Y/N thinks a bit but got no answer. “Guess you have to wait and see for yourself.” That’s when he realized something. “Wait, you’re going to be underwater for an hour.”

“I figure something out.” Viktor says without any doubt.

“You better.”

There is an awkward silent between the two. Y/N merely looks around after a few seconds. He still finds it unbelievable that he’s bathing with his friend, who doesn’t have an issue with it.

“I’ve been meaning ask you something.” Viktor speaks up, with Y/N looking back. “The Yule Ball is coming, and we need dance partner. Do you want be my partner?”

Y/N looks surprised. “Me? Like a friend?”

“If you want.” Viktor smiles.

“You don’t want any of the girls annoying you?”

“No. I rather want be someone like you.” Y/N blushes a bit with Viktor smiling at him. “Maybe if I go with guy, then maybe they get message.”

“That you find them annoying, or…?”

“I’m already interested in someone.”

“Oh.” Viktor loves seeing Y/N acting flustered. “Is that why you wanted to bathe together?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He slowly put an arm around Y/N. “Is that problem?”

“Definitely not now.”

-

It’s right before the Yule Ball. In front of the hall, Y/N makes sure to dust away any dust on his clothing as he awaits for his dates. That’s when he notices his friends, Harry and Ron.

“Nice suit, Ron.”

“Shut it.”

“Still moody, huh?” Y/N chuckles. “I take it you find someone Harry.”

“Yes. Parvati.”

“Oh, she. She’s sweet.”

“How about you?” Ron asks.

Right before he’s answering, Y/N noticing his date standing on the staircase. Both friends follow his gaze, to see his answer, only to look surprised. The Bulgarian man goes down the staircase, wearing his handsome suit. Gently, he grabs Y/N’s hand and presses a kiss on it. That’s when he holds his hand. Y/N then looks back.

“See you later.” Holding each other arms, they walk towards the ball. Both guys still in shocked from what they saw.

“Bloody hell. I definitely didn’t expect that.”

-

During the dance, Y/N notices a lot of girls staring at him. Some look sad. Others look disappointed. Some other are jealous. Though Y/N isn’t bothered, as he continues to enjoy his time with Viktor.

Eventually though, Y/N wants a break and want something to drink. He notices Harry and Ron sitting by themselves, looking sulky again. With a glee smile, he sits beside them.

“Where are your dates?”

“Gone.” Harry merely replies.

 Y/N merely hums, finding it a bit awkward. He takes a sip from his drink. He then notices Krum at the side of the dancefloor, seeing him talk with his friends. That’s when both eyes meet, and they give a small wave to each other. Ron only groans in respond.

“You’re really fraternizing with the enemy?”

Y/N looks back at him and scoffs. “Really? You consider him the enemy?”

“It’s obvious what he wants. He’s after Harry. To get inside information. Maybe even Jinx Harry.”

“What information? Because last time I check, both of you act crazy ever since this year started. We barely hang out anymore, and this is why.” Y/N put his cup at the side as he glares at Ron. “Unlike you, Viktor can actually treat someone like a friend.”

“Get a room.”

“Don’t worry. We already did. More than you ever will.” With that, he storms off.

Viktor can tell by the side of his eyes to see his upset date. “You alright?”

“They’re being jerks, saying I’m conspiring with the enemy.” Y/N looks back. “I thought he hated the tournament.”

“Hey.” Viktor makes Y/N to look at him. “Don’t let them ruin fun. We have amazing night, we continue to do so.”

After some breaths, Y/N calms down. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Viktor smiles. “Let me introduce my friends. They eager to meet you.”

-

The second task came. Viktor is surprised he doesn’t see Y/N at all. Last time, they chatted for a bit before the tournament starts. Though not letting him bother by it, he does wonder where he is. And so, the second task starts. To deal with the water, he transfigures himself into a shark, though the spell execution wasn’t the best, since only his upper half transformed.

As he swims around, he tries to follow the clue which he got from the golden egg. Eventually, after several minutes, he heard the sound of the merpeople. Exploring further, that’s when he discovers what he needs to retrieve. Being chained on the bottom of the lake, he sees 4 students, one of which is Y/N. He sees Cedric saving Cho, and now he has to safe his person.

With speed, he swims towards Y/N. None of the merpeople or any other creature try to stop him. Without any problem, he bites through the chains and get Y/N. With speed, he swims to the surface. Once he reaches it, Y/N regains consciousness. He quickly screams once he sees a shark head next to him, only to calm down when Viktor returns back to his normal form.

“W-What the-?!” Y/N confusedly looks around.

Viktor grabs Y/N. “It’s alright. Let’s go.”

Once back on the pier, they get a cheer from the crowd. Alongside the glory, they get some blankets to warm up. That’s when they sit somewhere, where they await for Harry to get back. During which, Y/N is shivering from the cold, which Viktor notices. Gently, he removes his blanket to put it around Y/N.

“Y-Y-You S-Sure?”

“I manage.” Viktor assures. He scooches closer to Y/N.

Y/N smiles. “W-Why c-couldn’t they d-d-do t-this in the s-s-summer?” Viktor chuckles in respond. He then puts an arm around Y/N, helping him to warm up.

-

It’s the final task. In front of the crowd, who’s all cheering the champions on. Although he made up with Harry and Ron, he’s still cheering for Viktor, who’s going to wait for some time before entering the maze. During the wait, he talks with Y/N at the side.

“I know it’s not smart, but it’s an option.”

“I get in trouble if I set maze on fire.”

“Like I said, final trump card.”  That’s when Viktor is called to be ready. “Alright, it’s your time. See you later.”

Viktor leans to Y/N and kisses him. “I get trophy.”

And so he enters. After some time, Fleur did as well. The crowd wonders what’s happening in the maze. It takes a while until something happens. A red light appears on top of the maze. Some time has passed, and Fleur reappears from the maze, looking thorned down. Everyone wonders what happened to her, and what exactly is in the maze.

Not too soon later, and Viktor appears as well. Y/N can tell there is something wrong with him, as he slowly takes one step after another. He quickly gets off the stance and helps him get some rest.

“Are you alright?” Viktor remains quiet, looking off. “What happened?”

“…Don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” They get to the stance, where Y/N is checking up with Viktor. The rest of the Durmstrang academy is wondering what’s up as well. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t remember…” Viktor quietly says. “Don’t know happen.”

Instead of pressuring him to remember, Y/N remains by his side. Not only did something happened to him, he lost. Although he caught many victories along the year, not winning is still a blow. Thus, Y/N makes sure to be right by his side.

It takes a lot of time before something else happened. Once it did, nobody expected what appears in front of them. It takes a second before they realized in front of them is Cedric Diggory, dead. Once they did, the entire crowd became silent, only hear the desperate pleads of Harry, and the crying of Mr. Diggory. Harry eventually gets moved away from the scene.

As Mr. Diggory cries, Y/N grabs Viktor’s hand. All he wonders what happened to him, back in the maze.

-

Though the year ended badly, after some reflection, Y/N enjoyed his year. Yes, his friendship got tested, but in the end, it gotten stronger. Not just that, he got an amazing boyfriend of who he forged a strong bond with. Speaking of which, it’s time for the schools to disband. Everyone is saying their goodbyes, as does Y/N and Viktor, who’s at the school’s boathouse, where they watch over the lake. Both of them is sitting down, next to each other.

“You should come to Durmstrang. You make excellent student.”

“And now that Karkaroff, I don’t have to worry about a douchy principle.” Y/N smirks. “Sure, I visit once in a while. I look forward to it.”

Viktor smiles. “I love you; you know?” Y/N can’t help but smile in reply. “You truly an amazing guy. Let’s spend summer vacation together.”

“Definitely.” He leans in to kiss Viktor. “Love you too.”

Viktor puts an arm around Y/N. Both of them look at the lake. They appreciate the last few minutes before they depart. And yet, it’s only the beginning for their relationship.

[expectopatronum18]

Unpopular opinion

Disclaimer= no hate to anyone who thinks otherwise, you do you

Am I the only one who really didn't like the possession discussion scene between harry and ginny in the order of the phoenix? Lyk ik that scene is revered by hinny fans, but to me, it just shows their stupidity and a lack of understanding of each other's emotions and character. Let me explain

First off, I hate how its supposed to tell us that 'ginny can get harry to snap out of his brooding'. I hate that its framed as brooding at all, considering Harry's having a spiral after receiving no help after such a traumatic incident. Harry has every right to 'brood' in this scene.

Harry’s temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. He was exhausted, he was confused beyond measure, he had experienced terror, relief, then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to him!

… he was so tired… he was scared to sleep… yet he did not know how long he could fight it… Dumbledore had told him to stay… that must mean he was allowed to sleep… but he was scared… what if it happened again?

He didn't come up with the possession theory on his own, he literally heard one of the most experienced and senior most aurors of his time put it forward , plus received some sort of conformation from Dumbledore for it

“I reckon he sent it as a lookout,” growled Moody, “cause he’s not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he’s trying to get a clearer picture of what he’s facing and if Arthur hadn’t been there the beast would’ve had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter says he saw it all happen?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded rather uneasy. “You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this.” “Yeah, well,” said Moody, “there’s something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that.” “Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning,” whispered Mrs Weasley. “Course he’s worried,” growled Moody. “The boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake. Obviously, Potter doesn’t realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him — ”

Also we literally have proof that harry was being possessed

It happened in a fraction of a second: in the infinitesimal pause before Dumbledore said “three”, Harry looked up at him - they were very close together - and Dumbledore’s clear blue gaze moved from the Portkey to Harry’s face. At once, Harry’s scar burned white-hot, as though the old wound had burst open again - and unbidden, unwanted, but terrifyingly strong, there rose within Harry a hatred so powerful he felt, for that instant, he would like nothing better than to strike - to bite - to sink his fangs into the man before him —

Secondly, most of Harry's assumptions when he's supposed to be 'brooding' turn out to be correct. He theorizes that he could be the weapon Voldy's after. While that isn't completely true, Dumbledore confirms this in the end. He also believes that he might be being possessed, which is also confirmed by Dumbledore:

“You see,” Dumbledore continued, “I believed it could not be long before Voldemort attempted to force his way into your mind, to manipulate and misdirect your thoughts, and I was not eager to give him more incentives to do so. I was sure that if he realized that our relationship was - or had ever been - closer than that of headmaster and pupil, he would seize his chance to use you as a means to spy on me. I feared the uses to which he would put you, the possibility that he might try and possess you. Harry, I believe I was right to think that Voldemort would have made use of you in such a way. On those rare occasions when we had close contact, I thought I saw a shadow of him stir behind your eyes… ” Harry remembered the feeling that a dormant snake had risen in him, ready to strike, in those moments when he and Dumbledore had made eye-contact.

He believes that he's putting the rest of them in an unsafe position, which is confirmed by the whole fiasco with Sirius and the department of mystries. Granted its not really his fault the way he thinks it is, but it does inadvertently lead to Sirius' death( putting the blame on voldy here, not harry ofc).

Which makes the conclusion they come to pretty stupid. We're told in the 1st book that Quirrel was possessed by voldemort, and he didn't have blank spaces in his memory, he seemed very conscious of what was going on and even leaned into it. Which basically proves that there are forms of possession in this world that don't always involve having blank spaces in your memory. Why is Harry so easily convinced then?? HE EVEN THINKS OF QUIRREL WHEN HE'S ASSESSING HIS POSITION IN THIS THEORY

Harry remembered how the snakelike face of Voldemort had once forced itself out of the back of Professor Quirrell’s head and ran his hand over the back of his own, wondering what it would feel like if Voldemort burst out of his skull.

Don't believe me? It's proven by harry's possession as well, he's very aware that voldemort is using him

Blinded and dying, every part of him screaming for release, Harry felt the creature use him again…

Let the pain stop, thought Harry… let him kill us… end it, Dumbledore… death is nothing compared to this…

This clearly proves that the scene was written to mislead the readers so that the necessary shock value is obtained when harry has to take occlumency lessons and throughout the rest of the book. Heck, even 13 y/o me was frustrated reading this, I just went 'oh come on, u lot live in this world, u should be smarter than this!!'. Makes harry and ginny's first meaningful interaction lose value when 90% of it is contradicted imo.

Now, coming to harry and ginny themselves. Harry literally has to be reminded of the biggest incident in ginny's life. What is supposedly a hinny scene requires hermione to be the one to actually bring harry out of his confinement and get him speaking to the rest of them (no, i don't ship harry and hermione). Ginny is inconsiderate as well. She doesn't care to ask about harry's conclusions( which are much smarter than hers btw), she calls him stupid and dismisses his totally valid concerns. In fairness, we don't know how much she knows about quirrel, but it really undermines the importance of the scene when her 'help' is eventually contradicted by the plot itself. If rowling really wanted to sell this as a hinny scene, she should have had harry and ginny have an emotional and mature conversation about what it actually feels like to have voldemort in their heads, about the various complexities and insecurities surrounding it, and probably shed a little light on how ginny overcame this. There should have been a mutual understanding of each other's struggles, and a resultant bonding because no one else can truly understand what they've been through. Instead we have ginny dismissing harry, calling him stupid, stating the experience of being possessed in an utterly factual manner and harry reaching a dumbass conclusion despite being much smarter in the scenes earlier. So much could have been done with harry and ginny's connection, yet we ended up getting a scene that was written for the sole purpose of giving future shock value that lacks any form of bonding or understanding from either of them.

[abitmoody]

「 ✦ rahul kohli. cis man.  he/him.  ravenclaw  +  hogwarts alumni.✦ 」 was  that  ALASTOR MOODY seen  wandering  the  streets  of  diagon  alley ? the  THIRTY-EIGHT  y  /  o  WIZARD/HALF-TURN was  last  seen  in LONDON. i  hear they  are  working  as  an  AUROR and  have  sided  with THE ORDER. they  have  been  described  as  STRATEGIC +  PARANOID  with  the  familiarity of a personal vendetta; still getting used to the feel of his prosthetic leg and the weight of a cane in his hand; sharp, bloodshot eyes assessing those around him; the slight tremble of fingertips when the adrenaline has faded from his body, though his wand does not leave his grasp; fresh scars claw marks down his face and an unfortunate craving for raw meat. they  have  been  heard  humming  PARANOID  by  BLACK SABBATH.      

CHILDHOOD & HOGWARTS

Francis and Evelyn Moody were well-off individuals, though they didn’t keep up with the scandals that seemed to encapsulate London’s pureblood society – at least, not since twenty-three year old Evelyn married forty-one year old Francis and the pair were the talk of the town. The well-to-do purebloods were well behind modern society standards. They said he had married for love, besotted with the young lady; but whispers flew that she married him for his money – after all, he was a well-established potioneer with international connections. So, the Moodys set off for a quaint cottage with sprawling hills near Bingham, where they could leave the whispers behind them. 

Alastor was born just a year after their nuptials – a quiet boy, sweet, with a mind that whirled a mile a minute. He was a serious child, and that seriousness turned into a quick wit and scathing comments. Though tucked away near Sherwood Forest with just his mother and house-elf Posy, Alastor never found that he was lonesome, with large grounds that he could take a miniature broomstick out on, dense forestry that he could usually be found curled up with a book in. Solidarity activities suited him just fine; he’d never known any better. 

Alastor was fond of his mother—she was his mother, after all—but she was flighty. Enough time had apparently passed and the London Wizarding World buzzed with other scandals rather than the lengthy age gap between Mister and Madam Moody, so Evelyn’s vulturish friends frequented the house, squawking about. They doted on their own children yet never seemed to ask a question about anyone else’s, the garden parties tended to consist of women talking, talking, talking at each other, rather than having conversations. Alastor, having attended simply by nature of proximity, had been the most well-informed eight-year-old of the goings-on in ‘well-bred society’.

While he truly did love his flighty, gossip-monger mother, Alastor positively idolized his successful, infrequently seen, father, who had stories of India and France and and America — embellished for young Alastor’s interest — and could jabber about the wonders of potions and medicines if no one stopped him. And Alastor never would. Francis seemed to always be gone on business endeavors, but, like any good father missing his son growing up, always brought back exorbitantly priced gifts. 

But tragedy struck the Moodys just two years later when a ‘freak accident” killed Francis at work, leaving an unemployed Evelyn and ten year old Alastor to fend for themselves. The family never got details of the incident, appearing to be ‘too top secret’ and simultaneously could ‘destroy all they had been working towards’; it was a mystery—at least to any ten year old boy who read too many forbidden Sherlock Holmes novels. In reality, there was nothing that could have been done; explosions, accidents, unforeseen amputations occurred often in the name of magical innovation. Even still, there hadn’t been enough of him even to bury, so the coffin was simply symbolic—and empty. 

It was almost laughable, in Alastor’s mind, how quickly his mother found her second husband. And therefore how often he was left with just Posy for company as she and her new beau traipsed around in London society. He hardly saw his mother that last year before he went to Hogwarts, and by the time he came home for the Christmas holidays, he’d acquired a step-father. 

Though he and his father had both been promptly replaced (his mother seemed to have no trouble getting pregnant), Hogwarts was somewhere that he was one of a kind. He was still quiet, never one to insert himself into unnecessary conversations, but his dry sense of humor could send chortles around a room. He was an ace with a well-timed, cutting joke and even better in classes - could transfigure a piece of straw into a needle with his eyes closed. 

His mother had his little sister Clarissa, and he didn’t spend much time at home, for Sam made it clear that he was not his father. But he had his studies for company. And his broomstick, and the gaggle of friends that sent messages in and out of his window during the holidays. 

He’d just gotten his Prefect letter when another one followed right on its tail – five years ago, his father hadn’t died in a potioneering incident, but had been dealing in all sorts of illegal ingredients that he couldn’t pay for, and was subsequently murdered. 

The letter wasn’t signed, and his mother would have had a fit had he asked her for details, so the information was stuck in his brain and his alone; who could he have told, anyway? Who would have believed him? It knocked his nearly-perfect father down a peg in his mind, but it also opened up questions he didn’t have the answers to; why did they cover it up? Was this about saving face, or was something more sinister involved? It was the first real mystery that he’d seen, but one that never gave him any answers, not that he delved into it too deeply. It was painful, it would have tarnished his father’s, and his, good name. 

Hogwarts passed without incident, save for being a Prefect and Head Boy and a fill-in Beater for a few Quidditch matches. High marks on his OWLs and even higher marks for his NEWTs, it wasn’t even a question when he was a shoe-in for Auror training. He’d hoped this would allow him to gain control in his life. That he could make things happen instead of happening to him. And, besides, he’d get to be a regular Sherlock Holmes. 

AUROR ANTICS & THE FIRST WIZARDING WAR

Alastor rose quickly through the Auror ranks, and by the time he was twenty-five, he had already become a Senior Auror – even though, technically fifteen years of experience were supposed to be needed; desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.. Moody was bright, with a head for strategy and an ear for stealth. Stealth helped him in more ways than one, as Dumbledore pounded on his Chiswick cottage mere days after his promotion, asking not only for information, but for help. 

Though Albus Dumbledore had been his professor and headmaster and was forty years his senior, there was a camaraderie between the two, a wealth of information and intuition that made it a productive pairing. It was advice that Albus needed, it was an ear on the inside, listening to hear rumblings of what Lord Voldemort was going to do. Listening for secrets. Listening for liars. That icy February evening was the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and Alastor Moody was the first unofficial member. Whispers swirled of Voldemort’s rise to power.

It took years for those whispers to catch, and for the whole world to erupt in flames, but eventually, everything was shot to hell. The Auror office was in a tizzy, trying to figure out who was acting of their own accord and who wasn’t. Alastor was out in the streets night after night after night that he couldn’t ever really think straight – raids would be called, and he would head them. Dark Marks burned green in midnight skies, and he could only take a breath and face whatever was waiting for him underneath. 

