#these might be a little ooc but I’m still violently ill and trying to get back into my writing groove

[organicxslime]

☆kissing you (gojo, nanami, toji, megumi, yuji, ino)☆

GOJO kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He’s suave about it, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving you his signature pretty-boy smirk before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. He’s passionate, but not too forceful, and he has a way of flustering you despite having done this a thousand times. Occasionally (read: almost every single time) he’ll get a bit frisky, taking you in both arms and dipping you slightly as he gently catches your plump bottom lip in his teeth or swipes his tongue along the edge of it. The experience is dizzying, and by the end of it you’re always bright red from ear to ear.

NANAMI's kisses are more a bit more chaste. They're best described as sweet - he's not trying to overwhelm you with passion, but you can feel the quiet adoration and his underlying love for you in even the quickest pecks. The best ones are when he's just gotten home from work, not even bothering to shed his coat or shoes before seeking you out. When he finds you, inevitably curled up on the couch or working on something in the kitchen, he'll envelop you in a warm embrace from behind before gently slipping a hand underneath your jaw to cup your face, softly pressing his lips to yours as you melt into each other.

TOJI's kisses are rough. Gentleness doesn’t come easy to a man like Toji, but he’s not trying to throw you around, either. When he kisses you, it’s pure dominance, smashing his lips against yours and squeezing your waist between two large hands. You’ll typically have to initiate, but the second he knows it’s coming he’s taken over the situation and made you his once again. Your favorite is when his tough-guy demeanor has softened a bit and he allows you to sidle up next to him, big doe eyes silently pleading as you look up at him, urging him to take you in his arms and kiss you. When he complies, it’s much more reserved, almost gentle, and you don’t think you’d mind leaving his more forceful displays of affection in the past if this is what’s been available the whole time.

YUJI’s kisses are messy and unpracticed, but he's clearly so adorably excited to be with you that you don't mind. You’ll have to lead while he finds his footing, but once he’s figured out how to position his head, he’s softly planting lingering pecks on you, unable to get rid of the smile that stretches his cheeks so taut that it almost hurts. He’ll seek you out anywhere, anytime - it doesn’t matter if you cross his mind for a fraction of a second, he’s immediately seeking you out with the intent of pulling you into a quiet corner. He’ll brush your hair out of your face, flashing you a lopsided smile of nervous excitement before leaning into you, kissing you deeply before pulling away to get a look at your flushed cheeks and grin before diving right back in.

MEGUMI's kisses are shy, almost hesitant. He's the type of person that has to warm up to you every time it happens, starting off stiff with an air of uncertainty before eventually melting into you the way he wants to. He's not the type to be all over you all the time, but you can always count on a kiss goodnight from him. You'll both be curled up in bed, ready to pass out for the night, but he always makes sure to brush his lips against yours for a lingering kiss before the two of you fall asleep. It's warm and soft, and although he usually acts stoic and unfeeling, you're giddy that you get to know the real, unguarded version of him through these sweet little moments.

INO’s kisses are a bit boisterous - not because he's trying to be, but because he's over the moon to be able to do this with you at all. He usually tries to be slick about it, sweet talking you and creeping a hand up the small of your back beforehand, but he’s easily flustered and tends to melt into you the minute your lips touch. He’s eager, smashing his lips against yours in a way that makes it all too clear how much he wants you, and when he pulls away for some oxygen you can see the deep blush blooming across his cheeks. Sometimes (usually after a mission or when he’s exhausted) you’ll get a softer, even sweeter Ino, where your lips will meet with feather-light touches, warm and soft and impossibly saccharine, and when he comes up for air he’ll press his forehead against yours, with him meeting your eyes with a look of absolute adoration.

[jereviendrai]

||| ooc; does every character on this blog have bpd symptoms? is this problematic, considering they’re all villains or would-be villains? is there a way to give a villain a mental health disorder without stigmatizing the disorder? well--

OH AND BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR A WIDE RANGE OF MENTAL HEALTH TOPICS SUCH AS: eating disorders, mental illness, stigmatization of mental illness, self harm, suicidal tendencies, and a fuckload more. I don’t go into detail. There are just mentions. I’m not gonna say a bunch of graphic shit, I promise! If I went into graphic detail, this would turn into a PhD thesis proposal, and that’d be WAY too long to be worth writing. Also I have BPD, but I’m not going to pretend that I’m an expert on the subject. I’m not. My word is not law, but it’d be nice if my word was taken into consideration.

this post got so fucking long and disorganized jesus christ

The answers are: yes, not inherently, and absolutely.

I want to get into the mental health of all three characters in a second, but I think it’s important to talk a little about the other two points first. That said, though -- yes, they’re all borderline. All three of them! And they all experience it differently! I will come back to that. Anyway--

I feel like it’s important to talk about villains, mental illness and stigma. There’s a really common (and insanely lazy) tendency for writers to explain a villain’s villainy by simply saying, “oh, well they’re a psychopath,” or, “they’re just crazy.” This is not only lazy and offensive, but it contributes to an unfair stigma against the mentally ill.

Mental illness might, say, compel someone to steal a chocolate bar or snap at someone out of anger. It might make a person’s emotions volatile. It might make someone unreasonable. They might suffer delusions of abandonment, of some plot against them, of people’s secret intent to humiliate them, etc. They might suffer and handle their suffering poorly. They may cause harm. But that doesn’t make them... evil. It makes them complex. And how they react to and handle their negative actions says more about them than any diagnosis could.