They were rough years, and any time off work was spent with heads bent over blueprints with Dumbledore – the headmaster had added a few people to the group by then, as Alastor could only be in so many places at once. But it still wasn’t enough, and soon, to Alastor’s dismay, Dumbledore had added fresh-faced kids right out of school to the Order. They wanted to help, of course, but they were reckless. They didn’t know battle, didn’t know loss like he did. 

All this time, Moody had never felt safe, but he had always felt as though he flew under the radar. Sure, he’d gotten a healthy promotion and was running covert missions for both the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix, had landed multiple suspected and convicted Death Eaters in Azkaban cells, but that didn’t ever make him a target. It wasn’t until his boss, Darius Runcorn, Head Auror, had brought him a gift for his birthday – single malt whiskey – that he ever figured there was a problem. It had been a long day at the office, and he had just gotten off duty, so he and a handful of Aurors popped open the bottle to celebrate; after all, thirty was a big year. But Lionel Edgecomb had been the unlucky victim, as the whiskey passed his lips first, and he stopped breathing within seconds. Runcorn, it was later found out, had been under the Imperius Curse.

There’s a reason Alastor only drank from his hip flask – just don’t ask about the bourbon smell that perfumed the air.

The war continued and suspicion grew. Alastor could barely keep straight who knew what and who was pretending they didn’t know things and who he was pretending to not know in public. But the unthinkable happened–even with all the intel The Order was supposedly receiving from a handful of spies–and Voldemort’s prized pet quite literally bit the hand that fed him. Pandemonium, obviously, ensued. Despite Alastor’s very hearty protests, the Ministry decided to let convicted Death Eaters out of Azkaban–many of whom Alastor had personally dealt with–in the name of ‘reformation’ and began a new werewolf registry and new taskforce. The Ministry was coming from a place of fear; Voldemort had been a known enemy, but the werewolves were altogether an unknown force.

An unknown force that somehow managed to take his leg, the better part of his nose, and give him a newfound craving for particularly raw meat. 

RANDOM FACTS & TIDBITS

Alastor is painfully technologically illiterate. He might call someone on his runestone phone, but if you attempt to text him? You’ll receive an owl in 1-2 business days. If it’s urgent, you might have a very grumpy Auror standing in your fireplace at three in the morning.

Frequent flier at St. Mungo’s–the man has a dangerous job! Knows many of the healers on a first-name basis, even if he’s a horrendous patient and always wants to get back to work before he’s fully ready. 

Very recently got bitten by an untransformed werewolf, still hasn’t quite come to terms with it, as he’s healing from his many other injuries sustained in that particular raid. He’s struggling to hobble around with his new prosthetic leg and angry that he can’t go back to work yet. (Haven’t figured out whether this was a Ministry/work related event or something with The Order so I’m waiting for connections to solidify that).

Bad relationship with his family–no he does not want to talk about it.

As much as they get on his bloody nerves, he does look at the younger bunch of kids in The Order as… bothersome younger siblings who he’s actually begun to care about. Even when they do idiotic, reckless things like actually join The Order. 

BITS & BOBBLES

Full name: Alastor Francis Moody

Age & birthday: 38; January 2nd

Blood status: Pureblood

Occupation: Senior Auror

Former House: Ravenclaw

Residence: Townhouse in Chiswick

Wand: 12 inches, ebony wood, dragon heartstring core; fairly rigid

Patronus: Eagle owl

Positive traits: strategic, determined, intuitive, dependable, resilient, wise

Negative traits: paranoid, gruff, scathing, suspicious, closed-off

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Mentee – someone for Alastor to pass on his wisdom to, whether they’re an Auror or not, and hopefully help them stay alive.

Adversar(ies) – any ‘reformed’ Death Eater that Alastor personally put in Azkaban (bonus points if they now have to work alongside each other). 

Trusted healer – the one that Alastor always requests when he’s (once again) in St. Mungo’s.

Confidant – Alastor doesn’t have many actually, fully trusted, friends. This is someone he can share his deepest thoughts with and know they won’t blab to the whole Wizarding World

Enemy (aka ‘The Bastard That Cost Me My Leg (and Bit Me)’) – mildly self-explanatory, but Alastor has a personal vendetta against this particular werewolf.

Friends & casual acquaintances – he just needs people that don’t hate him, I’m begging.  

[rafescoke]

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her. 

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill. 

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up. 

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her. 

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?” 

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?” 

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting. 

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck. 

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes. 

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after. 

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,��� Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

-

add yourself to the taglist!

@okayshoto @joselyn001 @onceuponateenagetrash @dyingsleep @im19yearsold @iwannabeapogue @meaganjm @rafesobxs @flossy2929 @drewstarkeyluver @unfortunatekiwitrash @Mellifluouszayn @hhishho @hvrcruxes @scottybitch @asimpwriter @starxqt @Amaya124 @Made212 @adriee16 @eggirl @tommy-tommo @thatshithurted8 @beyatch012 @fallincindy @marvelwhor3 @rafeswh0ree @kookap @supernaturallydc-blog @blank-velvet @kayleea122 @clearbolts @lovelyxtom @noonesafe726 @christianaevans @jemimah-b99 @opierdalacz @anaisaxsalva @dangerdolns @obxlovelys @wildflowerliv @classygirlything21 @topshaggerwillne @gabiatthedisco @ms187 @Louisandthestyles @outcrbcnks @yandere-marvel @fairyobrien @luvmybbies @sapnapsbandana @sarahwasfound @kaitieskidmore1 @dirtytissuebox @a-bolanos @bebeos @l1brawh0re @cherrymedicine13 @daisybri7

[dorimena]

𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞 𝖕𝖙.𝟏

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; monoma neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 5.1k of filth,

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; nsfw, Overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, degradation/humilliation, cursing, cockwarming, crossdressing, school girl kink (?), mommy kink, pegging, cum play+eating, dom!fem reader, sub!character

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; whiney Monoma, loud sex, Monoma in a skirt, soundproof dorms, mentions of other 1B characters, aged-up character, Monoma is 18 in this

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; this was meant to just be some long fic, but I find it easier to just divide it into 2 parts while I figure out how to write out the scene I actually wanted to get to. I got carried away. This is what I've been doing during holy week. My religious school would be ashamed of me. This has been proofread, but if there are still any mistakes, I apologize.

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦.; incomplete/in progress.

Monoma had a shit week.

It all started on Monday when his school pants ripped conveniently from the back as he bent down to pick up his fallen notebook. They didn’t even look like they would rip! So how did they...? All he could hear during his inner turmoil and growing embarrassment were murmurs of pity, whispers of curiosity, and his homeroom teacher calling his name countless times to send him back to the dorms to change. Permission slip in hand and underwear out, he silently nodded and made his out, all while ignoring a burning sensation in his eyes and sudden dryness in his throat.

(Walking out the doors with his blazer tied around his waist, he swore he heard a familiar giggle and mockery coming from a smart-mouthed girl.)

Tuesday came bulldozing so suddenly that it ran over him. Well, really it was Yaoyorozu’s canon that almost ran him over. 

The day, in general, was normal, none of his classmates made comments about the minor incident the day before, well, except for Y/N who asked if he sent his pants to be fixed or not. (He didn’t, so she demanded him to hand it over to her.) He didn’t go back to the dorms after their last class, since he has to carry out classroom cleaning duties after he accidentally pushed Bakugou into the mud last week. No, seriously, it was an accident. First off, he didn’t see the mud. Second off, he was messing around with Kaibara’s quirk, which spooked Nirengeki who was somehow walking close by to the hot-headed explosion man- and… well, Monoma mistook Bakugou for Honenuki. For some odd reason. How insulting to his intelligence and great memory skills.

So after such a tiring task of brooming, wiping, dusting, and inspecting, he expected to be knocked off his feet with whatever Kendo decided to cook for dinner, not Yaoyorozu’s canon. God, and he shrieked! Who fucking shrieks?! He’s 18, he’s not supposed to shriek! Unless you’re pegging him just right-  

Wednesday only sucked because you canceled your biweekly study session in favor of hanging out with the girls in 3A. Now, regardless of what people still say, he has matured and slowly grew out his competitiveness and “jealousy” over class A, and doesn’t really have much issue with most of them (mainly because Shinsou somehow helped him become more “friendly”). However, how dare you choose the girls over him! You’ve never done that. 

(And whether or not he was moody and pouty is just a hallucination of yours, he swears it.)

The only bad thing, if you could even call it that, that happened on Thursday was that it slipped his mind how much time he had left to use Tsuburaba’s quirk and lost against his good ol’ pal. 

Friday though… Friday was just really weird and he hated how it only felt weird for him. Maybe it’s pent up frustration with how the week went? Maybe it’s the pouty baby in him still being butthurt over Wednesday’s missed study date? Maybe it’s you staring at his legs and ass? Maybe it’s the way you look so delectable in your hero outfit? Maybe- well, now he was just overthinking it, and he rarely ever does! He was tempted on asking Shinsou to, y’know, brainwash him so he could forget this weird feeling of him feeling weird.

Now comes Saturday. 

Today is Saturday.

Today is 10:06 pm on a Saturday.

You’re over at his dorm for the already mentioned biweekly study date. He should feel happy, considering you brought over some snacks, ordered take-out from his favorite French restaurant, even played with his hair every time you guys had the 15-minute study break. 

But he’s not happy.  He’s not unhappy, but he isn’t happy? Again, the weird feeling he felt the day before hasn’t really left and it’s been crawling around his skin, only getting worse when he saw you coming in with pants. 

It’s not supposed to make him feel not happy, but you usually come over with a cute skirt or dress, showing enough of your thighs and panties to keep him up at night, fantasizing about them wrapped around his head, suffocating him as he eats you out so delicately or ferociously, littered with his desperate bites and kisses, making him whine out in horny pain-

“Monoma?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry as you ditch your phone to look over at your whining boyfriend. “You okay there?”

Shit. He must’ve gotten lost in his thoughts. “Yes, I am perfectly fine, darling.”

Now that’s weird. He’s speaking so softly, and he only ever does that after he’s cum at least a few times, or when he’s totally relaxed and ready to call it a night. Well, there are those few times where he lies and he speaks about the same.

Humming, you smile sweetly at him. 

“Are you sure about that, baby boy?”

Oh, that sent a shudder through his body, his white shirt suddenly feeling too thick and his shorts feeling a bit constricting. In other words, he’s now turned on.

He stays quiet, however, because he feels like his voice will give away his actual feelings, whether it continues being soft or it decides to crack and show how he’s ready to give himself away to you.

“Neito. I asked you a question.”

“No, mommy! I-I mean, I don’t know…” He huffed out, embarrassment now outweighing his neediness. God, why did you have to pull out the mommy card?! You’re so wicked. Did you not know how horrible his week was and now you want to be mean to him?

“What do you mean by that, baby?”

“Well, I’ve had a horrible week, mommy! You should know that!” 

“Don’t dare yell at me, Neito. Mommy’s trying to be patient and understanding, but if you’re going to just be a brat, then I should just leave you in time out, right?” Monoma gawked, his whole body and attention turned towards you as you got off of his bed, arms crossed and disappointment showing on your face. Really? You’re disappointed? Just as he opened his mouth to talk back, you spoke first.

“And here I brought one last gift for you. I’m here trying to be such a caring, doting girlfriend, and you start making assumptions about my efforts? Bad boy!”

Wait, gift? These were gifts? Oh! You… you were trying to comfort him? God, guess he was a bad boy. 

Seeing him deflate, eyes losing whatever snark they possessed, you sigh and walk towards your bag near the door. And this made him stand up so quickly he lost his footing and slightly fell forward, shocked that you could be leaving already, which you aren’t. Startled by his sudden movement, you quickly take out a plastic bag and hold it in front of him to show the last gift. 

It was quiet between you two, staring at each other before looking down at what you are holding. 

“What is that?” He’s the first to speak, blinking as he tries to figure out what the dark blue item could possibly be. It’s pleated, though, so-

“Is it the skirt you’ll change into?” And you laugh, shaking your head as you walk back to the bed and sit. 

“Not me, baby. You will change into it.” He’s going to be wearing a skirt? 

Blinking once more in confusion, he giggles awkwardly before frowning. 

“You’re joking, right?” Now it’s your turn to frown.

“No.” And you smile confidently. “I promise, if you wear the outfit in here, it’ll lead us to the actual last gift, hm?” You bat your eyelashes like a little girl asking her dad for a new Barbie doll, or whatever it is they bat their eyelashes for. You’re curious to see what he’ll do.

And you didn’t have to wait long for his decision to be made.

Sitting on your naked lap, thighs trembling in either overexertion or overstimulation, is a certain sweaty, defiled blond male with gorgeous teary, periwinkle eyes trying their best to focus down on you. 

After he swiftly and elegantly changed into the outfit, it came to show on his mirror that this wasn’t some random crop top and skirt combo, but a whole schoolgirl uniform: apart from a cropped school girl top and the pleated navy skirt, there were white thigh highs and cute hair clips. 

Turns out, you misunderstood his ‘subtle’ hints of some kinky schoolgirl skirt sex; you thought he was offering, with the way he’d bat his pretty eyelashes at you and stare at your skirt during lunch. Really, he was implying you stay with it on, somehow. 

Regardless of who was wrong, the fact your pretty boy is squirming uncontrollably with your strap-on deep inside him is something you just have to engrave in your mind. Who knows when you’ll be able to buy another skirt his size? You can’t wait to render it useless.

“Y-You’ve been thin-thinking for too-oo long!” Monoma whines, bringing a hand to wipe away his bothersome tears he doesn’t want you to see, huffing at the end before moaning loudly as you roll your hips upwards, the tip of the dildo teasing his sweet spot.

“Mm, I didn’t say you can speak yet, did I? Guess mommy spoiled you too much.” Sneering, you shift on the bedsheets under you while placing your hands on his thighs, slowly raking your nails upwards. You try your best to avoid the white thigh-high socks, not wanting to make him ticklish and forget why you’re even touching him there. 

Monoma shakingly gasps, squirming even more as he tries to have his pathetic, precum weeping dick grab the attention of either one of your hands but ends up staining the clothing covering it. Rolling your eyes, you smack the hairless skin hard enough to watch it quickly flush red and hear him groan, whether in pain, arousal or both.

“Stop it. You’re making me angry with how selfish you’re being. Isn’t mommy supposed to be satisfied first? Or did you forget our rules, baby?” 

“N-no! No! No, I- no!” Is whining all that he can do? He’s been whining or moaning for the past hour, with the occasional groans or gasps. You don’t want him to only whine, you need to see him cry. 

Cry prettily as he did on Monday when he thought no one was looking back at the dorms.  Watch him struggle to keep his whimpers of humiliation at bay. Make him forget all about his silly pride and stupid competitiveness against a class who doesn’t really see him as a threat, but just a crazy motherfucker (or so says Hagakure.)

“No what, Neito? ‘No mommy! I do know the rules!’ or ‘No mommy! I forgot the rules!’ C’mon, baby. I thought you knew how to speak properly? Now you’re making Bakugou seem eloquent.”

Oh no, you’re upset at him. Monoma gasps in offense, though, at the implication that the anger and pride-driven Bakugou is better than him at speaking. Ouch, okay, that actually kind of hurt but it was kinda hot? Kinda not? What’s wrong with him?

Yeah, what’s wrong with him? You’re expecting him to go on with his speech of how Bakugou isn’t anywhere near his expertise and social skills, how he’s clearly more coherent than the other, or the typical ‘how dare you’ sentences. What you didn’t expect was him to whimper and clasp his hands together as if asking for forgiveness so soon.

“No mo-mommy! I do know! Th-The rules, th-that is! I know ‘em!” 

“Then you’ll stop moving so much and let mommy continue marking you? If you do, and I’ll be repeating this for the last time, Neito, mommy might let you cum first, mm? Sounds good?”

“Ye-ES!” Okay, maybe you should’ve waited until he answered to land another slap on his thighs, although this one was close to his dick. Oh well, at least he’s making other sounds, but no struggle or tears. 

Leaving nail marks around the pale, smooth skin, even carving your name on both thighs with light scratches, you’re in awe at how he’s trying not to move too much. Then again, he is your sweet baby boy, who thrives and gets off of making you proud of him and cumming because of him. 

Lifting your eyes from the satisfying reddening skin to his face, you’re struck with awe again: finally, as if some god were listening to your wishes, you see him blinking rapidly as a new batch of tears quickly accumulate on his lashline and slowly trickle down his red cheeks before being furiously wiped away by him. Seems like this has been going on for a bit, seeing how his eyes are slightly red and his hands, clasped back together, if not tighter, look kind of wet. He didn’t want you to know he was trying not to cry and then failed so beautifully.

Gosh, and here you were expecting him to be a brat, to defy your authority over him, to challenge you like he usually does. 

(If only you had some mind-reading quirk, you would’ve known he actually had been planning his next moves.)

“Good job, baby! You let mommy mark you so pretty with her hands, and look! Mommy’s name is on your thighs, so that next time you touch yourself you won’t forget who you belong to- I mean, who you’re a baby boy for.” 

You’re basking in happiness, in pride, in complete bliss while he thanks you in small whimpers, hips twitching and hole clenching around your strap. Right, you forgot how long he has been cockwarming you; guess he deserves an even better award. He never manages to hold back for so long when sitting on your silicone cock.

Rubbing your palms around his thighs without moving your stare from his face, you command him to put his hands to use and lift the hem of the skirt, getting a good show of a new dribble of precum dropping heavily onto your pelvis. His dick is even shaking just as much as his body, pulsing even more than any other past encounter. It’s also competing against Kirishima’s red hair for the title of the “most red thing ever to exist”. 

Monoma’s opening and closing his mouth, eyebrows furrowed in question and silent begging.

“You can speak now.”

“M-Mommy, you pro-hah-mised t-to make hn-me cu-um!”

“...Watch that tone, little boy.” You glowered before continuing. “Remind mommy what she promised you and explain why you deserve it.”

Now you’re being unfair again and Monoma doesn’t want to deal with how you’re suddenly trying to milk out his responses to the way you want. Crossing his arms and glaring down at you, he mutters, “Wh-why should I? Did y-you forget?” 

Humming, you move your hands to his hips, rubbing your thumb on the cheap material covering them before beginning to lift him off, at least trying to. “Guess mommy should go back to her room since her baby boy decided to be a little bitch.”

“No!” That’s startling on both your ends hearing such a loud, anguished tone come out of him. Bottom lip trembling and quickly putting his hands to grip tightly at the skirt, Monoma holds back a sob. 

“I’m so-sorry, mommy! ‘m not a-a, um, little b-bitch. I’m sorry.” Ending with a whisper, he slowly puts all of his body weight down on your lap, wanting to keep you there and make it impossible to lift him off, and hangs his head in defeat. (Really, it’s because of shame, but you’ll never hear that from him.)

Do you not realize how hard he’s shaking? He can feel his heartbeat in his ears and hear it from his brain. He’s all sweaty and flushed red, his pupils dilate every time you look deep into them. He’s seen the way your eyes light up when glancing at his weeping dick, and he loves how wet it looks, it feels, it sounds, whenever he shifts. 

Most importantly, other than his neglected manhood slowly turning a shade of purple, his prostate has been teased for so long that he just wants to ride you hard enough to find bruises tomorrow and hypothetically ‘destroy your cock’.

“If you’re sorry, you’ll tell me what I want to hear. I’m not going to repeat what I asked for.”

Gulping to ease down the shame building up in his body, he lifts his head enough to catch your gaze before softly responding. 

“Mommy, um, promised I-I get to cum… she’ll m-make me cum if I-I stopped movin’ s’ much.” Goddamn it, Monoma, get yourself together! “I d-deserve this be-because I stopped. Was a g-good ba-um, baby boy.” He loves hates it when you make him do this, even if not often.

Satisfied with the answer you’ll probably only ever hear once and as clear as possible, you nod your head. 

“Then fuck yourself on my cock, Neito.”

No need to repeat yourself. Every little noise he tried so hard to hold back, every twitch and shudder he tried so hard to subdue, every twist of his face to show off the agonizing pleasure is quickly overcoming his insides and dick.

He’s whimpering so loudly, so shamelessly, as he bounces greedily on your lap. Loud and wet skin slapping against each other, and you at first thought, through every lost huff of air, that it’d be his ass connecting to your lube-covered thighs. Instead, your eyes shift towards his crying cock, the way spurts and spurts of precum are left on your lower abdomen, how this furiously blushing extremity keeps slapping itself onto you with every one of his desperate bounces. It’s even wetter than moments ago, you would’ve thought it’d be lube.

Monoma opens his eyes, which seemed to have closed at some point, and looks down at your face, huffing out airy whines of ‘what’, not knowing what you’re looking at. His dick has been wet with his precum for the past hour, so what could be new?

Until he looks down at himself and is mesmerized with how his dick, heavy with unreleased cum and flushed with blood, is tainting and slapping against your beautiful skin with his horny juice- wait, how stupid is he to refer to his precum as ‘horny juice?’ 

Stupid enough to forget to close his mouth and make his built up drool mix in with the mess below, his whimpers and whiny moans turning into high-pitched cries of your name and loud moans, a normal person would worry about their neighbors. The more he stares at himself, the louder he gets and the sloppier his hips gyrate.

Until he suddenly feels the tip of the toy punch against his prostate. 

“Ahn! AGAIN! A-aga-again! Nngain!” Monoma screams, eyes crossing and welling up with old and new built-up tears, ready to drip down. He’s gripping and pulling the hem of his skirt in all directions, his hands never staying still even when a light rip could be heard upon a harsh pull. He recreates the same move, thighs quivering and tensing, begging to be closed. Each accurate hit to his sensitive spot forces out a louder cry and threatens his tears to let loose. 

His movements get sloppier and lazier. Seems like he’s tiring out, which isn’t good. Sure, you’re hoping to make him cry with pretty tears and ugly sobs, but you were also hoping to make him do so repeatedly. Then again, if he’s tired out, there wouldn't be much fight or snark from him and maybe you can still make him cry freely. 

Good thing you know how to execute fantastic sneak attacks against him.

Under the pillow where your head is situated, you reach for a not-so-small device that kind of looks like a walkie-talkie. Monoma sees this when trying to focus his sight, tensing up at the thought that maybe you were recording this for some benefit or blackmail. But why would you want to blackmail your own boyfriend? Had he done something not to your liking?

The answer came in the form of loud buzzing and sudden quaking starting from deep inside him. 

“Wh-wh-wha-what is- hnngh, st-sto-op!”  Monoma wails out, almost falling onto your body with how powerful the vibrations are churning hot inside of him. His vision is getting blurry, blocked by the tears that finally, finally are let go and kiss his cheeks with every hot trail left behind. 

“You, oh, want me to stop?” He can kind of see your wicked grin, the mockery in your tone and amusement oozing out making him let even more tears fall. Why would you want to stop? 

“St-sto-op?! No? N-no! No! P-pluh-plea- nnnghh!” 

Ah, so he’s gone dumb. He doesn’t realize he said to stop. Well, now you can either continue watching him break on your lap and admire the waterfall of precum and fresh tears and make him continue working for his orgasm; or, you can tease him some more while turning up the intensity of the toy, now that it’s pleasuring you for once. The way it tickles your clit is enough to make your panting much more noticeable and thighs tense. You wonder how a setting at 4 could already drag out such reactions from the blond male. Enticed now, you decide to go with the second choice. 

“P-pluh-plea…? Didn’t think y-you’d be stupid! Where did m-my smart-mouthed baby go? Ugh.” 

“N-n’where m’mmy! ‘m h-here- Fuck! Fuck, pl-please! Please! Mo-more? Nngh!”

“You’re slurring, b-baby. But, you a-asked politely.” You hover your thumb over the ‘+’ button, hips grinding upward to drag out some more tears, more cries, more whimpers as you melt into the bed.

“Mommy’s g-gonna count to 10, al-alright? Ugh, then you’ll c-cum, mm. Understand?” 

You’ve never seen so much eagerness come from Monoma before, well, not unless it’s because he knows he’ll win at something or get to prove his worth even more. But the way he nods reminds you of a bobblehead: empty in the head, cute to look at. 

“G-good. Don’t forget t-to keep riding m-mommy’s big, th-thick cock.” You then lower your voice, sending shivers down his spine even with how hot he feels. “Understand?”

You don’t wait to see more of his eager nods. You press down on the button until it reaches the maximum intensity, which makes your hips jolt up so harshly, thrusting the silicon toy back up to him that it’s enough to make him squeal. Now that’s new. 

As much as you’re enjoying how satisfying the stimulation is on your wet cunt, you can’t help but moan out loud Monoma’s name as the boy’s reduced to short-lived squeals and rapid hiccups, so rapid that you’re beginning to think he might be hyperventilating. Worried, you bring your thumb to reduce the intensity before feeling him grind so desperately on your lap. So without any more distractions or hesitations, you quickly begin the countdown.

“Ten.” Monoma repeats with a strained moan, his hands flailing about as he tries to grab purchase onto something, letting go of his ‘forgotten’ skirt.

“N-nine.” Monoma finally plants his trembling hands onto your shoulders, pinning you down enough to give enough strength to his arms. Hovering over you, you frown at his skirt-covered dick. 

“Ei-eight.” Monoma tenses his thighs as much as possible to stop the shaking. Even if it didn’t do much, he begins riding you again with more vigor and desperation than previously. A high-pitched whine of your name quickly leaves him as his sensitive dick receives friction from the fabric covering it, the stain that had dried over time reviving as more precum marks it.

“Seven- shit.” Monoma’s trying to look down at you. He can’t really see much of anything, not with his tears never stopping or his mind not setting back into an intellectual phase. He can barely think to say anything else but lewd chants of your name and ‘please’, ‘more’, ‘faster’. It’s not until he moans out a timid “f-fu-ugh- fuck!” that you pay mind to the rapidly growing heat in your stomach.

“Six! Fuck, Neito!” Monoma’s continuous chants and growing volume suddenly sound babbled as he drools down on you, his saliva hitting your chin before you growl up at him. No words are exchanged as he swallows the liquid that had accumulated, although with difficulty. His thighs are beginning to burn and shake with exhaustion, quaking even worse than when he was cockwarming you. His riding turned into hard bouncing, finally stealing your breath away physically and providing some movement on the other end of the silicone toy to press harder onto your clit. 

“Fi-five!” Monoma’s eyes cross for the second time, staying longer in that position as he chokes on his scream, all because you’re beginning to meet up with your own thrusts. Your feet planted on the bed as you let go of the control for the vibrator, gripping onto his hips tightly to match him with you. You’re beginning to moan so sweetly, gasping out his name loud enough for him to-

“Cl-clo-ose! F-ugh-fuck! Fuck! Clo-oooose!” 

“Ho-hold it! Hold i-it, baby, a-almost the-there!” God, the heat is growing so deep in you that you know this will be violent.

“Four- shiiit.” Monoma’s sobbing now, ever since you told him to hold it. Mission accomplished, so far. He’s blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears and allow him to actually see you. He needs to see your lewd faces, ignoring the fact he is probably rivaling yours. The intense need to cum is building up far too quickly for him to even catch up and he just wants to cum right here, right now. But if he does, you’ll punish him. So, he tries his best to hold it. 

“Three! Three, Neito!” Monoma’s trying so hard to not cum, to not even think about it, but how can he if his prostate is being overstimulated and his cock keeps receiving such familiar friction, enough to make him sob even louder. He’s not going to make it.

“T-two! Lif-ft your sk-skirt!” Monoma can’t or else he’ll fall on you. But you’re grabbing onto him so hard that he hasn’t felt the need to support himself on your shoulders. Using whatever energy he has left, he throws himself up to his old sitting position, making his bouncing sloppier and unsynchronized with your thrusts. He quickly grabs onto the wet hem, biting his lip as he tries to swallow and control his sobs. Lifting it, he’s rewarded with the sight of his slick covered cock, so red and noticeably throbbing that his eyes slightly roll to the back of his head.

“One! Fuck, one!” Monoma’s mouth opens wide, his throat constricting as every choked moan and cry tries to escape while his ass begins to tighten alarmingly fast around the toy. He jumps when he feels something wrap around him, quickly looking down at himself again to see, then feel, you viciously stroke him. And that does it.

“Cum.”

Monoma gasps as he relaxes his thighs and lets go. One more hit to his prostate and he’s…

He’s quiet.

Your eyes are as wide as dinner plates as you watch him reach his orgasm: on you, in all his beautiful glory, is Monoma Neito. A guy whose back is arched at a certain angle you’re sure it’s uncomfortable. A guy whose nipples are completely being seen through the drenched crop top. A guy whose mouth is leaking trails of drool, but not as much as his eyes are leaking streams of unstoppable tears. A guy whose face is so red and sweaty, his bangs are striking to the skin and his eye color pops out more. A guy whose only warning of his cum leaving his body, as much as his soul had, is to roll his eyes so violently to the back of his head and convulse forward.

You forget about your orgasm as you try your best to support his body in the current position, not wanting him to fall on you or backward. Well, maybe you should’ve let him fall onto you.

His cum spurts seem to be gold medal Olympians in ‘how far can we reach’ and ‘how much can we be’. The first one barely misses your eyes, but the second one hits you on the forehead. With each spurt leaving his twitching cock, Monoma hiccups whiney and loud words of gratitude and mercy, hips jumping up, torso jolting forward. His knuckles are white upon the unforgivable grip he has on his absolutely ruined skirt, slowly but surely being dirtied with each load forced out of him with the still-buzzing toy inside him.

This whole scene is enough to remind you about turning down the intensity of the vibrations while grinding slowly, both to help milk him out his incredibly overwhelming high and to bring you back to the tip of paradise. 

By the time he’s done, he nearly collapses on you but first lifts himself, somehow, off of the toy before leaning back onto your lifted thighs. He’s still twitching, the color of his face slowly coming back as his eyes dry up from the tears. The socks have moved a bit down on his legs and most of the pretty hello-kitty themed hair clips are barely fastened on his hair. You’re pretty sure some are littered around the bed.

Monoma’s eyeing his mess curiously and taking in a cum-covered you before he scoops up some of his cum, tastes himself and you both moan softly. You turn the toy off, still rolling your hips as much as possible to ride out your harsh, hot, and wet orgasm. You’re pretty sure you somehow squirted, but that doesn’t matter too much right now. 

Because the moment Monoma came back to his senses and made eye contact with you, you find yourself living in a slow-motion picture: with a shaky hand, he uses the same fingers to write down his first name before scooping up as much of his excess cum and, without any warning, moves forward to thrust his fingers in your mouth, dragging the pads of his fingertips down onto your tongue as you swallow. 

Pulling his fingers out slowly while giggling breathlessly, his signature smirk grows onto his blissed-out face.

“H-how do I ta-taste, m-mommy?”

[apples-of-eden]

•°~Member introduction~°•

Hello sweetie pies! My name is Han or you can call me Moody, anything really ^^. I'm a 22 years old genderfluid who loves to read, write, sleep, draw, and Roleplay. I have known DL for 5 years now but actually made my first blog at the end of 2021.

Here is my main OC blog -> @metsu-san

•°~About the OC~°•

Name: Metsu Gamachi

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: British-Japanese

Sexuality: Bisexuality

Specie: Shape-shifter

Birthday: 11th of Jan

Sign: Capricorn ♑️

Blood type: O-

Height: 157.5 cm/ 5'2

Weight: 60 kg

Occupations: 2st year in Ryoutei Academy

Favorite food: Pizza, Candy.

Hobbies: painting, baking, dancing, annoying others.

(More info under the cut~)

•°~Appearance~°•

-> Turquoise doe eyes that shine with excitement. Shoulder length wavy red hair that is dyed with a pink color, matching the Rosacea on her cheeks with a band-aid that is on her nose all the time to hide a small scar. Her ears are littered with three grey piercings. Metsu also often let's her hair down with small piggy tails on the side giving her a childish look.

-> her body is in an inverted triangle shape but appears rectangular due to her clothing style. It's either showing off or covering her entire body, no in between. A usual dark tank top with a light tan jacket that she keeps off her shoulders, along with a pair of shorts that reach above the knees. In Contrast to that she wears sweat shirts and pants on lazy days.

-> The school jacket is always off shoulder or tied around her waist. She added another layer to the white shirt so it's not too see-through when it gets wet. The skirt is just a tad bit tighter than usual since she doesn't like how puffy it was. Also wears short socks so it's easy for her to take them off and run bare-footed.

•°~Personality~°•

A stubborn energetic childish girl in the body of an adult, that's a brief description. Metsu doesn't care about what people say, making her carefree and turn out weird. She is painfully blunt to the point of insolence, she says what's in her heart without a second thought and before she knows, words are out in a second.

Adventurous but riskless, she knows her body can regenerate itself so she uses and abuses that point unless silver or copper is added to the mixture, that's when she stops knowing that it will definitely kill her. Loud and talkative, she rambles all the time and she's more optimistic than she is nice, her way of speech leave other thinking of how strange of a person she is. Living up to be a shape-shifter, she blends quickly with her surrounding.

•°~Backstory~°•

Metsu's mother passed away after giving birth to her only daughter, leaving the father to take care of Metsu. Since he was a known painter, he didn't have to leave the house so much, which left him time to raise the little girl, except for occasional measures where he had to travel or leave for a few days.

When Metsu was 5 years old, a new woman, Taila, came to live in the rather quiet neighborhood. Although Talia was very much of a loner, it wasn't long until she took a liking on the sneaky cookie theif that would waddle in her back yard through a small opening in the fence between the houses.

The two adults, Datori and Talia, soon grew closer and got married after the incident when Metsu first became a shape-shifter because of a potion that Talia accidentally gave to the little child. What no one knew except for the small family is that Talia was from the wolf-clan and used that potion as a tranquilizer.

To get a better hold of her new powers, Metsu got trained for a short period of time under the guidance of the king of Vampires, Karlheinz. Due to her small age and how strict and sadistic her training was she developed a fear toward the vampire king.

One more memeber was welcomed to the family, an impure-blood baby boy, attached the memebers of the household even closer to each other until one faithful night when Talia couldn't contain her IED which ended her up killing her husband. It was all pure accident, horror filled Talia's heart; she was ready to runaway with her son in an attempt to keep Metsu from getting hurt too, but it didnt go as planned as the pink haired girl insisted on tagging along since she didn't want to stay dealing with everything alone. A bloody wound was left on Metsu's face when the panicked mother tried to push her away.

Soon a rumor spreads around. An old man is found dead in his house, two of the family members go missing, and a 12 year old girl denies all the accusations before moving out to another place. But there was no other place to shelter herself with but to go back to her previous guardian and seek out his help, which led to her joining the Sakamakis mansion after turning 17.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can you do the brothers reacting to a fem MC with a lot of strength? so much so they cannot control it? im talking about physical strength btw thank youu

For the purpose of this prompt, I will be imitating MC after Sakura Hibiki from Dumbbell Nan-Kilo Moteru?. Also due to the length this turned out to be, I will only be doing the Older Brothers right now. Send another ask for the Younger Boys!

Obey Me Brothers (Eldest) + Super Strong MC

Lucifer

“It’s nice of Lord Diavolo to remodel your office for you.” You tell Lucifer in a chipper tone as you help him pack up his office just that.

“Yes. It was very kind of him.” He agreed while putting his books away. “Though a little unnecessary. My office was perfectly fine the way it was.”

“Well, change can be a good thing.” You reply with a small giggle. It wasn’t a phrase that Lucifer was particularly comfortable with

As you helped put things away, you pause at his desk and look at it. “Are you sure you want your desk here?” You ask. “It doesn’t really work well in the space now.”

Lucifer paused as well and inspect it critically. “Hmm…perhaps your right. Maybe it would look better on the other wall.” The demon looked to the opposite wall for a moment, trying to visualize the desk there, and turn around to see you holding the huge mahogany desk in your arms.

“Do you want me to put it over there now?”

“Uh….sure…” You crash into a few things with just the size of the desk, apologizing the whole way, but set it down without incident while Lucifer just stared at you. You had to agree. It did look better on this wall.

Mammon

“Step right up! Step right up! Win yourself a prize!”

The pop-up carnival in town was all a buzz. Bright lights. The smell of fried food in the air. People laughing and running around. It had been a total surprise when it had just appeared overnight, and Mammon had to go. Of course, he invited you. His love human had to come with him to make sure you were safe.

“You there! Young man! Step right up and win your gal a prize!” The carnival barker called. Pointing his cane at you and Mammon.

“Ha! Liked I’d waste my money on something dumb like that.”

“I actually wouldn’t mind that DevilCat plushie.” You confess, nibbling at your cotton candy.

Mammon balked a little at your statement, then straightened up and went over to the machine. “W-Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. Don’t worry [Y/N]! The great Mammon will win it for you!” He picked up the mallet from the game and swung it down to try and ring the bell. It made it up pretty far, but just came short.

Frustrated, Mammon swung the mallet again and again. “This game is rigged!”

“Can I try?” You ask. Hands free now that your cotton candy was gone. The demon muttered, but handed you the mallet and the man the money for you to try. You square up, feet firmly planted, and swung down. A loud clung echoing a few seconds later, to the surprise of Mammon, the carnival barker, and everyone around. But not you. “Yay! Does that mean I won?!” You ask excitedly.

The carnival barker just handed you the plushie. Still stunned. You walk off with Mammon, who was moody and embarrassed now that you had rung the bell and not him. “Awww…cheer up Mammon! You can have my plushie if you want. I won it for you.”

The demon squabbled a little. Insisting that he didn’t want it, but offering to ‘carry it for you’ anyway. He still sleeps with it every night.

Levi

“Turn! Turn!”

“I’m trying!” You growl back at Levi as he was back seat driving your character next to you.

You had agreed to come play video games with him in the afternoon. He got a new racing game, Kawaii Kawaii Go-Kart, and wanted you to be the first person to test it out with him. He did not, however, inform you that he was one of the beta tester for the original concept game, and he was kicking your ass all over the course.

“No, no! You have to hit A and B to hit the hyper speed!”

“I am hitting A and B together!”

“No your not! Your timing is off! I can hear your button presses are a quarter millisecond off.”

“Oh really?! Can you hear how dumb you sound right now?!”

“Oy! Don’t get mad at me because you’re losing! I’m just trying to help!”

“You’re not helping!!” You shout. Followed by the sound of plastic crumpling in your hands.

You both look down from the screen to see the controller snapped in half between your hands. “My controller!” Levi cried. Looking literally about to cry.

“I’m sorry Levi! I didn’t mean to!” You quickly apologize.

“It was brand new! It didn’t even have good hand grooves worn into it yet!”

 “I said I was sorry! It was an accident!”

“Why do the good have to die so young?!?!”

Levi bemoaned about his controller for a good long while; you right along there to keep apologizing. Eventually, he stopped crying. Not to say he wasn’t over it. You were banished to the bean bag to watch him play, and he doesn’t let you touch his controllers for a whole month.

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.

"We were together Jon. I loved you."

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood.

*

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."

Dead, cold silence fills the room.

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

[bjornthorsson20]

Chapter 2

Hermione Granger was many things, but patient was not one of them. Today, she had arrived at the library early to study (though most people would say she didn't need to, which was simply preposterous), and to help Ginny with homework, which apparently seemed to run in the Weasley family.

She was currently seated at her favorite spot in the library, the one furthest from the entrance where no one would bother her, and the library itself was thankfully empty at the moment. Ginny was late for their study session, and Hermione was beginning to think she had forgotten about it, but went back to studying in the hopes her red-haired friend would arrive soon.

No matter how much she tried concentrating though, her mind kept wandering back to a certain infuriating ginger boy that insisted on plaguing her thoughts as of late.

For a while now, Hermione was aware that she was infatuated with her best friend, Ron Weasley.