When you have a villain with a mental illness, you need to examine how the illness is hurting them. Write about how it hinders their progress. Write about how isolating it can be for them. Write about the impact and struggle. Not how the illness makes them so evil or so irredeemably awful. The illness should be what humanizes them and helps to make them relatable. No matter how untouchable and powerful your villain is, they have some personal struggle that is independent of their villainy. When done correctly, it can go a long way in fleshing out your villain and adding interesting inner conflict!

I know, I know. You might be asking, “yeah, but don’t people with mental health issues sometimes cause harm directly related to their symptoms?” To which I say: yeah, duh, of course. Just like a depressed person might say something mean when they’re having a bad day. Just like someone with ADHD might make someone feel like they aren’t being listened to. Just like someone who has social anxiety might make a friend feel unloved. Just like mentally healthy people also occasionally cause harm.

I’m not saying mental health issues don’t cause problems and maladaptive behaviors. I’m just saying it doesn’t... make someone inherently bad -- real or fictional. And I need people to internalize that.

ANYWAY ON TO THE CHARACTERS AND THEIR BPD

(i know, you’re probably like, “dude oh my god shut up and get on with it” sakjlfdkjsa)

I’m going to be referring to the four subtypes. I know these are controversial to some people. Some really don’t like these labels, others feel comforted by them, etc. They’re just to make it easier to talk about this whole thing. No one fits neatly into any one subtype! Some people don’t resemble any particular one! Everyone is different! Don’t box people into these subtypes if you haven’t been given consent, thanks!

Mr. A / Clark Donovan Mr. A is a classic example of the Quiet Borderline. Someone with quiet BPD mostly directs their symptoms inward. It’s harder to detect than other types, as the symptoms that are most prevalent are mostly expressed, well, inwardly. Self-esteem issues, self-blame, insecurity, withdrawing emotionally, pretending you’re not angry when you are, self harming tendencies, suicidal thoughts, etc. He’s also kind of clingy. Mr. A is an extremely loyal person to a fault. He is a people pleaser and will go to the ends of the Earth to make his loved ones happy, even if it hurts him. This is of detriment to him, as he often finds himself getting hurt on behalf of people who might not care as much as he does. He’s let a lot of bad people into his life solely because they made him feel loved, wanted and useful. He views everyone he loves through rose-tinted glasses and only takes them off long after he’s been laid to waste by them. He has terrible issues with self-image and has thus developed an eating disorder. He also has severe depersonalization/derealization disorder, which is a result of how his mental health interacts with his reality-warping powers. It creates a lot of anxiety with him, watching himself phase through things and bend the world around him on a whim. His motivations in life are connected to this, but his motivation to do evil things is not. He wants to bring other superpowered people together as a united front against humanity, as he feels that humanity is a threat to their continued existence. This has nothing to do with his mental health issues. The part of it that does tie in is that he’s painfully lonely and has chronic feelings of boredom, so being surrounded with a shit ton of different people mitigates that. It’s a motive for him bringing people closer to him, but it is not a motive for him to launch an attack on all humanity. He’d be really offended if you tried to accuse him of doing this on the basis that he’s just a bit ill. His illness literally just makes him crave contact with other living beings just like him. He sometimes does bad or stupid things because of this, but it literally has nothing to do with his motives as a villain. As an addendum of sorts, Mr. A’s alias and reluctance to use his given name (Clark Donovan) are a result of identity issues he suffers due to his BPD. He finds it hard to maintain a stable sense of identity, so he just... doesn’t.

Ivan Chanteur Ivan closely resembles what we like to call an Impulsive Borderline, comorbid with ADHD. He is an impulsive person, as the name of the subtype suggests. He’s a thrill-seeker who suffers from extreme levels of chronic boredom, which he desperately tries to combat by any means necessary. Staying still and doing repetitive tasks is literal torture for him. If he cannot get up and move and do whatever it takes to keep himself feeling fulfilled and occupied, he is probably going to fucking lose it. When he is actively vocalizing his boredom on a regular basis, this means the chronic feelings of boredom have reached critical mass. It’s not just boredom. It’s anxiety, it’s agitation, it’s existential dread, it’s an inability to focus, it’s pent-up energy that needs to go somewhere and can’t just stay in him anymore. If he can’t get it out in healthy ways, he usually resorts to self-harm or less-than-healthy pursuits. He’s been known to dabble in drugs, self-harm, occasional promiscuity on a bad night. While therapy’s helped him get a handle on it, there’ve been a lot of stressful and traumatic things going on in his life have have made it a lot harder to keep himself in check. Ivan is pretty charismatic, able to cast a wide net and catch all sorts of people in his social web. He has a sort of natural magnetism that, on a superficial level, should make him quite popular. But underneath it all, he has difficulty trusting people long enough to actually let them into his life. He’ll act like an open book, only to slam himself shut and reshelve himself before anyone can get anywhere near the end. He’s easy to befriend, but difficult to get close to. This has caused him to feel lonely and frustrated. He wishes he could easily form deep connections, but it’s hard and it hurts him. In addition to all of this, he engages in a wide variety of attention-seeking and risk-taking behaviors. He often spends time with people who are not good to him, simply for the thrill of it. This has often gotten him hurt, but he finds it hard to cut this habit in spite of everything. This leads to a lot of frustration and self-hatred, as it makes it hard for him to protect himself. Every time someone hurts or betrays him, he beats himself up over it and tells himself he should know better by now. All that said, though, he’s come a long way in therapy. He’s not quite able to keep a handle on all of it all the time, but he’s managed to secure one or two decently stable friendships along the way.