The first signs were during her second year when Malfoy called her a mudblood and Ron jumped in to hex him, which he would've done had his wand not backfired on him. Despite that, Hermione felt touched by Ron wanting to protect her, and that idea made her feel things she didn't entirely comprehend at the time. She knew even then that had it been Harry, those feelings would not have been the same.

From then on, Ron would continue to prove to her that what she felt towards him was different. Everytime Ron did something for her, like when he stood up for her in third year after Snape called her a know-it-all, Hermione imagined the same scenario playing out with Harry instead, and everytime that euphoria just wasn't there. She even remembered feeling excited at the prospect of spending an entire Hogsmeade trip with just Ron, then immediately feeling guilty for being happy that Harry had been left out. It wasn't that Hermione didn't care for Harry just as much as she did for Ron, but Harry was simply like a brother to her and, likewise, she was sure Harry viewed her as a sister, regardless of whatever mindless drivel that wretched, repugnant, heinous excuse for a reporter spewed into her disgusting, detestable articles. Merlin, she hated that woman!.

Hermione still remembered the moment she was hit with the realization of her attraction towards Ron in full. It was sometime after the trip to Hogsmeade, when the three of them were in the common room doing homework. Hermione was sitting between both boys, and she noticed Ron had sat closer to her than usual, though she decided not to point out that fact in fear he would get self-conscious about it and move away (she didn't mind the proximity, after all). She was in the middle of her "insert-Harry-here" scenario, when Ron's elbow bumped into hers, sending her back to reality. She immediately blushed and attempted to go back to her essay, though she only managed to stare at it as if she were interrogating her paper. She couldn't help glancing at Ron to check his reaction.

That was when she looked at him, as in, really looked at him.

She noticed the way his hair stuck out at odd angles, creating a messy arrangement of flaming red that she wanted to run her hands through and feel it slide perfectly between her fingers; the pattern of freckles spattered across his face creating a constellation-like mosaic on his complexion that she wanted to take a closer look at and count one by one for hours on end. His blue eyes (Hermione couldn't tell the exact shade) resembled two small bluebell flames which seemed to be brimming with magic the longer she stared at them mesmerized; the subtle movement of his facial muscles as he concentrated on his essay, the furrow of his brow, the narrowing of his eyes which accentuated his beautiful golden lashes, and the pursing of his lips, lips she found herself wanting to know how they would feel against her own.

And that was the moment it hit her like a ton of bricks. Hermione Granger fancied Ron Weasley!

The suddenness of that conclusion was so overwhelming that she couldn't pretend to concentrate any longer, so she quickly gathered her things, muttered a goodnight to Ron and went up to her dorm room, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

From that day on, Hermione would continue noticing things about him, like how big yet gentle his hands were, how his freckles seemed to cover his arms just as beautifully as his face, leaving some parts of his skin looking almost tanned, or how he now stood a full head above her (and he showed no signs of his growth stopping anytime soon, a fact that left her with a weird fluttering sensation on the inside). Now, Hermione had a hard time keeping herself from staring at him so much, and she had caught herself a couple of times on the verge of straight up confessing to him.

That was when the logical part of her brain would come in and try to reason with her why she shouldn't be so impulsive with her emotions. For one thing, she still had no indication that Ron returned her feelings, and it wasn't worth taking a risk like that, potentially ruining their friendship or making things awkward between them, just so she could find out what Ron’s lips tasted like. Oh, but the sweet temptation. For another, and this was the hard pill to swallow, Hermione had to concede the possibility that a guy like Ron would perhaps not be interested in a girl like her.

Hermione knew herself — she wasn't model material; she was plain, unremarkable, simple. Her hair was too bushy to be tamed in any way that could be considered eye-catching; her face was a little too thin to be called charming; her body shape was too slim to be regarded as attractive. She wasn't one to be superficial like this, but when analyzing the type of females that might hold Ron’s attention, she needed to face the reality of it; she wasn't a Veela, and she wasn't Madame Rosmerta. She was just Hermione Granger.

But it wasn't just a matter of not being physically suited for Ron. Hermione was also well aware that she was a difficult person to deal with; she could be overbearing, nagging, and unbearable at times. She tended to be very stubborn, and hated being wrong most of all, which didn't make her the easiest person to debate with. She had a vicious temper that could dish out the nastiest retorts when she was hacked off (not counting those days, of course). She could go on, but as Ron had so bluntly put it back in their first year, Hermione Granger was a nightmare. Back then, she convinced herself that her tears were because Ron had insulted her and it had hurt, and that was part of it. However, she knew now what had stung most about his words.

The fact that he was right. Hermione was a nightmare. She had no friends growing up before Hogwarts, and even after coming to the magical world, she still struggled to form bonds, to interact with people in a way that wasn't completely off-putting. Even her dorm mates didn't seem to like her very much, so she was still an outcast. It was baffling that her two best friends even put up with her. They were everything she wasn't; they had fun, they were relaxed, easygoing, funny (especially Ron), likeable. It was clear that Harry favored Ron over her, and who could blame him?

Then, there was the matter of Ron himself. Hermione truly believed that he liked her, admired her even, cared for her genuinely. She just couldn't understand why that was. Honestly, Ron could be so infuriatingly confusing at times. One moment, he would be making her laugh and having fun, then later he’d snap at her and act all moody for no reason.

The Scabbers and Crookshanks incident stuck out in her mind. Even though they had already settled that matter and she had apologized for it, Hermione still didn't understand why that had upset Ron so much. Ron always complained about his poor old rat, then got devastated when it was gone. It didn't add up, and she spent the entirety of that situation confused, but most of all scared for the future of their friendship (she even cried over it to Hagrid, for Merlin's sake!). Hermione had wanted to apologize sooner, but after the disagreement she had had with both boys over the Firebolt — which was another thing that contributed to Ron being hacked off with her, adding to the stress she was already undergoing due to her bloated schedule — she was just too upset and felt ganged up in both situations, so she held on to her stupid sense of pride instead of just admitting that she was wrong to let Crookshanks run free, even if it turned out that Scabbers wasn't actually dead and Crookshanks was trying to help them. The point is, they didn't know that.

Reflecting back on it, Hermione realized she had been very insensitive to the whole issue, and that maybe had led Ron to believe she didn't care for him or what he had. But that was the biggest problem! Hermione just wasn't good at being sensitive — she was far too logical and prideful to deal with things on a deep emotional level. Ron was the complete opposite, as he was much more emotionally driven and didn't overthink things like her. Just more confirmation to herself that they weren't compatible at all.

Oh, but she certainly allowed herself to believe otherwise. It hadn't escaped her that Ron had given her signals, however mixed they were, that he could possibly feel the same for her.

He had stayed by her bed in the infirmary every night he could after her Polyjuice mishap in second year, and, as she had learned from Harry after the fact, Ron had done the same when she was petrified. There was that awkward handshake they shared in the Great Hall after they had hesitated on a hug (she had had no problem hugging Harry, though). Then, the way Ron kept glancing at her and blushing when she caught his gaze, smiling shyly at her, or how his hand kept brushing against hers as if debating if he should hold it during their trip to Hogsmeade. He had a general caring nature towards her, making sure she ate and didn't overwork herself (even when they were in the middle of their big fight in third year), as well as helping her relax and have fun. He helped her with the Buckbeak case, jumping in to her aid without hesitation despite her still not having apologized to him. He also demonstrated possible jealousy and annoyance over Hermione's admiration for Lockhart (what was she even thinking?!) and Cedric.

These were somewhat weak points, she could admit. The infirmary visits, and his caring nature, are a couple of things that could just be brushed aside as Ron just being Ron; selfless, protective, loyal. These were all characteristics that defined Ron's behaviour towards everyone he considered important. These were the things that attracted her to him beyond his superficial beauty. His behaviour in Hogsmeade and in the common room, that might have simply be due to Ron being a teenage boy, and as Hermione very well knew, teenage boys were attracted to any girl on a base level, so perhaps it wasn't so much Hermione that was causing this, as was simply the fact that she was a girl (though she still found it laughable that she would be attractive to any boy even on a superficial basis).

It was a constant battle with herself over this. Her emotions would argue one thing, clinging to what little hope she had of something more with Ron, and her mind would immediately attempt to shut it down. It was a defense mechanism; she was just too scared of the possibility of rejection and wanted to lessen those intense feelings to avoid a potential heartbreak.

And then, the Yule Ball was announced. That seemed like the perfect opportunity for Hermione to finally get confirmation of Ron's true feelings towards her. He would either ask her, which she told herself would only happen in her wildest dreams, or someone else, which would crush her inside before she eventually came to accept it.

Well, the Yule Ball was now almost here, and so far, Ron had not asked her or anyone else for that matter — not counting his invitation to Fleur under the influence of her Veela charm, something she knew he couldn't help, but left her feeling jealous all the same, which her mind once again reminded her was baseless considering their current relationship status. Hermione had asked Harry if Ron had said anything about the Ball, or if he had anyone in mind already. Harry would look at her with an odd expression, before shrugging and telling her he had no idea. She found his behaviour a tad suspicious, but otherwise didn't press further. So, Hermione had been left to merely speculate on Ron's behaviour.

For now, Hermione came up with three possibilities. First, Ron already had a specific someone in mind but was afraid of the possibility of rejection. Second, Ron was afraid of being ridiculed by his dress robes. She knew how much he loathed them, and he had whined about it whenever the Ball was mentioned. Third, it was merely a combination of the two previous ones; they weren’t mutually exclusive, after all.

There was a fourth possibility, actually, but it was so ridiculous that Hermione felt dumb just entertaining the idea. However, maybe (and that was a very huge maybe), Ron did want to ask her, but was afraid of being rejected, ridiculed, or both. That would be a nice idea for her heart to cling to, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ron had no reason to believe Hermione would reject him or ridicule him (she had told him she didn’t find the dress robes that bad). She knew Ron didn’t have a lot of confidence in himself, she had told Harry as much, but surely he knew that even if he wanted to go as just friends, she wouldn’t shoot him down (the Ball didn’t require the pair to be a romantic one). If Ron believed she wasn’t available anymore, it’d make sense he’d be hesitant to risk it. But, again, he had no reason to believe anyone would be interested in asking her. Okay, to be fair, there was Viktor and he had already asked her three times, with her letting him down gently each time saying she wasn’t sure she’d go. That’d been puzzling even to her; why was Viktor asking her when he had dozens of fangirls starving for his attention? They barely interacted; she just helped him with homework, therefore Ron had no basis for any suspicions.

“Hey,” a familiar voice broke Hermione out of her musings. She looked up to see Ginny, having finally arrived.

“You’re late,” said Hermione, trying not to sound too irritated, only succeeding a little bit.

“Or maybe you’re just too early,” replied Ginny, sitting down across from Hermione, taking out her books and parchment.

Hermione decided to let that go and to focus on helping Ginny with what she needed. They started working, and after a while, Hermione began wondering if she’d get to interact with Ginny more often. They were a year apart, and as such, she already had her own friend group, but Hermione hoped she could call the ginger girl a friend one day. She would like a girl friend she could confide in, and talk about subjects she wouldn’t dare bring up with her boys. Harry had asked Ginny to the ball, and lately, seemed to be cozying up to her a lot more, which gave Hermione hope she would become a part of their circle soon.

Given Ginny very clearly fancied Harry, there was the possibility of something more developing under the surface there if Harry ended up infatuated with her as well. Now, if only Ron could ask-

Hermione noticed Ginny smirking devilishly at her, and was about to ask what it was, when another familiar voice from behind the bookshelf caught her by surprise.

"C'mon, mate, stop pretending to be interested in this. You're gonna talk to me." She heard him snort. "Immediate Transfiguration. Mate, you seriously expect me to believe you were willingly reading up on homework?" Hermione didn’t know who Harry was speaking to, but her immediate guess would be the same person who occupied her thoughts earlier. If this was indeed him, Hermione couldn’t deny it was a surprise to hear that he was reading one of their textbooks but she wouldn’t doubt him doing so. She knew Ron could be brilliant when he set his mind to things and didn’t second guess himself.

Suddenly, Harry stopped laughing and everything behind the bookshelf went quiet. The silence felt tense somehow. Hermione wanted nothing more than to go up to Harry and demand answers as to what this was all about. Ginny’s smirk, Harry’s position, having Hermione obscured behind a bookshelf; she was pretty certain that this was a plan for her to eavesdrop on some important conversation. If the person Harry was with was indeed the one she had in mind, she didn’t want to hear some potentially embarrassing secret and break his trust; it was just wrong.

And yet, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to move a single inch from where she sat. For some reason she couldn’t quite put into words, Hermione knew that whatever he was going to say, she needed to listen. The voice that spoke next confirmed her suspicions, but this wasn’t how Ron spoke at all.

"Yes, I was reading this book for real. Figured I could finally follow Hermione's advice and try to learn something to make myself worthwhile in class, saving McGonagall the stress and disappointment. But judging by your reaction, I guess I'm too much of a joke at this point to be smart in any way. I should've left it to Hermione. It's her thing."

Hermione was hit by a barrage of emotions from his statement, none of them good. She didn’t even know where to begin. Ron was reading up on homework because of her? She thought he found her nagging when it came to her reprimands. Hermione should’ve felt elated by that admission, instead of the cold chill that seeped into her bones from Ron’s tone. She wanted to get up and tell him that he wasn’t a joke, that he was smart, but felt like intervening wouldn’t be the right thing to do here.

She heard Harry try apologizing for what he implied before, but Ron didn’t wanna hear it. Ron didn’t sound angry or anything, and that should’ve relaxed Hermione, but instead it just made things worse, somehow.

"Why won't you take Hermione to the Ball with you? Don't even try to say it's those dress robes, I know that's rubbish." And there was the question Hermione now knew was what Harry wanted her to hear without Ron being aware of her presence. She was definitely curious for the answer, but given Ron’s sudden shift in mood, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

"You want the truth, then?" Ron now sounded… normal? Hermione hoped this meant that whatever explanation came next would be silly and they could drop it for good.

What she heard instead shocked her to the very core and once again, she didn't know how to feel about it all.

Ron… loved her? Hermione Granger? But… he didn’t think she felt the same way? Why?

Hermione didn’t need to think too much about it before Ron gave her his reasons. Hearing Ron put himself down like that hurt so much that Hermione had to cover a strangled sob that threatened to come out. Ugly? He was the most attractive person to her in many ways! And he was not stupid, he just doubted himself too much! And who gave a rat’s arse about him being poor?! That wasn’t his fault, and it didn’t make him less of an amazing person! Yes, he could be rude and vulgar, but he was allowed to be flawed! He wasn’t perfect, no one was! But his qualities far outweighed his flaws! Why couldn’t he see that?!

"I'm surprised Hermione and I are even friends; that she puts up with me when she can rattle off a list of all that's wrong with me, which just further proves I'm hopeless and I don't have a single worthwhile thing about me."

That wasn’t true! She always let Ron know how great she thought he was! Back in first year, she had told him how amazing he was for sacrificing himself in the chess game… right? No, he was knocked out after that. But she did tell him later… no, she didn’t. B-but, second year, she thanked him for defending her against Malfoy! Then again, he ended up hexing himself, so that probably didn’t count as a win for him. She let him and Harry know she was proud of them for killing the Basilisk. Well, Harry killed it alone, actually… he still couldn’t have done it without Ron! Oh, in third year, Hermione appreciated him standing up for her. She remembered… scolding him for it. Why did she scold him?! She knew why, because she didn’t like that he got detention, and felt guilty over it. But she could’ve thanked him, too! She did thank him for helping with the Buckbeak case… which they lost, leaving Ron probably feeling like it all meant nothing, and he didn’t help at all. And he didn’t get to accompany Harry and her in saving Buckbeak and helping Sirius due to being unconscious. Did she remember to tell him how brave he was for standing up to Sirius on a broken leg? Ugh, why was it so easy for her to point out his less-than-stellar moments but assume he would know when she admired something he did?

Ron’s next words would’ve made Hermione laugh if she wasn’t already trying her hardest not to cry profusely over every word. She was gonna rule the world? More like bore it to death. That whole “smartest witch of her age” always rubbed her the wrong way. What made her “the smartest”? The fact that she read and memorized a lot of books? Anyone could do that if they believed they could do it! Ron could be just as smart as, if not smarter than her if he wanted. It wasn’t fair for Ron to feel like he was less just because of a label people attached to her. Hermione felt moved to hear that Ron actually believed she would make a positive change in the world, when she previously thought he considered S.P.E.W to be pure rubbish.

His mention of Ginny made Hermione look at her for the first time since Ron started talking. Her expression was stony, and she was just staring at her hands with a vacant look, like she wasn’t aware of her surroundings anymore, only listening in to her brother’s words. Hermione could only imagine what it felt like for her to hear Ron speak so low of himself like that.

"Then there's me, honestly, can you point out a single thing you can say I'm good at? And, I don't want to hear you say things like "you're brave, you're funny, you're kind". No, I want actual talent for something." C’mon, Harry, remind him he’s just as good as us! Hermione waited for Harry to go on and on about everything he couldn’t have accomplished without Ron by his side. She was greeted by silence.

"See? Nothing. None of the subjects here, nothing in these books. I'm not good at a single damn thing that at least 10 other wizards can't do better. I guess there's chess, but no one has ever taken that as something serious from me. It's just a game, anyway, not a career potential." Ignoring her anger at Harry for the moment, she sat fuming at Ron instead for downplaying an impressive skill of his. It was not just a game! That skill is what allowed them to pass McGonagall’s test! Knowing how to play it could prove wonders if Ron were to pursue a career in the Aurors as a strategist! And he was not below average in magic; he clearly didn’t remember the time he knocked a troll out by levitating its club and dropping it on its head at the age of 11! What did Harry do? Shoved his wand in its nose and just angered it more?

But Ron still had more to say. She wondered how long he had been keeping all of this bottled up inside, and how much longer she would have to endure this without accidentally alerting him of her presence. It took her a moment to register what he was saying, but once she did, her mind was immediately bombarded by questions. What were people saying in the corridors about Ron, exactly? And how was she not aware of that? She didn’t think there were that many people besides Draco and his Slytherin bunch that said nasty things about them left and right. What was truly shocking was that they were talking about Ron. Harry wasn’t popular with everyone, what with his Boy-Who-Lived notoriety, but many people liked and admired him, even if it was simply for his status. And though she knew Ron tended to be treated as merely the sidekick, she still believed he was generally liked and regarded well. To hear that people in the school have been saying the complete opposite was mind-boggling. She suddenly had the urge to go around the school threatening to hex everyone that dared to speak of any degrading things about Ron.

Ron stopped talking. Hermione kept waiting for him to continue, or for Harry to finally say something. Instead, she heard Ron sigh and stand up, muttering something she couldn’t quite hear, before leaving in a hurry. Hermione wanted to get up immediately and follow him, but she just remained in place, as if binded, finally releasing the sobs she had been holding all this time. She let her head fall on her hands, as she continued to cry uncontrollably.

Eventually, she felt a hand touch her back, either Ginny’s or Harry’s, she couldn’t tell. They were saying something to her, but she wasn’t listening anymore.

She had to find Ron. They had to talk.

[brackenfrond]

Let’s Talk About Anders

Before you read this, I should mention I’m very much pro-Anders, anti-chantry and pro-mage. There isn’t any anti-Templar hate, per se, except from an Anders perspective, but this is in no way villainising Anders. I’m trying to keep it mostly from Anders’ POV so it shouldn’t be too apologetic or biased, but I’m still mentioning it to avoid anyone who is violently anti-Anders.

I’m also going with a non gender specific Hawke. I honestly cannot remember what default!Hawke thought about the Chantry explosion or what happened with Anders, because I play with my custom world state, so I’m trying to keep the whole aftermath pretty much unspecific. Also I cut down the DA2 plot MASSIVELY because this was bordering on Too Much. As in, nearly 2 A4 pages worth in size 12 font.