Eve Laurier Eve is particularly difficult to talk about, but I’m going to try my best. Eve is what happens when you make a conscious decision to be bad. He knows beyond a shadow of doubt that what he’s doing is wrong, but he feels so wronged by the world that he just cannot seem to motivate himself to care. This... again... has nothing to do with his BPD. If anything, it’s his struggles with this disorder that keep him at least somewhat... grounded in reality. Eve suffered a personal tragedy -- the loss of his twin sister in a housefire. Though ruled an accident, he cried foul play. Consumed with grief at the loss of the only person he felt could truly understand him, he vowed to find the culprit and make them pay. This set him down a path of vengeance that would make John Wick blush. Eve grew up as the heir to his family’s criminal enterprise. This put him in a position of power the very moment he was born. This also left him exposed to a lot of terrible, violent crimes from a very young age. Because this was normalized by his family, he internalized and compartmentalized any misgivings he had about violence. By the time he was ready for university, he had been thoroughly trained to carry out hitjobs on behalf of the family. He was a weapon from the moment he left the womb. He was groomed to do terrible things, and it’s because of this ongoing and continuous trauma that he developed his particular cocktail of mental health issues. He mostly fits in with the label of Petulant BPD. Repeated and violent trauma did a number on him, leaving him angry and hurt over what his parents let him fall victim to. He also experiences feelings of self-loathing over the part he feels he played in his own trauma, despite the fact that it started in early childhood. He is self-defeating and self-blaming. He has a difficult time expressing his feelings and has angry outbursts fairly regularly, often resulting in self-harm and suicidal ideation. He’s been known to reach for the nearest mind-altering substance just to get out of his head for a bit. His mood swings are intense and leave him feeling fatigued and anxious. He has severe social anxiety that sometimes manifests as cold indifference. He also has issues with control, has paranoid delusions about the people in his life and doesn’t often believe it when people say that they care for him. He will find any and every piece of evidence that points to the contrary, even if he has to make it up himself. This usually ensures that he’ll end up alone again. He doesn’t have very many close relationships, if any at all. His BPD is not the reason he hurts people. Any hurt caused by his BPD is directed at himself, not at others. His BPD is a direct result of what actually has primed him to hurt people. It’s a direct result of trauma. He’s traumatized. And no, trauma is no excuse for what he’s done -- but his BPD didn’t make him kidnap and torture Ivan while he waited for Ivan’s parents to send in the ransom. That was all Eve. That was his conscious decision to make, in spite of everything in his head telling him how awful and wrong he would be to do such a thing. He knew it was wrong and ignored it, as he was under the impression that Ivan’s family had a hand in his sister’s death. If anything, his BPD aggravates his feelings of shame and self-loathing when he does precisely what his parents had been training him to do his whole life.

Anyway-- I hope this was helpful or at least interesting.

The point I’m trying to make here is that mental illness isn’t some kind of ultimate litmus test of good and evil. A disorder doesn’t make you good or bad. It’s just another facet of who you are.

So... to that end... please for the love of fuck stop using personality disorders as the reason for someone’s villainy. Please. I am begging.

I wrote a bunch of BPD villains in various stages of villainhood because I have BPD and this disorder often makes you feel like you’re evil, a monster, etc. Honestly, on good days I feel like an inherently bad person who consciously chooses to do good. That’s very flawed and I know that logically I’m not inherently bad, but that’s kind of what stigma does. It makes you feel like you’re inherently bad. And that feeling influenced how I write all three of these characters.

This is an incoherent mess but today’s the day I find out if I have coronavirus and I’m so fucking stressed out and hopped up on DayQuil. Thanks for reading any of this, I guess?

[arthur-rex]

ooc: fic/RP idea for a retelling of The Last Dragonlord

Strap yourselves in this is a long one… just didn’t know when/couldn’t stop with the overly detailed plotting! xD

Note: I saw the actual episode two days ago. That’s why it’s all quite vivid still in my mind ;)

~~

So the story starts with Kilgharrah haunting Merlin’s dreams and telling him Camelot’s doom is at hand/the legacy of Uther Pendragon will be terrible to behold/his bloodline will be cursed forevermore for his acts against magic-kind. Merlin works out from this that Kilgharrah is dying and the dragon is invoking some sort of ancient powerful magic in the moment of his death. Merlin has failed to free him from his chains basically, and now the imprisoned dragon is getting his revenge through other means…

Flash forward to the next day. Merlin and Arthur are doing their usual things but Merlin notices Arthur being a bit more hungry haha not like that than usual. He’s also developed a bit of an itch to his skin that continually distracts him whilst training the knights. So he asks Merlin to draw him a bath that evening and while undressing Merlin notices shock horror the skin on Arthur’s back is literally peeling off! More sinister than this, it appears that something that looks suspiciously like golden scales lie underneath… Arthur asks Merlin what’s up and Merlin is just so horrified he literally plays dumb and tries not to panic, just focusses on getting Arthur ready for bed.

That whole night he’s at the books with Gaius, trying to make sense of the curse that Kilgharrah mentioned and what’s happening with Arthur. They come across some page in a book that tells them about possession/mad kings/the significance of the Pendragon line…

And it suddenly just clicks with Merlin oh shit Arthur’s turning into a dragon. Camelot’s Champion is turning into Camelot’s fiery destruction. What does this mean for his and Arthur’s supposed destiny together? What can he do to stop the curse? What will Uther do when he finds out what’s happening to his son??!