TW: The usual DA stuff regarding treatment of mages in Circles. Also references to suicide, especially heavy when discussing The Chantry Incident. Also references the Exalted Marches, if that’s something that triggers you.

Anders is twelve when the Templars take him away, and his mother screams and cries and he doesn't know why at first. The Templars were meant to protect mages, so why would his mother be crying?

Then he is in Fereldan, and he understands why.

At first, he doesn't try to run. He tries to make friends, focuses on his studies, but he doesn't get any letters from his mother, and he finds a letter he wrote to her almost burned away in a fireplace.

He's twelve and in a different country, with words that are broken and no letters, just like he now has no name, and he just wants his mother.

He runs, and they catch him and drag him back, even as he cries and begs to see his mum.

He keeps trying to run - once more to see his mother, and after because he hates being trapped. He has heard whispers of mages flinging themselves from the tallest windows, of trying to kill themselves, and he doesn't want to become like that. He refuses to become like that.

Anders is not going to lose all hope, only to be found dead one morning and be another faceless victim amongst the many. He is going to survive.

The sixth almost-successful escape from the Circle lands him in solitary for a year, and Anders is sure it’s going to drive him mad, this time. He had been beaten and bruised, threatened the other times, and he’d laughed in their faces, in the face of a fate worse than death, because he would be successful one day.

Now, he wonders, if that is even possible, when he fears that he forgets the sound of Karl’s voice, his face, the feel of sunlight on his skin.

The seventh attempt? He stays out of the Circle, recruited by a commander who yells at the Templars, who conscripts him. It’s like another cage, the Wardens, but at least he’s free to walk, to go outside in the rain and laugh with the joy of being able to do so legally.

He makes friends amongst the Wardens, even if it’s more tentative than it ever has been. He doesn’t sleep with any, but he flirts and hides his hurts with jokes and humour. Sometimes it works and Nathaniel rolls his eyes, but sometimes he must sound too bitter, and the commander looks at him. Anders isn’t sure if the look is concern or something more malicious.

He decides it’s better not to ask, and continue as though he isn’t breaking apart inside.

Then the Templar comes, nearly kills him, would have if not for Justice, and he tears them all apart, blood and body pieces scattered when he comes to, and Anders vomits, before he does what he does best.

He runs. All the way to Kirkwall.

It’s a shithole, and the Templars are more vigilant, but Anders blends in with the refugees easily enough, heads to Darktown and decides he will do some good. He opens up a clinic, treats people without thought of money, and sometimes gives what food he has to people who look far too thin, whose bones are too visible beneath their skin. He stays there, keeps his head down as much as possible. He gets letters smuggled out of the Gallows to him, from Karl, and almost cries at the familiar writing, the way his letters form a reminder of times before he had a spirit rattling around in his head. He had never been happy, they had not been happier times, but it was easy to say they had been easier.

Then Hawke comes, and that’s when everything seems to go wrong.

He can’t blame Hawke for it, and Anders knows it’s cruel to say that when Hawke showed up things got worse, but the correlation is there, coincidental as it seems. Karl is made Tranquil, and Anders kills him and he sees the blood on the knife, on his hands, and he can’t speak, chokes on his words and his breath. For a second he wants to join Karl in nothing, in death. Then he squares his shoulders, takes a breath and raises his head.

Never again, he vows. Never again shall they touch another mage. No more Karls will happen, not if he has any say in the matter.

The mage underground starts, and he and others smuggle mages out of the gallows. He’s surprised to get help from Templars - he recognises Thrask, the man who asked them to save those from the Starkhaven Circle, and Keran, the one kidnapped by a blood mage - but it makes sense that even Templars can see that things have reached a breaking point.

The Tranquil Solution reaches his ears, and there is a plan to draw him out, to see if there is proof. Hawke comes with him, and Justice takes over and he nearly killed that girl, nearly tore her apart…

He wants to be sick. He isn't, but it is a close thing.

The Qunari try to occupy Kirkwall, the Qunari fall at Hawke’s hand. The viscount is dead, there is no man upon the seat, and Meredith grows worse and worse. The mage underground is destroyed, and Orsino rallies support in the streets, only to be quelled by the woman he is trying to oppose and the one woman who could put an end to the terror of the Circle has the gall to play neutral. To act as though Meredith is a little girl, and not the monster Anders sees in his sleep, joined by Templars from his past and a sunburst burned onto the head of his past lover.

This cannot stand. If Elthina won’t take action, Anders will, and it breaks his heart to do so.

But first, he has to make sure they don’t know, and that? That is harder to do than planting a bomb in the Chantry.

Because Hawke and their friends seem to care, like maybe a few Wardens did, and Anders wants to hold onto that. Wants to keep them close to him, because his friends have never stayed as long as these ones have and he cares for them, too.

But he can’t keep them. It will only end in heartbreak.

He pushes them away. He acts surly and moody and refuses to answer questions. If they hate him, it will make it easier. Easier to look at him and see a monster. Easier to do what needs to be done. They can't know, can't even suspect, because either they will stop it, or they will be accused.

He still dreams of a starburst brand, and sees it on their forehead and it just solidifies his judgement.

The final nail in the coffin is Danarius, and he lets out words that suggest he wants Fenris to go back to him.

He goes home, not walked back, and throws up his meager lunch and hopefully the poisonous words that had dripped from his tongue with it.

Then there is the final straw, the last argument between Meredith and Orsino, and the Chantry explodes, bright as the sun, and Anders can only watch. He feels numb, instead of triumphant.

He never wanted it to come to this, but it was the only way. They speak of compromise when there is none. There can be no peace.

Hawke has the task of dealing with him after, and Anders doesn’t plead for his life, pretends he can’t feel the hatred and betrayal from them and their friends. Theirs, not his. They were never his friends, even if he wanted to believe it. Karl had cared, and maybe the commander, but thinking that hurts too much, so he doesn’t.

His eyes hurt from staring at the flames, the bright flash. He wonders what angers them more - that he blew up a building, or that he left no chance of a (false) compromise.

'Why?' Asks Hawke, voice shaky. 'The Chantry is a place of peace.'

Anders wants to scream. What about the Exalted Marches, Halamshiral? What about the elven boy tortured for information? The hundreds of thousands of mages dying at the hands of those ordered around by the Chantry? Rivain? Was any of that peaceful? He killed a few to save the many. He wonders if the Divine can say the same about the millions slaughtered at her command, can look at the trees in The Emerald Graves, and say it was just.

He blew up a building after giving chance after chance for Elthina to save his people, the Chantry has blown up men and women and children and danced on the ashes.

Instead, he says nothing, other than if he is destined for the head man's axe, then swing it and be done with it.

Sometimes Hawke does, and Anders dies on the steps of the Chantry, blood staining the stone and becoming a victim he swore he’d never be.

Sometimes? Sometimes he lives, and though he thanks Hawke, he hates them for it. He was ready to die - wanted to - and the Chantry was his note and Hawke didn't have the decency to let it be. He doesn't yell at them, doesn't try to get close again. He joins his people in the fight, and some look at him like he has signed their death certificate.

If only they knew that they were dead the moment magic flickered to life in their hands.

And then he runs. He runs and sometimes stops and then runs when they suspect. He runs and runs and runs.

After all, Anders thinks, he has always been good at running.

[bbyx]

ripple effect - part six

Summary: During her fourth year at Hogwarts, (y/n) Deauxville falls for none other than Cedric Diggory. But it's not easy when you have to deal with protecting your family's fortune, keeping your father's illness a secret and having two of your closest friends catch feelings for you.

Pairings : reader x cedric, reader x draco, reader x harry

It was Friday morning, the first week had gone relatively fast. (y/n) was still angry with Draco so she decided to sit at the Gryffindor table. She was popular enough that she didn't get to many glares as she sat down with her friends with her green robes.  You yawn, having spent all night studying.

"I have a quiz in muggle studies today"

"Who do you have class with?" Ron asks

"Ravenclaw" You sigh and bury your head in your hands " I'm bound to have the worst mark in the class."

"At least we have Care of Magical Creatures together." Hermione says playing with a strand of your hair.

You stare at your class notes trying to drill them into your brain.

"Guys, who killed Lincoln again"

"I didn't do it!" Fred screeches.

"I have an alibi! I swear!" George adds wearing an identical grin as his twin.

"John Wilkes Booth"

"Thank you Hermione" You answer glaring at the twins.

"You're eating again, I notice" Ron says to Hermione who's buttering a toast.

"I've decided there are better ways to make a stand about elf rights."

"Yeah....and you were hungry."

You, Daphne and Millicent walk down to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical creatures.

"Ew what is that?" Millicent says pointing to the cage with strange lobster scorpion hybrids.

"Blast Ended Skrewts!" bellows Hagrid excitedly.

"Oh wow they're... interesting."

"Eurgh" squeals Lavender Brown.

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" says Draco turning his nose up.

(y/n) picks up some frog liver, trying not to gag and drops it inside the box of skrewts. A flash erupts from the rear end of one of the creatures and she feels a sharp pain in her right hand.

"Ow! Shit! It burned me."

You look at your shaking fingers, whimpering. Your index and part of your middle finger were bright red and blisters were starting to form all over. You bite back tears as a pale pair of hands grab yours.

"(y/n)! Are you alright?" Draco says with a frown as he looks down at your fingers "Bloody hell that looks bad. Come I'll take you to the infirmary."

Hagrid steps forward and tries to inspect your injury but Draco starts pulling you away.

"My father will hear about this." He spits out venomously.

Draco leads you inside the castle.

"Not gonna faint on me this time?"

You smile through the pain. "That was ONE time!" You say thinking back to when you and Draco were little and you fainted on him after scraping your knees.

"Not another one!" Madam Pomfrey exclaims as you walk inside the infirmary already full of students who were burned or stung by the skrewts. She grabs your hand "This is pretty bad" she mutters  quietly " You must have been close to the blast."

"Okay that's it (y/n). I'm taking you to St.Mungos right away." Draco says, looking paler than usual.

You roll your eyes at him. He's always been an overreactor

"Nonsense! Absolute nonsense! I'll have it fixed in a jiffy." huffs Madam Pomfrey, pulling out a turquoise paste from her apron. As soon as the minty paste touches your skin it instantly numbs the pain and makes your hand feel very cold.

"Apply this every morning for a week and you'll be just fine." She says, handing you the paste in your healthy hand.

You string together a few thank yous and slip out of the infirmary. You're walking next to Draco when he grabs your forearm and forces you to face him.

"(y/n) i'm sorry."

You let out a silent sigh of relief because some part of you feared that he would never apologize and your friendship would never be the same.

"For what?" (y/n) wanted to drag out his apology, she wanted to savour this moment, to embed it in her memory forever because Draco Malfoy never apologizes. She's known Draco since before he could talk and she swears he's only apologized to her twice.

"For being a dick." He says grudgingly.

"Annnnd?"

"And being rude to your friends." He chokes the words out like saying them was physically hurting him. He looks so uncomfortable that it's nearly impossible not to keep going.

"Becauseee?"

He signs and turns slightly pink "Because I was jealous."

"That wasn't that hard now was it Drakey?" You had about a thousand nicknames for Draco like Drakey, Dracula, Dee, Little Lucius, Casper the Ghost ect.

"Never doing that again." He scoffs.

"So you forgive me?" You nod. "Really? huh.Thought you would give me a harder time."

You laugh. You've missed this, how easy everything was with him.

"Yes well I need my study partner back before the Muggle Studies quiz."

"Study partner? Please! I'm practically your tutor."

"Whatever shut up Dee."

(y/n) was the last one to leave the Muggle Studies classroom after taking forever to finish her quiz. It wasn't that she wasn't smart but she had had a lot on her mind the past two years and it was taking a toll on her grades. And Muggles were so bloody complicated. She walks into the courtyard just in time to see Professor Moody turn Draco into a small white ferret.

There was a terrified silence and (y/n) ran forward and kneeled on the floor to pick up the ferret.

"Draco?"

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave — what?" Harry said, bewildered.

"Not you — her!" Moody growled.

Before you could turn around the ferret leaped out of your hands towards the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody. He proceeded to levitate the ferret and slam it back and forth into the ground. You wince every time the ferret hits the floor but find yourself unable to move. Finally Professor McGonagall steps in and turns the ferret back into Draco. You practically jump on him, hugging him tightly while McGonagall scolds Moody.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt? Can you walk?"

"I'm fine" He huffs staring daggers at Harry but when he sees your worried expression his eyes soften and he offers you a slight smile. "Really, i'm all good"

His eyes are still glossed over when he mumbles in your ear "Just wait until I tell father about this"

"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, "Well, I know your father, boy. . . . You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son . . . you tell him that from me. . . . " He looks at you dead in the eyes, sending a violent shiver down your back. "That goes for you as well. Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?" He takes Draco's arm and roughly shoves him towards the castle. You stay fixed in your spot pondering Moody's words.

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to Harry, Hermione and (y/n)

"Why not?" said Hermione in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret . . ."

"Shut up Ron"

"C'mon I know you secretly loved watching Draco get his ass handed to him on a platter." He nudges you with his elbow.

A small smile hints at your lips. "Maybe a little"

It was Saturday morning, and you were sitting at the Slytherin table. Everyone was avoiding the topic of Professor Moody because Malfoy was still fuming about yesterday's incident.

"What's that?" says Theo pointing at your SPEW badge.

"Hermione's starting a society for the promotion of elfish welfare." The whole group burst into hysterics but you silence them with a lethal glare. Pansy practically skips over and squeezes herself between you and Blaise.

"Oooh Dracooo? Will you come to Hogsmeade with me today? I really need to buy something, pleaseee?"

"What are you buying?" He answers cooly.

"Guess! It's something I really need." She says with what you think is supposed to be puppy dog eyes but it just throws her facial proportions even more off.

"A personality?" You spit out venously. As if on cue Daphne adds " Some friends maybe?"

Pansy scoffs and turns back to Draco. "I need an owl."

Blaise jumps in, saving Draco "Draco didn't you say we would go buy new quidditch robes today."

"Oh right. Sorry Pansy"

(y/n) starts thinking about her owl, Juniper. Juniper is a streaked brown and white barn owl. Juniper didn't live in the Hogwarts Owlery. Instead she lived at the Deauxville Manor and it was specially trained to take your fathers letters before he could see them. Then Juniper would bring them to you and you would respond to your father's business letters for him. Reading your father's mail had felt uncomfortable at first but you had to remember that you were just trying to save his life’s work.

You watch Daphnee and Millicent blush and Draco clench his jaw. "Ready to go?"

You turn to see Cedric looking a little uncomfortable under the glares that most of the Slytherin boys were giving him. You give him your most reassuring smile.

"Yeah, let's go before my brother kills you."

He holds out his hand to help you up take it, feeling an electric rush pass through your arm as you do. Walking out, it seems that every single person in the Great Hall has their eyes fixed on the couple. Cedric doesn't seem to notice and throws you a chocolate frog. You catch it with ease.

"How do you have so many of these?"

"Easy. I have a box of them with (y/n) written in big red letters on it." He says with a grin as you plop the frog in your mouth.

"So what do you want to do?" Cedric asks while the two of you walk.

"I'm not sure. Let's go have butterbeers."

You're waiting at a booth in the Three Broomsticks while Cedric goes to buy two butterbeers. He hands you a mug full of rich brown liquid.

"Thank you."

"No problem at all" He pulls out a red liquorice wand and snaps it in half. He slides you a piece.

"Cedriccc. First of all where are you getting all these sweets from, second of all licorice is eurgh."

He shakes his head. " No, no, no. See this?" He says holding out the candy.  "This is RED licorice. It's big in the United States, tastes completely different. I want you to try it."

"No please don't make me. I'll throw up on you I swear" You plead.

"Yess"

"Noo"

Yes"

"No"

"Yes"

"Fine!" You finally give in when he flashes you his breathtaking lopsided grin. "You are so stubborn!" You slowly drop the red candy in your mouth. You expect the nauseating taste of molasses to take over but surprisingly all you taste is strawberries.

"Cedric! This is kind of good." You say while chewing. He laughs and your hands brush slightly together as he gives you another piece which makes your cheeks go red.

"So who do you think is gonna be the impartial judge who decides the champions?" You ask quickly hoping to distract him from your embarrassing blushing.

"Eh, maybe the sorting hat?"

"I hope the hat doesn't pick Nick then because he wouldn't last five seconds."

"Come on, give him some credit, he's pretty talented in transfiguration."

"Wouldn't know, we barely talk anymore." Your voice takes a bitter tone.

"Is that why you didn't come to St.Tropez this summer."

"Yeah and I had to take care of family stuff." You say not wanting to look at his face because it would make lying so much harder.

He grabs your hand on the table. "(y/n) I know your dad is sick."

"NICK TOLD YOU?? I'M GONNA KILL HIM HE REALLY IS A USELESS PIECE OF SHIT" You jump up raising your voice, everyone in the bar looking at you. Cedric's face stays calm and compassionate.

"Please calm down, let me explain." He grabs your hand and forces you to sit. "During the summer I found Nick crying by the pool one night. He didn't say much, just that your father was sick and there was no cure. He was really upset and kept mumbling stuff about being a shit brother and such. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. I just wanted you to know that i'm here for you."

Cedric slides closer to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You rest your head on him.

"Alzeihmer's" you whisper.

"Pardon?"

"He has Alzeihmer's. He can't even remember my name most days." He wraps his other arm around you, engulfing you in a hug.

"God (y/n). I'm so sorry."

" It's okay, I've become a little bit numb to it all." You breathe in his scent. "Cedric you can't tell anybody okay? Promise me."

"I promise" He whispers and squeezes you tighter.

You stayed like that for a while, it was nice, for once your thoughts seemed to come to a stop as you focused on Cedric's heartbeat.

(y/n) and Cedric walk back to the castle. She has a bag full of candies from Honeydukes and bag with a pair of earrings for Millicent's birthday. He's holding your hand which makes your little heart do backflips in your chest.

"So what happened to your right hand?"

" A blast ended skrewt's ass exploded on me.'

He picks up your other hand and gives it a small kiss. "There. All better."

You try to contain the furious blush dotting your cheeks as you laugh. "You're so cheesy Ced."

"No but seriously I think there's a plant in the Hufflepuff common room that can help with the blisters."

"Whoa watch out for Cedric Diggory, future Mediwizard."

He smirks. "Dr.Diggory does sound pretty nice."

"Well Dr.Diggory how does it feel to have the second nicest common room."

"You're kidding right? Hufflepuff has THE nicest common room. It's next to the kitchens, it has plants, it always smells like cinnamon..." He keeps listing reasons why his common room is the nicest all the way to the castle.

"Unfortunately Cedric" You say standing in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "This still remains the best common room."

Cedric is about to answer but you stop him in his tracks by standing on your tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek.

"Bye Dr.Diggory" You whisper in his ear before slipping inside.

The whole school was buzzing because today was the day that the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were arriving. All the Hogwarts students were waiting outside for their grand entrance. Dumbledore smiles and calmly says.

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

"There!" yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick — or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks — was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid . . . it's a flying house!" said Dennis Creevey.

When the thing gets closer, you realise that it's an ornate powder blue carriage pulled by a giant winged horse. It comes to a stop and a boy in pale blue robes comes out and pulls out small golden steps. A comically huge woman walks out and greets Dumbledore in a thick accent. (y/n) spots Cedric in the crowd and he waves enthusiastically.

The Black lake starts to bubble and the water separates, a thick brown pole sticks out. A big wooden boat starts emerging from the hole. Durmstrang students start filing out of the boat. They were all muscular and bulky. You take a moment to look at the contrast between the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. Ron gasps and jumps up.

"Harry — it's Krum!"

But you don't hear him because in the crowd you've spotted a familiar face in pale blue robes eyeing you. A beautifully creamy face wearing a very hateful expression.

Your cousin Fleur has arrived at Hogwarts.

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 3.4 - The Dog’s View and the Giraffe’s View

4. CHILD OF VOLLEYBALL

Previous || Index || Next

In the week before the ballgame tournament, practice for the tournament took priority over after school club activities. On Monday after school, it was the first day of team practice for Team F.

“I’m not the manager for the boys’ volleyball team. I’m just here to help out.”

“It’s totally fine! We have twenty-four people and only one manager currently. How many does boys’ volleyball have? Huh, eight? So little. One per twenty-four people and one per eight, don’t you think that’s a weird ratio? We’re going to need three managers, you know? That’s why, please be our manager.”

“Look…you haven’t listened what I said at all, have you. I don’t know how you think that logic is going to convince me.”

When he went to the gym, he immediately came across a scene of a row of four muscular boys were sitting on their heels and making supplications to one girl. The girl they were supplicating to was the second-year Suemori, who came as a helper from the girls’ volleyball team.

For today’s practice, it was arranged that the two teams would each use one half of the court. The teams were Oda’s Team F and Team B, which had the corps from the aforementioned rugby team. The rugby team was the third great power among the boys’ sports clubs in the school after the soccer and baseball teams, but because rugby wasn’t included in the events of the school’s ballgame tournament, they appeared to have discovered their raison d’etre in the ballgame tournament by dispatching members to each event and having them run wild. As if to tout their club, all four of them were wearing those characteristic horizontally-striped shirts, and the pattern made their upper bodies look even squarer and burlier. I’m pretty sure the temperature in the gym went up one or two degrees because of those four… Though it was already the season of high humidity, it really was sweltering in there.

“This isn’t the time for scouting. Scram.”

Oda raised his voice and cut in front of Suemori.

“Suemori is our important charge from girls’ volleyball. If anything happens to her while she’s with us, I’ll get throttled by them. If you wanna poach her, talk it over with the girls’ volleyball captain.”

“Aaah? What’s your problem?”

One person among the four talked back in a boorish voice. His height approached Aoki’s when he stood, and unlike Aoki, he had a width and thickness, so his weight was completely different. He felt a feeling of oppression like he was being crushed just from standing in front of him.

This man was a second-year from the rugby club, Okuma.

“This ain’t the place for a first-year runt to show up. Get outta here.”

The moment he said that, his temple started convulsing, but it would never end if he flared up at every single thing.

“I’m the captain for boys’ volleyball, Oda from 3-F. I’m in charge today.”

“Heh? A third-year? You serious?”

Okuma’s eyes widened, and he confirmed with Suemori over Oda’s head instead of with Oda himself. Standing in a position to protect Suemori, she was taller than him. Oda’s existence was no obstacle for Okuma.

When they were convinced that he was really an upperclassman, Okuma and the other three changed their attitude more or less, and they followed his orders without disturbing the progress. First, the two teams took the time for a joint orientation. There were three to five students from each grade per team. There would be no more than twenty-five people in two teams. Three times the usual number of eyes during regular club practice watched him and listened to him seriously. He was a little nervous and cleared his throat several times.

He didn’t see Haijima there. He wondered if the positions were assigned just for the sake of adjusting the numbers. If that was the case, then excepting Suemori who was a girl, Oda was the only one who had volleyball experience between these two teams.

In the volleyball division of the ballgame tournament, all six teams would be divided into two groups of three teams, and after a round-robin competition within the group, the first-place team in each group would play the deciding round. The group league had a total of six games, and adding the deciding round, that would make a total of seven games. The regular rule was to get twenty-five points first, but they eased that so that it was now a three-set match where the team that got fifteen points first won. Although, if they were to pull off seven games without a hitch, it was going to be a dizzying day for them on the management side.

“I’m sure we’ve all did it before in gym, so you’re alright with the basics, right? The rotations might feel complicated, but well, don’t take fouls down to the smallest detail, just three people in the front row and three in the back, and make sure to serve in the right order. Once you got it, you’ll be divided into teams to practice. I’m in Team F, and Suemori’s in B, so take a look. If there’s anything, call us immediately.”

“Hey, Captain!” Okuma raised his hand when he was about to tell them to split up.

“I’m not your captain, but…what?”

“It’s boring to practice separately. B and F should play a game. I think that’ll help us learn the flow of the game better.”

“A sudden game?”

Is he the type who loves playing games but hates practice? Oda didn’t like people who neglected basic practice. He frowned and said, “You can play games on the day of the tournament. Why do I have to teach your team our plays?”

“You don’t mind showing just a little, do you? Don’t tell me you’re gonna lose to a bunch of rookies like us? You can jump about two meters, right Captain? If you can’t do that much, then we’d be able to knock you down without jumping.”

I thought he’d become obedient, but he was thinking about things like that…I’m not going to be taken in by such a cheap provocation. I should just ignore it and move to practice as planned. He was thinking that, but he couldn’t help but feel a boiling feeling at the pit of his stomach. No, Aoki’s not here today, so I have to be the one to keep calm.

“Senpai, let’s do it. Why don’t we just do one set?”

Right when he was working hard to restrain himself, he was unexpectedly spurred on. He turned around in surprise and Suemori was standing firm with an expression that was even more indignant than Oda’s.

“Suemori-san, you sure are brave. I want you to be our manager more and more.”

Suemori gave a sharp glare at a grinning Okuma before whispering into Oda’s ear. “Oda-senpai, aren’t you angry? I can’t stand it. Making fun of volleyball…Let’s break his nose.”

“No, even if you say that…”

“If you don’t have confidence in yourself, then I’ll join.”

Suemori started taking off her jersey on the spot, so he immediately stopped her with “Wait. It’s better for me to play than you.”

His voice was a grade lower, becoming insecure. Suemori’s face immediately reddened and she looked down, saying “No…sorry.” I might have said it too harshly. But, more than being made fun of by an amateur like Okuma, my pride was hurt by the fact that I was even looked down on by someone from girls’ volleyball.

He did have confidence. He wasn’t about to be beaten by an amateur who was just huge. He honestly even agreed with the idea of knocking him down a peg. However, it would be a problem if a girl was put in and got injured. Although Okuma was an amateur at volleyball, he was an athlete who did ball sports, and there was an insurmountable wall between men and women in the power of the ball.

But, it was true that there wasn’t even anyone who could set by themselves. If there was just one more person with experience in Team F…

…We do.

The figure entered the corner of his field of vision as though it was timed. They were standing at the entrance to the gym with a suspicious face, perhaps feeling that there was something off—Haijima.

“Suemori…can you go get Kanno?”

“Huh?”

A dispirited Suemori raised her head and blinked.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The reason he called Kanno was trivial, he just wanted him to be the referee. Suemori was in charge of displaying the points. It would only be one set where the first to get fifteen points won. If he considered this a sideshow, then this would be a good amount of time to devote to it.

He looked at Haijima, who was doing some light stretching in front of the net. Anyways, it was a piece of good luck that he was able to pull him up to the court before he could say anything…he might have to thank Okuma for that.

There were many people present in their gym jerseys, but Haijima’s equipment gave him a different vibe from the amateurs. He wore long underpants that reached his ankles beneath black shorts, short socks, and volleyball shoes that looked worn in. That Mizuno was the same model as Kuroba’s. And the taping that was tightly wrapped around the fingers of both his hands gave off an aura of something different.

When he thought that he had a different impression of his face than when he saw him in the school building, it was due to the presence of his glasses.

I see, so he switches to contacts when he’s playing.

When he was in his school uniform and wearing his glasses, he had the impression of a moody, literary-type of boy, but now suddenly he seemed like an athlete. There were also sports glasses, but sports glasses for volleyball inevitably took the shape of goggles due to the nature of the sport, and perhaps because it narrowed the field of vision and honestly didn’t look good, but Oda had never seen a high schooler use them.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t had much good will towards Haijima after the April incident. It wasn’t that he hated him, but he was completely in the category of people he didn’t like dealing with. It was creepy that he couldn’t read what he was thinking about at all, even now. A simply neutral expression with no enthusiasm or nervousness. I wonder what kind of play would actually be created by standing on the same court as this guy. Oda was the one who was made considerably more nervous.

However, on the other hand, he also felt excitement. ——He was looking forward to it.

“Then, the person doing the serve receive should try to return it to Haijima as much as possible. That’s our setter, Haijima.”

The other four people on the court are have some experience from gym class. He decided to try using them all first while alternating them.

“Haijima, are you fine with being the setter? Are you up for it? You haven’t done it for a while.”

Haijima, who was relaxing his shoulders, gave him a sideways glance and looked offended.

“What’s your highest jump reach height?”

He was suddenly asked a straight-to-the-point question. Without asking about the circumstances that led to this match, without saying a word of greeting like “Sorry I’m late” or “I’ll be in your care,” that was the first thing out of his mouth after he came here.

“For spikes, these days it’s 315.”

“You can jump for someone of your height.”

Haijima said and narrowed his eyes. It was a completely disparaging tone, but wait, was I praised just now? I feel like asking someone to interpret for me.

The height he could reach after doing a run-up and jumping was the highest point for a spike jump. In Oda’s case, his finger height (the height he could reach with his hand while standing) was 215 centimeters, so his spike jump was up to one meter. The two meters Okuma instigated with was of course an impossible figure—the height for a male high school volleyball player would be from around 70 to 90 centimeters. He thought that one meter was a figure to be considerably proud of.

From the start, Team B had three rugby team members in the three front row positions. He wasn’t sure if they were thinking up their own strategy where they were going to knock down the first of their attacks with a block and kill their momentum.

Kanno, who found himself in the role of chief referee, blew the whistle, and the game started with Team B’s serve. Since the server was an amateur, it was a simple underhand serve. However, because their receivers were also amateurs, it was difficult for them to cleanly return it to the setter, and the ball was greatly repelled.

Oda was about to jump out to cover for them, but…

…What!?

Haijima was already underneath the ball. So fast!? He didn’t just move fast. His reading of the ball’s course was fast as well. While in an overhand stance, his eyes swiftly scanned the entire court and he signalled Oda with his eyes for a moment. Oda, who had unintentionally stopped in his tracks, quickly rushed to the front of the net. A set was released from Haijima’s fingers with much faster timing that he expected. He was sure he didn’t make such a fast set when he saw him at the prefecturals. It was a confident set from a distance where normally a safe four set would be the only way to go.

So fast—no, rather than fast, what’s with that trajectory!?

He managed to reach up in the midair and hit it with his hand. He didn’t exactly hit the ball squarely, but the three blockers that marked Oda didn’t keep up with him at all.

The ball fell to Team B’s court over the head of the blocker who only jumped halfway. Oda himself felt like he was bewitched, and he landed with the pit of his stomach feeling somewhat weightless.

The view was wonderful. He could see the opposing court, which was usually always blocked by a wall, well. It wasn’t every day he got the chance to spike over the head of a tall blocker, so he had completely forgotten—was going over a block this exhilarating? He felt ticklish on the inside. He felt good…

With a backwards glance at the astonished opposing team, Oda ran up to Haijima.

“Oi, what’s with that set?”

Even so, it was a complaint that came out of his mouth first. He had just barely kept up, but it wouldn’t be strange if he had struck and missed.

“I can’t hit anything if you just set it without warning.”

“That one just now was lower than 315. As expected, I’m rusty from not playing for a while. My perception is dull.”

Haijima said, tilting his head to the side as though he wasn’t satisfied. He was going to make me hit it at three-one-five because I said that was the highest point I could jump? Is he a demon?

“It’s the same with the height, but it’s more a problem of timing. There’s no way I can hit the ball at that tempo if I don’t have anything to match.”

The basic set was called an open set, and the attacker must time the ball as it rose high and fell in a parabolic path and hit it. A spike that is hit at the slowest timing was called a third tempo.

Even so, Haijima’s set was a set that made the attacker hit the ball at the peak of the parabola. As a result, the trajectory towards the hitting point was short, in other words, “fast.” From the point of view of an attacker, it looked like it was flying “directly” at them. The attacker was pulling off the transcendental thing of smashing in the top of the set at the moment they swung at the highest point, but there were many demands on the attacker’s part as well. What kind of nerve did this guy have to set something like that to someone he’s matching with for the first time?

Haijima looked away from Oda, who was snapping at him, and looked as though he had lost interest in something.

“Kuroba can hit it.”

I see, I couldn’t see that high-speed setting at the middle school prefecturals because Kuroba wasn’t there?—His competitiveness was slowly rearing its head. Do you expect me to keep quiet when I’m told that me, a third-year, can’t hit what a first-year can? I know he can evade high blocks at that speed. If he could make that hitting position and speed into a thing…

“…It’s fine. Don’t change what you’re doing. I’ll match you with all I got next time.”

Haijima blinked, and then let out a short breath and squinted his eyes. …He laughed? Maybe?

“Senpai, it’s your team’s serve. You’ll be taking a delay penalty.”

Kanno called out to him in a mild voice. The rotation turned once, and then it was Haijima’s serve.

“You don’t need to match me. I’ll be the one matching you. You seem like you still have a lot more in you, so could you please give a little more? You can go up to about 320, right?”

Calmly leaving that extremely brazen and shameless statement, Haijima turned on his heel and walked to the service zone.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

His initial goal of breaking Okuma’s competitive spirit was blown out of his mind. He wanted to get Haijima to acknowledge him. That was all he could think about starting from midway through the match. He was so absorbed in it that he even forgot that this was practice for the ballgame tournament and was very ashamed to find out later that Kanno and Suemori were supporting the first-timers from off the court. It was a bad habit of his to lose sight of his surroundings when he got passionate. He had his hands full with what was before his eyes.

“Haijima, next time you get a chance, send it to the center.”

In the final stage of the set, the back row demanded a back row attack from Haijima. He was thinking of that high-speed center back Kuroba tried to show on his first day joining the club. If Kuroba could do it, then he wanted to do it himself as well.

“Oi, ref! Ain’t that what they call a delay? They’re just whispering to each other over there. That’s a foul, a foul!”

Okuma raised his voice from the other side of the net. He seemed to be pretty irritated with getting fouls many times when blocking. It was Haijima who incorporated the ingenious technique of playing right at the edge of the net to tempt his opponent into reaching over the net or touching it. He truly was a frightening first-year.

The B-team’s court got the serve, and Okuma jumped to spike it with a beast-like roar. However, Haijima moved in front of it with nimble steps and blocked it. Oi oi…Oda grumbled in his mind. Is he fully ready to end the game with block points? I just said that I wanted to do a back-row attack. Read the room.

Okuma was taller, but Haijima stopped the course with the precise way he moved his arms. It was a form he wanted to use as a model for first-years who were bad at blocking.

Oh…I’m looking at someone who has received the favor of volleyball up close right now… He was given every sense from the god of volleyball…

Thump. A different sound from the sound of a ball being hit was heard. From Oda’s position, it was a blind spot, so he couldn’t immediately grasp what had happened.

Rather than landing on the floor, Haijima dropped. Kanno immediately blew the foul whistle.

“Haijima!”

He rushed over to him in fright. Haijima was pressing his hand near his right eye, squatting and gritting his teeth. Was it his eye? His forehead? Kanno and Suemori also ran over, and the court was in disorder for a short while.

“Hey, what the hell were you doing? This isn’t rugby!”

He barked across the net, blood rushing to his head. Okuma made excuses with a slightly frightened look on his face.

“It, it wasn’t on purpose, captain. I only hit him by accident.”

“Don’t lie to me. If anything happens to our members, I’ll make you…”

“Senpai. I think he’s probably telling the truth. It wasn’t intentional. Please calm down. I was watching.”

He was clenching his fists and half-rising to his feet, but Kanno held down his shoulders. Admonished calmly by his kouhai, he reluctantly got back down while clenching his teeth.

“I’m fine…My contact just slipped.”

Haijima slowly got up. His voice was somewhat hoarse, but his articulation was clear. Oda was relieved that it didn’t seem serious.

“I’m removing myself from the game. Ow…”

After Haijima staggered out of the gym while pressing his hand against his right eye, the atmosphere immediately became like the closing of a performance. The decision was that Team B committed a foul, and Team F won 15-10, but they didn’t really care about winning or losing anymore.

The turmoil from the trouble caused everyone to lose concentration, so they decided to call off the rest of practice today. Oda’s concentration was more scattered than anyone else’s. He was in a position where he had to have more composure, but the role of captain was something that he was unequal to from the start. I don’t have the qualities to lead a team, I’m just selfish, I just…wanted to be a hitter. I just like getting to a place as high as possible above people and making them surrender.

The pleasure of being in a duo with Haijima still lingered. It was a feeling like a slight numbness that spread from the core of his body to his right fingertips.

I want him—A small but concentrated amount of fuel was thrown down onto his feelings of tiredness after losing in the prefectural tournament.

Practice was cut early and they dispersed, with Okuma and the rest of the rugby corps also leaving. When he was looking at the court thinking that it suddenly cooled down when those guys were gone, he saw Haijima standing before the net, staring fixedly up at it for some reason.

“Are you feeling okay? If you still feel like something’s off, go get it checked out. If you don’t know the hospitals around here, I’ll go with you.”

“I’m pretty familiar with it.”

“You don’t see rough play like that in volleyball a lot, do you?”

“No, I mean outside.”

“…?” Oh, he means outside the court? Hey, you need complete your sentences over here to have the conversation connect well.

In his case, no matter how you think about, the way he speaks is causing trouble. It’s no wonder Aoki went off at me about inviting him—he got him to lay a hand, I mean, foot on him.

“This is 2.43, eh.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah it is, how did you notice? I told them to put it up at 2.4 since we’re not doing club practice today… I guess we’d been playing at 2.43 all day.”

At the ballgame tournament, the boys would be playing with the net at 2.40 meters. The same height as the official matches within the prefecture. When it came to tournaments that were above prefecture-level like regional and national tournaments, they were treated the same as general boy’s volleyball at 2.43 meters.

“Do you usually practice at 2.43?”

“Yeah, it’ll be at this height for Spring Inter-High, anyways.”

Haijima gave him a sideways glance, looking slightly shocked.

Following Inter-High in the summer and Nationals in the fall, the tournament that filled in the last piece of the three major national volleyball competitions was “Spring Inter-High Volleyball”. This tournament, which was held in a particularly spectacular manner among the three major competitions, was a grand stage that could be compared to Koshien for high schoolers who played volleyball (as for Oda, he didn’t want to use this metaphor. Even if you didn’t use baseball as a reference, Spring Inter-High was still Spring Inter-High). It used to be held in March but has now been moved to January, so third-years could participate as well, making it the last tournament that all three school years to face together.

Even at Spring Inter-High, the net was 2.40 meters at the prefectural qualifiers, but 2.43 meters at the main national competition in Tokyo.

“Is it funny? A tiny team like us talking about Spring Inter-High. That might be so, but I don’t think I said anything embarrassing.”

Even if people would think he was conceited, Oda was serious. If Haijima joined their current members, it wouldn’t be a pipe dream in the least. It was a realistic goal.

Haijima’s eyes returned to the net again.

“…I think that kind of thing is okay.”

He muttered. He stretched one hand and touched the top tape of the net. 2.43 meters was, if one were to give an easy-to-understand example, about the height of the ceiling in a house. For the 163 centimeters Oda, it wasn’t a place he could reach just by stretching himself. He envied his ease with which he could put his fingers on it and, it might sound strange, to fix his eyes upon it.

“Is this…the height for Spring Inter-High?”

Oh, he smiled… His face was purely radiant, a complete change from the previous arrogance and impudence, and he was shocked to see that he could make an expression like that. It was by no means a frank and open smile. Like a strong light covered by a thin curtain and gently diffusing through it…it overlapped with Kuroba’s face when he looked up at the same thing with sparkling eyes on the first day of practice in April, even though the vectors were completely different.

His feeling that Haijima would be hard to deal with had, before he knew it, faded through the match.

“Hey, you know, I had a great time playing with you today. You had a little fun too, didn’t you?”

“Oda-san has good reflexes.”

Unused to hearing himself be called “Oda-san,” he felt itchy. What’s more, he was using standard Japanese, so it was like he was being addressed from the TV. But, it’s nice, being called that by him.