Gaius tries to calm down an obviously distraught Merlin at this point and advises that they try and bring Arthur discreetly to see him. Maybe some of Gaius’ potions and salves can slow down the transformation/buy them time until they can work out what to do.

Merlin finds Arthur in the morning completely freaking out. More of his skin is gone and this time Arthur has noticed. Arthur’s nails have also grown pretty sharp. He’s scratched and cut himself in a few places. Merlin realises Arthur’s a bit fragile mentally as he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. Arthur asks Merlin if he’s turning into a monster. Merlin is of course stuck in a quandary, just as he was with Morgana. He can’t tell Arthur everything as that would reveal his magic, but he also doesn’t like to see his friend so upset. He suggest they quietly go to seek Gaius’ help. At various points during their dialogue, Arthur starts to lose his temper with the whole situation. He shouts into Merlin’s face for being so damn calm about it all and then unexpectedly a gust of flame and smoke almost sets Merlin’s hair on fire! Arthur shuts his mouth pretty quickly, absolutely mortified. Merlin just doesn’t even know what to say. Arthur tells Merlin his father mustn’t know. Uther must never ever know. Merlin agrees.

They go back to Gaius who’s been preparing some herbal salve to put on Arthur’s cracking skin. There are more gold scales everywhere now and Merlin doesn’t know how much time they have. Worringly, Arthur has started to mutter a strange language under his breath - seemingly trying to fight some sort of strange magic that is taking him over. When Arthur goes to sleep (Gaius gives him some sleeping draught to help him along), Gaius tells Merlin about the Dragonlords and Balinor and tells him if anyone knows of a way to break the curse, Balinor will. He also advises Merlin that whatever might become of Arthur out of this, hard decisions might have to be made and Merlin could possibly be forced to reveal the secret of his magic with Arthur in order to save him. Merlin is torn, fearful of the consequences while Uther is still king.

So then the next day in the early hours of morning Merlin and Arthur saddle up on their horses and head out to seek Balinor. Merlin is trying to be cheerful but Arthur feels dreadful. They have had to cover him now with a huge cloak as his face is beginning to change. He’s growing horns. His mood swings are also turning more violent and unstable. He keeps slipping into the dragon language when his mind wanders and Merlin has to do everything to stop that happening. Every night when he sleeps Arthur dreams of Camelot burning and hears whispers of the Great Dragon telling him this is his destiny and when he wakes up panting and scared shitless his eyes have turned golden and his pupils have become slitted like a dragon’s. As they near to finding Balinor, a worn out Arthur takes Merlin to one side for The Talk. The Talk consists of Arthur basically giving Merlin his sword and saying to Merlin. Hey look. If this mission to find a cure spectacularly backfires, you’re going to have to kill me with this sword if I’m no longer able to do it myself. Merlin looks at it and says he can’t but Arthur makes him promise. Merlin reluctantly agrees. Arthur tells Merlin to tell Gwen he loves her, if when the time comes he cannot.

They find Balinor like in the episode and Arthur’s getting really edgy but Merlin just sticks with the plan and tells Balinor his friend is really sick and needs help. A group of mercenaries appear at this point and attack the three having heard a tipoff from the tavern that strange beasts were abroad that needed slaying. This action pushes Arthur into savage beast mode(!) and as this overlarge human dragon hybrid he swipes his claws and lashing his tail at them. He kills the mercenaries and saves Merlin and Balinor but at a cost as the transformation really starts to set in and Arthur starts to lose grip of his consciousness due to the strain of resisting the effects of the change/losing his identity. He doesn’t even get a chance to tell Merlin to kill him before he’s out unconscious.

Merlin and Balinor then carry Arthur together back to Balinor’s cave where they have their little chat and Merlin asks Balinor if there is a way to reverse the effects. Balinor is a bit ‘no comment’ on this and questions why Merlin would want to stop a young dragon from coming into the world. A changeling of this kind is extremely rare, or else this is a person of royal blood under a curse. Merlin goes a bit tight-lipped after that and Balinor eventually works out this must be Arthur Pendragon with him. Feeling vindictive, Balinor says it serves Uther right, for all he did to destroy the Dragonlord people and outlaw magic in the kingdom. It’s nothing more than delicious irony that his son and heir will destroy the kingdom his father created. Merlin counters that this isn’t about Uther, this is about Arthur, and that it shouldn’t have to be the son that suffers for the sins of the father. Balinor hesitates, but he says that although he bears no ill will towards Arthur this has clearly been chosen as his destiny and he can’t avoid it. Merlin (who knows that Balinor is his father thanks to Gaius telling him) makes the sort of vague comments he does to try and make Balinor realise he is his son - they discuss Uther’s purge, Ealdor, and what all this might mean if dragon!Arthur simply burns it all down. Merlin asks one last time if Balinor will help him. Balinor refuses once more.

Merlin leaves the cave deeply upset. He picks up the sword and remembers his promise to his friend. He’s going to have to kill Arthur. Grimly resolved he goes back into the cave to do The Deed, but only to discover that Arthur has awoken and although he still looks very dragon-ish he appears to have regained command of his mental faculties. Balinor seems to imply that Arthur and he have ‘struck up a friendship’. Merlin is a bit confused/suspicious of this but realises perhaps this means Balinor does know of a way to restore Arthur to his normal self. Balinor agrees to go with them to Camelot, implying that if they travel to the place where the original dragon enacted the curse they might be able to reverse its effects.