“What you don’t have in height, you make up for with being athletic. You have power too. Stretching your body in midair, I like that.”

Even though he lambasted him two months ago, he easily reversed that and acknowledged him. Is he arrogant or honest…what a weird guy.

Just as I thought, rather than trying to do something with words, it might be better to invite him to the court first. What the hell, I feel kinda happy when I’m acknowledged by him… Pride filled his chest. He was able to believe that he hadn’t been continuing to do something meaningless.

“Will you join us, Haijima? It’ll be boring if you wanna do it by yourself. You chose volleyball for the ballgame tournament too, right?” There was no doubt that he continued to practice even though he wasn’t a part of the club. There was no way a guy who had a gap period since last summer could move like that.

He expected him to nod, but Haijima dropped his gaze to the court at his feet with a sullen look on his face. His childish action of poking at the ground with the toe of his shoe made Oda feel impatient and irritated. There was also envy. Why the hell is a guy who, unlike me, can just go on with volleyball without thinking about anything, hesitating here?

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind, Oda-san. I’m not very well liked. As long as I’m a setter…”

——“Why are you clinging to that position?”

It suddenly occurred to Oda that those words that were spat at him before might not have been contempt towards him.

Is it possible that it’s something Haijima himself has been thinking about…? Even the personification of volleyball sense who seems like he was chosen by the god of volleyball thinks that way?

“Hmm? Why are you guys hiding?”

Suemori’s voice echoed in the quiet gym.

Suemori and Kanno, who had spread out a piece of construction paper in a corner of the gym and working hard on creating a records chart, looked up and turned their heads to the doorway. The two heads that were peeking in from the shadow of the iron door shook with a start.

“Did you guys come to help clean up? If that’s the case, hurry up.”

Suemori briskly stood up, and Kanno followed quietly. Though the two timidly showed themselves, they stopped at the door like they had trouble getting in. It was Kuroba and Nagato. The air Haijima wore around him instantly stiffened. Were they all from the same middle school volleyball team?

“Senpai, is it true that Haijima is joining the club?”

It was Nagato who asked that. His face was unwelcoming without even having to say it aloud. He pulled on Kuroba’s elbow as if to tell him to say something as well, but he looked away with an ambiguous look on his face.

“I’d like to have him join. I’m in the middle of persuading him, though. If there’s something bothering you, speak up.”

Oda didn’t really hide his ill humor, and he raised his voice to highlight his captain’s dignity. One of Oda’s biggest aggravations was the behaviour of trying to get rid of people in a roundabout way.

“I’m not joining, so don’t worry.”

However, Haijima himself interjected from the side. His tone, which had begun to soften, had returned to being curt again. “I don’t think I’m obligated to join in the cleanup,” he rudely excused himself and turned towards the metal door without bowing. It was towards the other metal door, clearly avoiding Kuroba and Nagato. Oda wanted to tear off his head, as just when he thought he closed the distance a little, he was back to square one.

“I understand Nagato’s point of view. What about you, Kuroba?”

“Huh?”

Kuroba jumped and took on a posture of caution.

“I…I…”

He awkwardly peeking sideways at Haijima, and then cast his eyes down, looking a little bit like he was about to cry. Even though he was so big, he sometimes made expressions like those of an elementary school student, much less a middle school student. Haijima, who had stopped for a moment, started walking again. It was at a quicker pace than before.

After that gangly body disappeared behind the metal doors, Nagato opened his mouth as though he couldn’t bear to wait for that.

“Oda-senpai doesn’t know anything. If Haijima joins, then Yuni really won’t participate in any official games. In a way, we lost that other time because of Haijima…”

“Ryo, stop it. I told you that has nothing to do with it.”

With his face bright red, Kuroba stopped Nagato. However, his voice was weak and it didn’t sound like he was seriously denying it.

Making his voice stern, Oda asked them a question.

“What do you mean?”

Previous || Index || Next

[lastxviolet]

The Assistant - Ch. 4

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

Mom's face.

Green flash.

Dark mark.

Bedroom ceiling.

Violet fully opened her eyes and pawed at the silk sheets around her, clawing to drag herself back to reality.

The bed. She was just in bed.

Her family was fine.

It was just a nightmare.

She repeated it over and over again but eventually, it was a loud snore from Sadie across the room that fully brought her back to reality.

She rose out of bed and glanced out of the high glowing window between their beds. The terror from the nightmare practically vanished at the sight of an incredibly bright fall day.

Agitation clawed at the nape of her neck during breakfast and she only made it about ten minutes before the desperation for fresh air became too much.

The brittle fall breeze nipped the exposed skin above her knee and at her wrists. The walk to Herbology was cold enough to be noticeable, but not entirely uncomfortable. Although, it made her a bit more thankful for the thick Hogwarts uniform now. Surely the Beauxbaton girls would freeze come winter. Without the barrier of cities or skyscrapers, frigid weather always came so soon. Without fail, frozen air managed to appear early, and linger well into the spring months.

She followed the familiar stone path to a small clearing on the side of the castle, obstructed only by rows of greenhouses, bursting at the seams with interior vines, and flowers. She'd never been particularly enthralled with herbology or plants, didn't call to her but it was better than divination or astronomy, both of which she had elected not to take this year.

Clad in yellow and black, a sea of cheerful Hufflepuffs welcome her inside, uncaring about her own lonesome green and silver tie, or noticing that she gagged a little on the musty stench of wet dirt and trapped photosynthesis. It was a relief to finally be around peers that weren't as judgmental as her own house. She didn't mean to generalize but the evidence was clear and overwhelming.

Professor Sprout instructed them on how to clip Sneezewort correctly and she absorbed every detail of the small white flower that held the ability to befuddle even the most sound minds but offered little to the discussion, letting her much more invested peers take over. Sneezewort was a key ingredient in the Befuddlement Draught, the first potion they'd learned last year.

She tuned out the lecture to go over the recipe and instructions in her head, just in case Snape wasn't finished testing them and it came up in potions tomorrow. She wouldn't put it past him to make a further example out of her. He was the sort of sadist who enjoyed making students feel underprepared and stupid, not that it had ever applied to her. It was one of the many characteristics that he did not share with any other professors at Hogwarts, but she didn't mind. It was probably some deep-seated ambition or need to be better than the rest but she had enjoyed earning his tolerance, and praise, especially when it was withheld from so many.

Lunch was a rather somber affair without Sadie so she settled at the end of the Slytherin table, content to read.

With their schedules out of synch with one another, she was staring down the barrel of an entire year of lunches alone, not that she minded. She glanced up at the rest of the hall, admiring the lax nature of the other tables and houses, completely fine with sharing tables during more informal meals. She glanced down the length of her table, unsurprised by only a few green ties littering the dark wooden seats. She wouldn't have minded some more house mingling but the trend makers in Slytherin were quite territorial.

She quickly helped herself to some soup and flipped through the book to find where she'd left off. The train ride had only allowed her to get halfway through The Princess Bride and she'd barely had any time for personal reading over the weekend between brushing up on textbooks and unpacking.

Finally, he rested far below her, silent and without motion. "You can die too for all I care," she said, and then she turned away.

Words followed her. Whispered from far, weak and warm and familiar. "As . . . you . . . wish. .."

It was inevitable, tears pricked her eyes and she broke into a big smile, unable to contain it. This part, no matter how many times she read it, always made her emotional.

The complex mixture of devotion, love, and sadness between the two protagonists was so raw and powerful. It was entirely unrealistic, which was the only reason she found it intriguing at all. Not that she'd know anything about love. The last boy she'd liked seriously was someone long since graduated from when she was a fourth-year. But from what she had seen from the other clumsy, short-lived couples at Hogwarts, this kind of romance didn't exist in real life. There had been a few boys in her hometown who'd taken her out on dates over the years but they'd amounted to nothing, not even a kiss. She couldn't talk about the things she likes from the wizarding world with them, and couldn't talk about muggle things with anyone at Hogwarts so it was, in her view, pointless to even try. She doubted that any sort of satisfactory love would come for her at all though because she was an avid fiction reader, so her standard for men was way too high.

She blinked back her tears and sniffled the rest of her emotions back into her head. Thankfully, the Slytherin table was almost empty except for a few lone diners like herself. Most of her lazy oaf housemates opted for afternoon classes so that they could sleep in. Even the head table was practically empty except for Hagrid, who was chatting away at Madam Maxine, who towered over him. She blamed her sudden tenderness on the chapter she'd just finished but they would make a sweet couple.

One other seat at the table was occupied by an unfamiliar, rather large blonde man whose face was mostly obscured by his goblet and furious fork movements. She could just make out a wonky blue eye but…not the rest of him. His tousled blonde hair and rather red complexion seemed out of place. She squinted to make out his features a little more. Was he a professor from one of the international schools? No, he looked quite familiar, she thought. She'd seen his face before.

She looked back down at her own table. "Parkinson, who is that? The blonde one."

Pansy Parkinson followed her gaze and then half-whispered back down to her.

"Professor Moody, new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Thanks," she responded mindlessly. Moody. Why did that name sound so familiar?

She stared unabashedly at the man, struggling to make out any more details.

He stood briefly, to reach the pumpkin juice and she caught a glimpse of metal where a leg once was.

She'd seen him before.

Moody.

Her mind whirred.

She scrambled out of her seat, trying not to look as dizzy and sick as she felt.

Moody. Mad-Eye Moody. The auror. That's where she knew him from.

A cold shiver passed over her as his eyes met hers. He lingered for a moment due to her sudden rise and then returned to his meal.

No. It couldn't be him. He must be someone else.

She didn't hide her urgency as she ran through the halls towards the library.

Panic lodged itself into her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

With every step she took, she prayed, wished, and hoped that she was mistaken and that it wasn't him.

He must be someone else. But she had to be sure.

The library doors opened with more of a bang than she'd usually allow, drawing more than one disgruntled look from other students but she didn't care.

The bookshelves on the way to the history section flew by.

Accio

A book documenting all the issues of the Daily Prophet from 1981, the end of the first wizarding war, flew to her.

There was no time to reach her alcove, she had to know now.

She leaned on an empty wall in an abandoned corner and ripped through the pages, feeling her heartbeat on the tip of every finger.

Please be someone else, she chanted in her head. Please be someone else.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be him.

Please don't be —

The headline looked the same as it did when she'd first found it during her second year at Hogwarts when she'd simply been curious about the war that her peers sometimes chatted about. Her father hadn't told her any of it. Only that someone had died and the world was a better place because of it.

DEATH EATER KILLED EN ROUTE TO AZKABAN

The photo underneath the black words still moved.

The same Moody she'd seen at lunch stood over a body, his face still bleeding from the altercation.

She slammed the book closed and squeezed her eyes tight.

It was him. He had done it.

Moody.

The photo flashed behind her eyelids; his lost leg, rolling eye, matted hair - standing over her uncle's dead body, eyes- lifeless, dark mark- still, face- reminiscent of her fathers, and thusly, her own.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Silencing the hustle and bustle around her.

It was him. And he was here.

She felt her legs give out and sunk to the floor in a flustered heap.

No, no, no. Why did he have to come here?

She'd tried so hard, for so long to forget it and now she was forced to reckon with the truth.

Her eyesight narrowed to tunnels.

What if he knew? What if he could tell just by her hair or face?

Her vision became hazy and the bookshelves and carpet blurred into one reddish-brown clump.

Tomorrow. She would see him tomorrow. Not only was he here but he was her professor.

Her stomach churned.

He would read her name on the class roster tomorrow. He would know then, if he didn't already.

What if he stood up in class and said, "I killed Death Eater, Rupert Wilkes and his niece is in this very room."

She tried to calm her breathing but her brain was static.

Then everyone would know. It'd take a few class periods to get around and Malfoy would tell them all the rest of the story until she formally became the evil that she feared so much. Death Eaters taunted her dreams because she couldn't help but see one every time she looked in the mirror.

The room was spinning.

No one could know.

No one could see that when they looked at her. She would make sure of it.

Despite her best efforts to calm down, severe panic and a lack of oxygen blacked out the world around her before she lost consciousness.

"Violet."

"Violet."

A soft voice coaxed her back to reality. She slowly came to, feeling lightheaded and confused. She opened her eyes and panicked when all she saw was black, before realizing that her face was pressed to the floor. The carpet scratched her cheek as she turned to acknowledge the voice.

"Violet, are you ok?" A familiar voice cooed anxiously next to her.

She looked up and found Madam Pince's face looming over her. She concluded from the horrified, concerned expression from the librarian that she must have passed out and fallen over.

"C'mon dear, up you come," Madam Pince said, pulling her to her feet. "We need to get you to the hospital wing."

She found her footing but dropped the book to the floor, rushing to pick it up before the librarian could see what she was reading. The movement nearly made her fall over but the bookish witch's grip on her arm was incredibly tight and dependable, not even allowing her to sway.

"Oh no it's alright," she assured the older witch breathlessly. "Really, I'm fine I just was…erm… lightheaded is all and um sat down. I must have just fallen asleep." She tried to hide the wobbling of her legs and flashed a confident smile to deter her nerves.

Madam Pince regarded her with suspicious eyes but slowly released her arm. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I promise. Thank you, I'll just go straight to my room and lie down, I promise," she rambled, making a break for the front door, her legs still feeling like jello. "Um thank you, sorry."

"Alright," Madam Pince called after her. "Be more careful."

She stuffed the book into her bag and sprinted back to her room. The sunset shining through the windows on her way back to the dungeon signaled that she'd been out for the entire afternoon and some of the evening. She guessed that she'd missed dinner, not that it mattered because her stomach was too tightly wound with nerves to eat anything.

As she moved through the halls, her thoughts raced to remember why she'd passed out in the first place. She rounded a corner and caught sight of the doors to the Great Hall and it all hit her again, in an instant. She fought back panicked tears and considered changing her trajectory to the owlery to message her father about what to do but stopped, remembering that he wasn't aware of just how much she knew and that the revelation might give his sensitive soul a shock.

She focused on steadying her breathing and regaining the feeling in her legs, ignoring the countless peers she passed. She swore that she heard someone calling her name, but her heartbeat filled her ears, blocking out most sound, so she couldn't be sure.

It was a lonely feeling, keeping a secret for years on end. The truth of the situation would be more of a prison than the secret itself and so she kept it buried and let it fester into a deep loathing of those around her who were unburdened by the evils of the world.

She spat the common room password with more fervor than she ever had and raced through the dark furniture and scattered students, anxious for the safety of her room.

Her thoughts were interrupted when an inconsolable Sadie greeted her as soon as she opened the door. She hastily wiped a tear away from her cheek and collected herself, not that Sadie would've noticed between her sobs.

"Sadie," she croaked out.

Her sniffling friend looked up at her in surprise. "Where have you been?" The tone and volume of her voice made Violet jump. After hours of begin unconscious on the floor, her head was pounding. Despite the ache, she scurried over to console her friend, thankful for a distraction from her distress.

Apparently, Graham Montague had been caught sneaking a Bauxbaton girl into the boy's dorm earlier in the evening and Sadie had been the one who saw them.

She whispered countless reassurances, and encouragements but most came out half-hearted, not that she'd meant them to. What did Sadie expect from a pureblood git? Of course, she'd never say so and nodded along to her friend's rant, despite her groggy head and sore limbs from a terrible afternoon spent crumpled on the library floor.

"He seriously thinks that I care," she yelled, tossing a pillow at their closed bedroom door. "Please, he can fancy whomever he likes. It's a relief to be rid of him. His constant worshiping at the temple of my twat was getting old anyway."

Sadies high cheekbones glistened from her tears. She'd finally stopped crying but her deep brown eyes reflected her pooling sadness, ready to rerelease at a moment's notice.

"He's a leech and you're entirely too good for him," she said in an attempt to match her friend's anger while scanning the room anxiously for a place to hide the book.

Thankfully, Sadie didn't sense her distraction and ranted for a few moments longer before opting to sob herself to sleep on her bed. Violet rubbed her friend back, trying to focus on Sadie's much simpler problem but she could feel the book burning a hole through her bag, and her own problem searing itself into her subconscious. When Sadies soft snores filled the room, she peeled herself from the bed opposite of hers and finally laid her head on her pillow.

Despite already being lightly sleep-deprived, she tossed and turned all night fighting off worst-case scenarios and sorting through her emotions.

Terrifying, she decided sometime around 3 AM. It was terrifying.

It was terrifying to be in the house that raised almost all of the dark witches and wizards in history.

To be so close to those whose families still had loyalty to a Dark Lord.

To have Death Eater blood running through her veins. It felt like a sick joke, being terribly afraid of something inside of her. It was a cruel game of cat and mouse except she couldn't figure out which one was which. Scared of herself, and even more afraid of those around her who had the same story.

But those feelings of fear were all expected. She'd sorted through them thousands of times and lost more hours of sleep over them than she could count. These were things she'd already resigned herself to, but Moody was a bomb. He was unexpected and quite frankly, entirely unwelcome and she didn't know how to react.

He'd been here a week and she hadn't even known. She kicked herself for leaving the welcome feast early. She could've recognized him sooner and planned ahead but now she only had a few hours to organize her thoughts and come up with a plan of attack that didn't get her outed, or worse.

She turned over and stared at the wall, begging into the dark for sleep to take her. Tomorrow she'd be a tired, useless mess.

Tomorrow.

Not only would she feel exhausted but she'd have to see him tomorrow and there was no way around it. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a graduation requirement, and further, than that, something she was actually interested in learning, seeing as her fear of the topic occupied her thoughts more and more each passing day.

Her stomach wound itself in a tight knot at the thought of walking into class and facing Moody in front of her peers.

The way she saw it, there were only two options. Ignore him, and hope he didn't recognize her or face it head-on and let him know that she knew. She mulled it over and over hopelessly flipping between worst-case scenarios.

Ignoring him hinged on his inability to recognize her name or face, which she doubted. She knew nothing of the emotional toll that killing someone left a person with but surely it wasn't easily forgotten. On the other hand, if she confronted him after class, maybe they could come to an understanding. Maybe he would be glad to know that not everyone who bore her last name was evil. Maybe he even harbored some guilt, and was just as nervous about her, as she was about him.

It wasn't the worst plan, and exceedingly better than skipping DADA a year, not graduating in time, and having to explain everything to Snape and her parents.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy above her, surprised to feel tears prick the corner of her eyes.

There was a hole in her heart.

She had to see him. She had to learn from him.

There was no way to avoid being in the same room as the man who had caused her father so much grief and pain that he hadn't spoken about his brother in nearly thirteen years.

The pain was what lingered. Behind every smile, every laugh, glint of his eyes, she always saw that pain. Especially when he was looking at her. It was only natural of course. He'd never say it but she could tell he worried about her being so close to where her uncle was corrupted. Two roads certainly diverging and she couldn't blame him for wondering which one she would take.

Despite wanting to, she couldn't blame him. It wasn't Moody who had caused that pain. It was the uncle who'd sought fame and glory by standing next to he-who-must-not-be-named and ended up getting himself killed. He'd chosen instantaneous death over a slow and torturous one in Azkaban and she didn't feel bad for him.

It wasn't just her pain, or her father's pain, or her family; but the entire wizarding world.

There were other articles too, ones right before and right after her uncle's death that she could hardly bring herself to read. She hadn't been able to make it more than a paragraph into the front-page article announcing the boy who lived. Its cadence desperately tried to give respect and solemness to Potter's parents but failed miserably. The one that haunted her the most though cited the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom, Nevilles parents. She'd never spoken to the boy but knew his tragic story well. If the news of her bloodline ever did get out, he, above anyone else would have a right to despise her.

She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to forget the black and white pictures.

None of it was her fault but she felt the burden regardless.

Countless other families had lost so much more, even some at the hand of her uncle. That was worse than his death.

He had helped the Dark Lord rip families apart, and set the world on fire. Because it was his job.