On the way back to Camelot, Balinor and Merlin have a further chat which culminates with Merlin telling Balinor he is his son (like in the episode). Balinor is shocked, humbled, and immediately proud of his boy (as he is in the episode). He begins to tell Merlin all will be well now, the power to save Merlin’s friend has been inside him all this time, but suddenly they are stopped by patrols of Camelot’s knights. In the days since Arthur and Merlin snuck out of Camelot on their mission, Uther has set up a mega operation to find Arthur and kill/take prisoner those who dare thought to kidnap his son. Balinor and Merlin try their best to conceal Arthur but someone gets the cloak off him. By this point Arthur’s original features have been twisted so much he isn’t easily recognisable as himself, and the knights all draw their swords to slay the monster. Arthur becomes highly distressed to see his former knights and friends turning on him and this sadness melts into anger which of course triggers the full onslaught of the curse and Arthur pretty much metamorphoses all the way into a large golden dragon (about ¾ the size of Kilgarrah). Driven by the madness of his curse, he burns most of the knights alive before flying off towards Camelot. Presumably to enact his ‘destiny.’

In the wake of the destruction, Merlin emerges to find Balinor horrifically scarred by the dragon fire. He’s been burned within an inch of his life, and he is dying. He and Merlin have a final chat where Balinor tells Merlin he was right. Arthur should not have to suffer for the sake of his hatred of Uther. He then shares his secret with Merlin, that he as the last Dragonlord is able to speak to dragons and thereby tame them. He says Merlin as his son has this power too, and he must find Arthur and tell him who’s boss calm him and bring out the best in the beast. Balinor then dies.

Merlin travels on to Camelot by himself. Arriving outside its gates he finds the city already burning. It looks exactly as Arthur described to Merlin in his earlier nightmares. He fears for Gaius and Gwen, but he knows he’s got to find and subdue dragon!Arthur first. He tries to get the dragon’s attention by riding round a horse and shouting up at it. He avoids using magic initially and outright, as he still harbours this deep sense of shame for hiding it from Arthur all this time and revealing his magic now and using it offensively against him would just hurt/piss off his best friend more. Merlin then has An Idea. He searches for Gwen and takes her with him to the green clearing, thinking that Arthur’s feelings for Gwen will draw the dragon to them. It does.

Dragon!Arthur arrives and lands near to the two of them, looking very interested with Gwen (she’s absolutely petrified - Merlin hasn’t really told her everything that’s going on does he ever). Noticing Gwen is frightened by his appearance, dragon!Arthur gets very agitated and beats his wings, roaring/etc. Gwen gets thrown on the ground in the commotion, banging her head against something and falling still. Meanwhile, Merlin has his inner Dragonlord awakening moment, and finally speaks the language of dragons. 

He calms dragon!Arthur until he settles on the ground, utterly docile. Then Merlin notices the dragon is crying. He’s looking at Gwen’s motionless body. And he’s looking back at Merlin. Merlin senses Arthur’s pain. He thinks he’s killed his girlfriend, he’s destroyed half of Camelot and he’s feeling upset/shocked/betrayed by Merlin, who (although he’s managed to stop his crazed rampaging) has been keeping his powers secret from him all this time. Merlin reaches out and touches Arthur’s snout to console him. Then he goes over to Gwen. He finds she’s still alive, but desperately needs Gaius’ aid. He asks dragon!Arthur to fly them all back to the castle. They ride on Arthur’s back up to the Keep. 

Once Gwen is safely in Gaius’ care, a whole legion of knights with Uther among them spills out onto the courtyard. The sight of Uther causes the deep well of poison in the curse to flare up again in Arthur, and it looks like the dragon is going to murder the king. But Merlin places his hand on the dragon’s side again and calms him. A few of the knights fire arrows at dragon!Arthur and Merlin. Aware that Merlin wishes to keep his magic secret from people who know him, Arthur shields the warlock with his wings before picking him up in his claws, carrying him away. 

They land outside the castle. Merlin comforts dragon!Arthur as best he can. He can sense Arthur’s despair in his head. He’s tormented by what he’s done to the knights and people of Camelot as a dragon and believes he’s going to be stuck as a monster for the rest of his life. He’s lost his home, family, friends. Everything of his past life. Merlin reminds Arthur of what Balinor said about returning to the place where the original dragon cast the curse in order to revoke it. He tells Arthur to not give up hope.

They travel together deep underground into the pit where Uther chained Kilgharrah. There they find the crumbling bones of the deceased dragon and the heavy chains that have fallen away, and are lying open. Merlin pauses, unsure what they are meant to do. It takes a few moments, but dragon!Arthur eventually realises what must be done (he can feel/hear the ancient magic of the Old Religion speak to him while he is a dragon) and nudges at Merlin to do it. When Merlin realises via their telepathic link, he disagrees - no, no, no there must be another way! - but Arthur knows there isn’t. 

To break the curse on their bloodline, the son of Pendragon must suffer to be chained as Uther had imprisoned and persecuted those with magic before. The deep wrongs perpetuated against magic kind must be atoned for.

So dragon!Arthur submits to Merlin casting the enchantments to bind him to the rock where Kilgharrah was once chained. Merlin asks Arthur why go through with this? If it means he can never be free - what point is there in breaking the curse?

Dragon!Arthur speaks, and for the first time it’s not in Merlin’s mind but spoken out loud like a proper Great Dragon can speak. He wishes to right the wrongs of his father. As a dragon he has witnessed first hand how those that are magical are hated and hunted down, through no fault of their own but simply for being. He wishes for a future society of kindness and that the intolerance his father perpetuated be locked away underground and never be seen again. Merlin tells him he’s being a pompous self-sacrificing arse. Dragon!Arthur merely laughs and threatens to burn Merlin’s hair again if he disobeys. As Merlin wipes his nose on his sleeve and leaves his friend chained in the darkness, he tells him he’ll visit everyday. Dragon!Arthur just tells Merlin to have a life of his own for once, and to tell Gwen he loves her.

Flash forward to a few months into the future. Uther Pendragon, the King of Camelot, has fallen ill to a strange wasting illness. He’s literally dying, becoming more and more (metaphorically) chained to his bed as each days passes and his strength fails. The king’s ill health leads to civil unrest in the kingdom with rival factions warring over the succession to the throne. It’s all the besieged Knights can do to keep the peace. Prince Arthur has not been seen for months. He is presumed to be dead, although some blond men pretending to be Arthur keep miraculously popping up to try and claim their supposed ‘birthright’ to the throne. It both really hurts and pisses Merlin off.

Anyway, when Uther finally dies, Merlin senses a seismic shift in magic around him. Hardly daring to analyse what this means, he runs downstairs deep underground to the lair where his friend lies in the darkness in chains.

Dragon!Arthur is not there. Instead there is simply a large egg. And a blond, naked man lying in the dust curled around it. Pretty much like Daenerys from GOT in that scene

Merlin runs over and grabs his friend in a tearful hug and a shivering Arthur goes “hey I’m naked and cold, give me something to wear.” They have their moment and then Merlin tells Arthur all the latest news in Camelot. Arthur grieves the passing of his father. But then he picks up the dragon egg in his arms, and for a fleeting moment, feels the young (Pen)dragon inside moving. And he is reminded that life goes on. 

The two then carry the egg with them back into Camelot, where Arthur will claim his throne, usher magic back to the kingdom and become the first royal in over a thousand years to hatch a dragon egg (with a bit of help from his court sorcerer). They call the baby dragon Kilgharrah in honour of his grandfather and he grows to become Protector of the Realm. 

~~

And there you have it. 

I call this monstrosity of an AU “The Last Dragonlord and his (Pen)Dragon.  Note: I am sorry if many of the ideas in this fic are cheesy as sin and/or badly abused tropes. I am so sorry.

[bi-apps]

Accepted - Dorcas Meadowes (SAW)

ashleyinwanderlust

submitted: Dorcas Meadowes Application

OOC Information:

Name/Age/Timezone- Ashley ( or Ash ), 25, PST

Activity Level- Currently about a 6/10. I work full-time so my activity fluctuates during the week. I’m most active Friday through Monday, but sometimes I’m around a lot midday if it is a slow at my work. Plus, I’m usually always around on mobile for plotting and chatting.

Ships/Anti-Ships- Chemistry and angst. To be honest, I’m just a real big sucker for the Dorcas / Voldemort rivalry I’ve built up in my head.

Did you read the rules? Yes, I did! :)

IC Information:

Character Name- Dorcas Ophelia Meadowes ( click for old inspo blog )

Age- 22, going on 23.

Occupation- Hit Witch

Traits:

( 3 Positive )

+ Headstrong || Dorcas is incredibly self-disciplined. In her life she has never been known for being stagnant. Both physically and physiologically, she constantly pushes herself passed her limitations in a daily stride to become better. It’s no easy feat, but it is one she is constantly proud of herself for pushing forward despite the obstacles.

+ Empathetic || When someone around her is in pain, Dorcas knows it. That pain becomes her pain. At first it was overwhelming, but over the years she has taken these whirlwind of emotions and turned them into something a little more tangible and far more understandable. She is a woman of action, so it only seemed logical that she try to combat the pain any way she could. Admittedly, she sees her empathy as a weakness, but it is a really important barrier; a vital form of protection that she needs to keep her feet firmly planted where they are and to distinguish her from her enemies. + Protective || As a hit witch, Dorcas is a natural protector. It’s an innate trait that she has always noticed surging at the surface of her being. That desire to protect those around her intensifies whenever dealing with her friends and members of the Order of the Phoenix, who she has deemed her makeshift family. When it comes to them, Dorcas is completely selfless. They are the people she reminds herself to be strong for; to fight a little harder for; to be strong for and refuse to ever give up on.  

( 3 Negative )

- Devil-May-Care || Dorcas definitely struggles with dissociation. She is wild and reckless and has yet to realize that she only has one life to live so she ought to tread lighter. Instead, she is passionate and volatile. One step too far and she might take the entire ship down with her. - Impulsive || You don’t have to look too deep into her soul to find this rebel wide awake; she comes out eagerly and persistently. In fact, Dorcas is typically bad in general when it comes to taking directions. Once an idea is engraved in her mind, it is there to stay. She has no problem going rogue if she thinks her methods might solve the problem on hand and simply deal with repercussions after the fact. A common theme of hers is, “ don’t ask for permission, just forgiveness. ” - Self-Motivated || It’s not always blind violence and protest. A power-hungry Dorcas is often scheming to manipulate any situation in her favor. If she sees any opening, it is almost guaranteed that she will make her move like a predator on the attack. After all, Dorcas has many great things planned for her future and reckons getting her name out there is the quickest ticket to her goals. - Enigmatic || Dorcas is a force to be reckoned with and she often doesn’t let any obstacles prevent her from doing what needs to be done. She is both a wild card and a loose canon; no one ever knows what version of her they’re going to fish from their hat.