And just like him, Moody too had done his job. He had sacrificed an eye and a leg to make their whole world safer. It probably meant nothing to kill someone to ensure the safety of those you love, and deep down she knew that true safety and peace had required his death. The thought made him less intimidating but the worry remained the same.

She let a silent tear fall for the resurgence of the dark mark, her father, the confrontation tomorrow, and the uncle she never knew, and finally fell asleep.

Violet didn't wait for her alarm clock to lull her awake on Wednesday morning.

The early rise gave her time to shower and dress slowly. Breakfast tempted her but she opted to head straight to the potions classroom where another annoyance awaited.

She found her seat and ignored the peers trickling into the room around her until Lee sat down a few minutes later, with George in tow. The panic of yesterday had pushed him, and his smug demeanor far out of her mind but unfortunately, hadn't made him any less real.

She kept her eyes on the open textbook in front of her and tried to tune them out, as well as her murderous thoughts. She didn't have the energy to deal with George today. Any fire inside of her needed to be conserved tense conversation she was hellbent on having in just a few hours.

George must have sensed her annoyance because he leaned over the table and set a hand in front of her book.

"Morning Violet."

She glared at him but his smug smile didn't budge.

"Merlin, you look terrible," he leaned forward further, faking concern.

Lovely, she thought. What an absolute gentleman and a delight to deal with this morning. She squinted, trying to hide her anger, and fighting off the blush creeping onto her cheeks. What an intolerable person. If Lee wasn't sitting between them, she might've hexed him right then and there.

"Reckon I'm still better looking than you. It's a wonder why God decided to make your ugly face twice."

He squinted back and chuckled. "God? Didn't take a heathen like yourself to be the religious type."

"Only started recently," she said, scolding herself for giving into his back and forth. "I found myself in urgent need of something to pray to."

She hoped he'd take the bait.

"Don't leave me in suspense Violet, whatever do you pray for?"

Like a mouse with cheese. "Your painful demise."

"And you need God for that? Don't have the courage to hex me yourself," he half cooed, egging her on.

Nothing dark look today. If anything, he looked like he was having fun.

"Don't tempt me. A cell in Azkaban would be much more preferable to seeing your ghastly hair every week."

He smiled and tucked a lock behind his ear.

"Violet, no need to be so cruel. I feel as though we've gotten off to a wrong start. Let's start again shall we?"

She shot him a sarcastic smirk. As if.

"Good morning Violet," he said, with an even toothier grin.

She smiled sweetly. "You look terrible."

Maybe a few more back and forth's and he would've dawned on the more sinister look that she'd grown quite fond of, but Snape's entrance interrupted them, and George scampered off to his seat without another word.

Snape tapped on his podium. "Weasley; scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile, newt spleens."

Everyone in the class turned to watch George dawn a frantic look on his face before resigning to stare daggers into Snape.

"What…" he said.

Their professor him a few more seconds to answer and then smirked.

"Pity. Five points from Gryffindor. Wilkes?"

She jumped a little at the sound of her name and quickly shifted her gaze to Snape.

"Oh um Wit-Sharpening Potion, sir," she responded dully, ignoring the collective class sigh at her once again outing herself as a teacher's pet.

"Sounds like something you might want to invest in," Snape sneered, turning back to George. "Five points to Slytherin. Davies; spring water, alihosty leaves, billywig wings, snarl quills, puff skein hair, horseradish powder."

He was quizzing them. He'd done it last year before finals but he seemed to be taking a rather cruel approach to weeding out those who didn't have their textbooks preemptively memorized.

"Um… erm…. Dreamless sleep?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

Oh Godric, again? She really was the most unlucky person alive today.

She kept her eyes on the desk. "Laughing potion, sir."

"Five points to Slytherin. Warrington, name one potion with porcupine quills."

"Erm…Cure for Boils?"

"Five points to Slytherin. Stimpson; daisy roots, shrivelfig, caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, wormwood."

"I….I don't know sir."

"Five points from Ravenclaw. Wilkes?"

"Shrinking Solution, sir."

There were only so many students that he could pick on before she was stuck reciting the entire textbook. Hopefully, he wouldn't take the entire class time to make his point, but she wouldn't put it past him.

"Five points to Slytherin. Jordan; moonstone, hellebore, unicorn horn, porcupine quills, valerian root."

She let the quietest gasp escape her lips and whipped her head to look at him. He knew this. They had made it on Monday and he'd been the one to gather the ingredients. He looked a little panicked so she gave him a soft kick under the desk and watched as the lightbulb went off over his head.

"Draught of Peace!"

She bit the side of her cheek to stop a smile from forming on her face. It was an easy question and it meant nothing but regardless, she couldn't help but feel proud that he had remembered.

"Congratulations on paying attention to Miss Wilkes' work. I will deduct no points from Gryffindor, as a reward."

Dissatisfied at the Gryffindors correct answer, Snape finished his quiz and instructed them all to study the first chapter in the textbook for next week when they would begin brewing.

She skimmed over the words and mindlessly flicked through the pages, ignoring her heart thumping and stomach swirling. It was only about thirty minutes now until she'd be in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She blinked back the moving photo from the book and tried to conjure any happy image.

"Psstt."

She turned her head to Lee a second time.

"What?" She hissed.

He grinned at her. "Thanks for kicking me in the right direction."

Over his shoulder, she could see George staring at them curiously. She wondered if Gryffindors ever did anything without moving in a pack and moved her eyes back to the book.

"Don't mention it."

Much to her surprise, he didn't. He even pushed George back out the door when the giant redhead waltzed back over, looking like he wanted to pick up where they left off.

She watched them leave and lamented to herself as one nightmare ended, another began.

A few minutes later, she stopped at the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. A couple of her fellow students pushed past her, glaring back as they ascended the stairs but despite their sour expressions, she couldn't move.

The adrenaline from last night was waning and the plans she'd come up with no longer seemed like the right thing to do.

The stairs took forever, and yet not long enough. She scurried to a corner desk in the last row and took a seat next to an inconspicuous looking Durmstrang boy, who might have said something when she sat down but her ears wouldn't stop ringing.

The bell tolled. This was it. There was a 50/50 chance that her reputation was about to be ruined. News like this would take little to no time to get around the school and everyone would know before dinner. She'd be the girl that Professor Moody threw out of his class for being related to a Death Eater. For the rest of the year, she'd have no choice but to sit with Malfoy and all the other children of suspected Death Eaters, but even they might not take her.

Moody's office door banged open and he trudged down the stairs.

Sadie might not hate her forever, but any hopes at remaining cordial with friends from other houses would be thrown out the window, she thought. Hermione wouldn't be able to look at her. She didn't know if she could take it.

"Alastor Moody," he was scribbling at the chalkboard with his back turned to the class. "Ex Auror, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

He turned to look at them.

She winced. His normal eye floated over their faces, but his other eye, held to his face with leather and metal, moved furiously as he called out names from the roster. Her breathing grew shallow as the eye moved to the back of the class, and towards the end of the alphabet.

"Wilkes," He bellowed.

"Here," she squeaked out, on the verge of passing out.

His eyes grazed over her one second, and then… they were gone.

She blinked, squinting to be sure that he wasn't staring in shock or reaching into his pocket to pull out his wand and hex her but he was continuing with the last few names on the roster as if nothing had happened.

There hadn't been even the slightest bit of recognition. Not a flashback. No acknowledgment. No chill down his spine or look in his eye.

Nothing.

Either he didn't know or simply… didn't care.

She felt her muscles unfurl one by one, and nearly laughed out loud with relief.

"The unforgivable curses," he blurted, starting his lecture.

She stared at him in disbelief for a few moments before tentatively accepting that, at least for now, she was in the clear. It was astonishing and completely unexpected. She suddenly felt silly for panicking so much.

Her relieved mood didn't last long though, as he spoke ominously about the world they would step into upon graduation. Any small doubt in her mind that the Dark Mark in the sky hadn't really meant a second war, vanished.

"The Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight."

His face contorted with passion and his eyes urged them to see the horrible things he'd seen. His pleas were honest but terrifying.

"You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance," he concluded, before dismissing the class in a huff after an hour and a half of passionate ranting.

She didn't give her original plan another thought, and was the first one out the door, her mind running through the warning he'd just given them.

Vigilance.

If she would have stayed for the entire feast, and been vigilant, she would have known that he was going to be here. She cursed herself for letting something like this sneak up on her and affect her so harmfully, especially now that none of her worst fears about him had come true.

Vigilance.

She wasn't at the Quidditch World Cup but judging from Moody's ominous lecture, that was just the beginning. There would be more whispers, more threats, maybe even attacks, just how it started last time. Even without the return of he-who-must-not-be-named, his followers were surely tired of waiting in the shadows, biting their tongues, and watching muggle-borns, and half-bloods receive equal treatment. If they were back, her family would be a target.

She had to be vigilant.

The full Slytherin table almost deterred her from sitting down for lunch but she couldn't get Moody's words out of her head. She caught a glance of Malfoy laughing with Crabbe, and Goyle, all with family ties to Death Eaters. She was quite literally in the snake pit.

She boldly took a seat at the middle of the table, a few empty spots away from Malfoy and his crew.

Vigilant.

If there was indeed something brewing, maybe they knew about it, and maybe, just maybe, they'd be dumb enough to let something slip.

Moody's face looming over her uncles flashed in her mind once more but she didn't flinch. If her uncle had survived, surely he would have come for his blood-traitor brother and half-blood nieces. How could she have been so stupid to think that Moody would out her, even if he had recognized her name? He was capable of bad things, yes, but clearly, only for a good cause. He'd done what he had to do, not only for his safety but also for her father's safety, her mother's safety, and ultimately, hers.

She cursed the tear she'd shed for such an evil man last night.

Malfoy's cackle tore her from her thoughts. She watched him sneer at a group of Gryffindors with his friends, his white hair unmoving as he tossed his head backward and wondered if anyone else had seen him at the Quidditch World Cup.

[silveryfairy]

hey man if it's not too much trouble, could you give us a brief rundown of the Nocturnes? It's just, every morning I wake up and there's a new one, and I Care everyone in this establishment a lot though I don't really know them, thank you kindly have a nice day

let my preface this by saying: aayushi, i love you, and your enthusiasm and interest for the things i create never ceases to bring me joy. you are the kind of friend i think everyone should have and i say that completely genuinely outside of this bit.

i say that as an apology in advance for what i’m about to unleash upon you, because what you’re going to see is the product of my friend @himepapillon and i’s absolute BRAINROT and what comes of it when not only two people make an oc universe from scratch but what happens when we then have to explain that universe to other people

you are in no way required to retain this information as to be completely honest me and jeremie haven’t fully either and we’re the ones who MADE this shitshow. below is the shoddy family tree i lovingly crafted in ms paint

let us begin. 

for starters, i’ll specify some things:

1. not every oc on this chart is mine, as it’s a collaboration between me and jeremie - the koenig family and bishop family belong to faer but the rest is all me baby! for the sake of your soul i will only be going into my half of this Mess

2. the universe this takes place in is a pretty wacky and silly one, just, like, Slightly removed from reality. these characters are all completely batshit insane and do things that no human being probably should. it’s all portrayed critically, as the general concept of this whole thing is “the goings-on of a bunch of unhinged corrupt rich people”. we kind of flip flop on how seriously stuff is played but if i had to slap a genre on this it’d be, like, black comedy drama. i know a lot of these concepts sound kinda fucked to write but that’s just because i’m trying to describe them in a SOMEWHAT concise way without going into Super Introspective mode

the nocturnes are an incredibly influential and rich family in the uk that tends to produce very influential and rich people. they’re also all a little bit insane. the main characters of this Saga are the sons of desmond and xanthes, the family’s resident Power Couple and biggest figureheads. they suck ass but that will become apparent the second i talk about their children.

from oldest to youngest, the nocturne boys are:

ichor nocturne, 25 - the eldest, ichor was disowned from the household when he was 18 for unruly behavior, sent to live alone on a farm so he couldn’t tarnish his family’s image any further. since then, you’d think the isolation has driven him a bit mad - he’s a very prolific cotton farmer and has been doing astonishingly well for himself, running his farm on his own with only his parents’ inheritance as help. ...that, and, of course, the blood of the people he executes to keep his crops growing - or so he believes. he moonlights as an executioner in the small town over, exterminating the ‘pests’ of the city. despite his newfound violence, he still routinely checks in on his siblings, finding ways to mysteriously end up at their door to pay visits. the older brother instinct still hasn’t left

icarus nocturne, 23 - the second eldest (only by technicality, as he is a twin), icarus is the family’s golden child! but not in terms of business or anything, oh no - icarus is a famous heartthrob teen (sorta) musician! he’s been in the limelight since he was a little boy, being an actor as a small child and getting into music as he grew. his general Look(tm), accompanied by infectiously happy rave music, is a trademark cutesy mask over his face with oversized clothing - meant to express as much energy as possible as he bounces about the stage. in reality, he lives a life as forced and controlled as possible by virtue of... living the fucked up life of a child star. but his parents have someone to take the fall - so, what of his twin?

achilles nocturne, 23 - icarus’ younger twin, which wouldn’t mean much... in any family but this one. achilles has had it drilled into his head since the beginning that he was a mistake next to icarus, to the point where legally, he does not exist. following icarus beginning his career, achilles was unpersoned completely - living in the family’s basement with the height of his education being for a very specific purpose... needing to be icarus’ body double on tours and for paparazzi - after all, they can’t have icarus’ purity tainted by all those clamboring fans! it’s a godawful situation. on the bright side, though, achilles has found a hobby where he can be himself: twitch streaming! yes really. under the name of 1upanonymous, hidden under a mask just like his brother, achilles at least has a fanbase that can love him for who he is! ...uh, kind of.

tomasine “tommy” nocturne, 16 - the youngest of the bunch, and it says a lot about his siblings’ capabilities that he’s the technical heir to the nocturnes’ various businesses and fortune. tommy is just a feral 16 year old that doesn’t give two shits about any fame or fortune, he just wants to party and drink and have fun like any other kid his age! he’s rebellious, loud, and charmingly annoying (to his brothers anyway), and has no real care for the gravity of his family’s situations beyond finding it annoying that they want him to be all PRIM and PROPER and BUSINESSY EEWWWWW. he’s just a funny loud little child trying to live his best life. loves his brothers fiercely

already a mess of people. and really, all you need to know about or really keep in mind are those four: the upcoming characters are largely just side ones we came up with because we thought it’d be funny to flesh out this fucked up family more. so let’s get into the anatra branch of the family - headed by jael nocturne, xanthes’ brother and the siblings’ uncle

jael anatra-nocturne, who i am not giving an age for my own sanity trying to decipher this fucking timeline - a crude and playful uncle, jael is someone the nocturne boys either love (icarus, tommy) or hate (achilles, ichor). constantly joking, as he expresses affection with loving insults - kind of a money-driven asshole, but a lovable one - he’s a career politician and met his current husband, joaquin, on the job. or, well... no longer current, because jael’s funny life of debauchery, toxic masculinity, and making fun of his nephews, came to an abrupt end when he was assassinated on live television. yipes!

joaquin anatra-nocturne, who also does not get an age - jael’s former secretary and current widow, joaquin is the local wine uncle. im not sure if that’s a classification but it is now, because he is one. an unapologetic gold-digger, he (publicly) took jael’s death frighteningly well, and is now living his best life with a revolving door of new boyfriends. his relationship with jael was a genuine and very loving one, and joaquin IS devastated by his death, but both of them just found the bit of pretending to be this loveless gold digger/politician couple very funny, and being as suspicious as possible around his husband’s death is exactly what jael would have wanted joaquin to do

taddeo anatra-nocturne, 14 - the youngest child of these two, a shy little boy with big Child In A Horror Movie energies. makes potions in the backyard and probably decorates his clothes with animal bones n stuff when he’s older. despite this he’s pretty harmless, nice and fiercely loyal - tommy especially thinks he’s fun and likes to hang out with him at family gatherings - just so long as you look past the creepy dolls he likes to talk to and fires he likes to set. especially close with jael and wants to be a miniature version of him, buuut still being a shy tween taddeo hasn’t been able to act on that much.

dailon anatra-nocturne, 20 - the adopted second child of jael and joaquin, dailon is a moody and unstable delinquent that was snatched up by them just as he was about to age out of foster care. while he has a chill ‘cool-older-even-though-he’s-younger-cousin’ demeanor, the tension when he’s around his parents - jael specifically - can be cut with a knife. dailon hates his dad: ‘someone who expresses affection with insults and jokes and likes seeing people pissed at him’ and ‘someone who’s volatile, short-tempered, and sullen after living in a foster home most his life’ are just as bad of a combination as you’d expect. dailon gets himself into a lot of trouble, and is an overall very self-centered prick, but we’ll get more on that in a bit.

HELL FAMILY...2!!! that’s the last of the families to cover, buuuut there are still some other names on that list - mostly connected to dailon. this is REAL “just going on in the background” shit that you also do not need to know whatsoever (except for mitzi she’s pretty important she’s just down here for organization purposes) - i just like to play god and make characters get into drama.

[tw: cheating, unhealthy relationships, stalking]

mitzi “moon” altberg, 23 - achilles must feel very far away by now, but we’re back to him for a second! mitzi is his ex-girlfriend he met online, a fan-to-employee-to-lover and one of the maybe two people outside of the family achilles has shown his real face to. however, achilles growing up deeply unstable - between his parents’ abuse, having spotlights on him and adoring fans both as icarus’ body double and as a streamer, and in general not really growing up to be any kind of well developed human being - made this relationship a complete disaster. he grew obsessive and controlling - and when she tried to ignore him, he broke his one rule (to never go outside without permission) to find the hotel she was staying at in real life and show up to confront her. the incident was completely covered up, both by the nocturnes and with their connections, and so mitzi was forced to stay silent. this entire thing is based on this song! as time heals wounds, though, mitzi will end up doing pretty well for herself and putting achilles behind her - even getting a new boyfriend, jared!

reynard fiala, 20 - dailon’s (ex-)boyfriend, who he’s enraveled in his own weird soap opera subplot with. reynard is a relatively chill person, with an interest in art and taxidermy - just as morbid as dailon’s brother, but in a more. Normal way. genuinely a sweetheart who does not deserve what happens to them: getting cheated on with dailon’s best friend. yipes^2! while it's earth shattering in the moment, all reynard will really want to do come some time to process is to move on and for him and dailon both to heal in peace... far away from eachother (which is easier said than done since taddeo thinks reynard is super cool and loves having him over, the awkwardness between them and his brother be damned)

jared summers, 21 - the most normal person here. a longterm best friend of dailon’s, and yes, the very same one i just mentioned. he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer - what we in the industry would call a himbo if his dumbassery didn’t cause very real damage - who had been pining for dailon for years and him dating was no deterrent, and dailon, thinking the world revolves around him as he tends to do, accepted jared’s confession so they just kinda started dating on the side. jared has the moral backbone of a pool noodle, and even after it causes dailon’s relationship with reynard to fall apart, will need a wholeass intervention to be staged to make them both realize just how shitty they’re being. after that, though, jared will end that mess and be on his way to becoming a better person himself - with the help of a sweet girl he’s met online.

jared and mitzi dating in the future is the most contrived thing on the planet but just hear me out that it’ll be HILARIOUS for achilles to check in on his ex-girlfriend and find she’s dating his cousin’s best friend, who said cousin was apparently dating on the side. very small world, it is. 

anyway, thank you if you’ve somehow stuck around to read this entire thing - this isn’t even getting into jeremie’s half of this whole ordeal, which includes some of these fellas’ friends and partners, as well as more crazy rich people nonsense. it’s been very fun to think about and i do love it all dearly, even if putting it all together it’s SUCH a mess.

we don’t intend to make anything Legit out of this, it’s honestly just a fun way to pass the time. it’s the adult equivalent of playing dollhouse. in our minds this is like a 20 season soap opera but actually explaining it to other people it’s just like this

but thank you again for letting me babble i hope it was somewhat entertaining! and again, godspeed if you managed to read this much XD