Faceclaim- Felicity Jones, Krysten Ritter, Odette Annable, Alexandra Daddario

( I can add more options to this list if you’re not happy with anyone mentioned above. I was just too excited / wanted to submit before commuting home from work! )

KEY POINTS

( tw: violence, tw: abuse, tw: mental illness, tw: death ) Dorcas never recanted tales from her childhood to anyone. It wasn’t necessarily because the memories were laced with pain, but rather the lack of recollection stirred up a different feeling inside her altogether. She was told the initial years after her mother’s death were difficult on everyone. Her father retreated to the confines of his study like some kind of recluse, investing all of his time working on mysterious projects the little girl couldn’t quite wrap her mind around. He hardly emerged from his study, but on the offset he did it was usually to reprimand the child. The man was unusually particular about making sure no one stepped foot into his private quarters except himself, however, Dorcas watched from afar with curious eyes one too many times; she couldn’t resist the temptation to stick her nose where she knew it didn’t belong or try recreating the same spells she had seen him using again and again.

Unlike the well-controlled magic she’d witness Cyril Grey spinning from the tip of his wand on numerous occasions, hers proved to be a sloppy and careless spectacle. The almost six year old had stolen his twelve and three quarter inches of Dragon Heartstring with the convoluted idea the scene before her would somehow play out differently rather than sending a collection of her father’s most prized possessions shattering in midair. Dorcas faintly recalls in one of her earliest memories as the crystal shattered all around her feet - she even remembers the piercing sting as sharp shards bounced back, lacerating her flesh. She stood barefoot among the fragments unaware of what she had just done before shock began to settle. Naturally the sound sent Cyril running down the creaky corridors of their home and into his study where he discovered his daughter standing among his most treasured belongings. It was enough to send the man into a full-blown frenzy; if the neighbors heard his cries that night surely they must have thought someone died and all had gone straight to hell in that instant.

Dorcas didn’t have the faintest clue if the artifacts bestowed any true sentimental value or not - she sincerely doubted it in her adulthood - however the way he laid into that evening when he saw her standing among fragmented crystal and shattered glass would have conveyed a different story entirely. The truth was her father was not a man of great sentiment; everything had a purpose, otherwise there was no need for it. She recalls with bitter memory growing up without any pictures of her mother in that wretched house. It was always hard to tell if the heartless man was born that way or if the condition occurred subsequent to his young wife’s death.

When Dorcas was still just a child, Cyril violently entrusted her with the message that her mother’s passing was unnatural, sudden, and far too soon. The message was conveyed in a variety of different ways. Sometimes it would be delivered across her face in the form of a piercing slap or an abrupt jerk to her shoulder blades and, though the emotion of regret often varied in his face afterwards, he always stood behind his word that she was well-deserving of it. She learned at a far younger age than anyone ever should that grief and loneliness can break any man down and turn them into coldhearted stone. She was nine now and, though it wasn’t her fault her mother perished far too soon, she walked around feeling like it was. Later in life she would come to understand that the weak man that he was had a hard time living with a constant breathing reminder of everything he loved and lost when Sophelia Meadowes-Grey departed from this world. It was evident he had grown to be a sick man, but refused any acknowledgement of his condition which became increasingly difficult on Dorcas who desperately longed for a mother and now a father too.

Dorcas lugged that pain around everywhere she went. It grew to be a heavy burden - one that became nearly impossible to bare alone. She lashed out every chance she could by dressing up desperate cries for attention and calls for help with inappropriate behavior, which was met each time with indistinct violence and ill-rapport instead of the nourishment any child that age craved. She drove herself to isolation - anxiously counting down the days until she could start anew at Hogwarts. When the first of September finally arrived, she found herself to be a lion among men and for the first time ever the newly dubbed Gryffindor felt like she was finally at home.

Dorcas never returned to her father’s home after her fourth year of school. She shed her family name and adopted her mother’s maiden name Meadowes instead. Those initial years on her own were the most difficult to digest as she attempted to maneuver living a life on her own in a world she could never quite comprehend. Working random summer jobs to make ends meet was not sustainable and quickly she realized she was going to have to shift her focus elsewhere. That’s when her interest in the outside world began to expand - she took up a keen interest in politics and criminology pertaining to the Wizarding World. It was as if she had been instilled with a sense of justice and a craving for revenge overnight. She had a strange fascination for the workings of the world and the psychosis of each individual around her, but it wasn’t until she was nearing the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts that the witch was provided with some redirection her life was desperately in need of. A destructive rampage landed the now sixteen year old with an entire month’s worth of detention, but rather than just seeing her as a problem child like so many before him had, one of her professors witnessed something else entirely.

As Dorcas continued growing, she continued to keep putting walls up. She didn’t know if it was because she was ashamed of who she was or where she came from, but she knew those factors played a significant role. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why occlumency came so natural for the brazen young witch. She always expressed an interest in the subject, however, it wasn’t until she was working under an instructor’s guidance during her remaining years of school that she truly began to excel. Her final years at Hogwarts were fleeting; she passed the time with lots of quidditch. As a seeker she was able to greatly nurture her flying skills, which eventually allowed her to lead into a career as a Hit Witch. Dorcas was then introduced to a handful of people who became more than simple best friends ever could. They became her family - the only one she would ever truly know, which would not be complete until after she was recruited to join the Order of the Phoenix after graduating. Though she wants to be a strong-hold for the Order, she walks a dangerous line misguided by her own skewed moral compass. In an attempt not to succumb to her own power-hungry demons, she hurls herself headfirst into the arms of war as she claims no one but she is the great decider of her fate.

[jbankai89]

The Stag and The Snake, Part I, Chapter Nine - Preparations

My good friend and braintwin @kuriquinn suggested I try posting my actual fics on Tumblr, rather than just linking them, so I'm giving it a try. For those of you following my work on AO3 or AFF, these will be reposts until I'm caught up and everything is posted. :)

Title: The Stag and the Snake

Author: JBankai89

Status: Complete, Part 1: 12/12 Part 2: 22/22

Rating: Part 1: PG-13, Part 2: NC-17 Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Achievements: None

Warnings: Violence and Gore, Violent Sexual Assault, Minor Character Death

Summary: Vernon Dursley is enraged with the prospect of raising a boy he never wanted. Petunia recalls something that might help them get the child out of their hair more quickly. Overcoming their recalcitrance for anything magical, they invoke The Rite of Betrothal. Who will Harry be forced to marry, and will he be able to cope with all the demands it will entail?

Word Count: Part 1: 46 772 Part 2: 85 442

Other Links: AO3, AFF, LJ

Notes: Please note that this fic also contains Evil!Snape, which is a trope I hate, because Sev is my favourite character, but for the purposes of this story, he worked best.

This fic is based on the story of The Swan Princess, which I will be following the canon of in conjunction with the HP canon. Canon divergences include Voldemort is definitely dead, Lucius Malfoy is a bit OOC, and Sirius did not go to Azkaban. Because most of the story takes place before and after Hogwarts, a lot of the Hogwarts years are glossed over. I tried to keep the links and stuff organized how they did it on the old LJ group MyChemicalSlash, so I hope this is clean enough for you guys to follow easily.

Previous Chapter

Fic Masterpost

Chapter 9 – Preparations

They arrived at King's Cross Station far too quickly for Harry's taste. He had gone over the details of the contract with Ron and Hermione at least half a dozen times, and Hermione had been adamant that there had to be a way to break the contract safely, while Ron scoffed and offered unhelpful commentary. 

“Yeah, brilliant,” he said, “if you want to off Harry, then go right ahead.” Hermione's frustration would flare, and Harry watched the pair of them get so caught up in their own bickering match that they seemed to momentarily forget that he was even there. Harry sank back into his seat at these times and patiently waited for their anger to burn out.

When Harry got off the train, his gloom was hanging over his head like a rain cloud. He did not fail to notice that his friends were watching him like one might watch the last walk of a condemned man, and Harry had no idea whether he should be irritated at this or not.

Draco exited the train two cars over, and in his peripheral vision he saw Ron lurch forward. He and Hermione, both sensing the danger, reached out to grab him.

“Don't,” Harry muttered to him, determinedly not looking over to Draco, “it's not worth it.”

“You probably won't need to bond with the git if he's dead,” Ron murmured back in protest, “or at least horribly disfigured.” Harry snorted, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“C'mon,” Harry said, ignoring Ron's comment, and led the way to the barrier.

Outside, he found Sirius and Remus waiting for him, and despite the ever-present melancholy that had plagued him since early that morning, he couldn't help but smile. It was a nice feeling to see people happy to see him for a change, instead of the slumped, ill-tempered form of Uncle Vernon waiting to take him “home” for several weeks of misery.

“Harry,” Sirius said in greeting before he pulled him in for a one-armed hug, “end of term went well?”

“You mean despite a certain someone's pestering and nagging?” Harry grinned at Sirius's abashed smile. Remus chuckled while he watched the exchange with his arms crossed. He nodded over Harry's shoulder, and he saw Ron and Hermione come into view behind him. The group shifted out of the way of the barrier, his two friends looking slightly apprehensive, as if they didn't know what to say.

“They know,” Harry filled in after a moment of awkward silence. Sirius had stepped back, and he exchanged a look of mild surprise with Remus. They both looked over to his friends, who gazed back at his guardians with questioning and angry looks. Sirius deflated a little, and his guilt was obvious to Harry, though he wasn't entirely certain if Ron and Hermione had noticed it.

“If it makes you both feel any better, we want this about as much as you two do. I suppose it doesn't look that way because Remus and I have had time to get used to the idea,” Sirius said, while Remus reached out and clasped his husband's hand, and Harry did not fail to notice more than a few muggles look back at them with a scowl of disapproval, which everyone assembled completely ignored. “But Ron, you at least understand the implications of breaking the contract at this stage. It could kill Harry, Draco, or both of them.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ron replied at once with a frown. Hermione looked like she wanted to protest, but Ron gave her a significant look, and for once, she fell silent. “I think I'd be more okay with it if he wasn't gonna be bonded to an evil git.”

Harry and Sirius both snorted with repressed laughter at the same time, while Remus and Hermione looked on with eerily mirrored looks of disapproval.

“I'll try and get you invites to this Lughnasadh thing,” Harry said after a moment, cringing inwardly at the words. “It'd be nice to have someone around that isn't a prejudiced bastard.”

“We'd love to,” Hermione replied at once, smiling warmly, while she reached in for a tight hug. For a split second, Harry worried that she might not let go, but then she pulled back. He could see how forced the smile was, and her eyes looked so sad that he felt his stomach twist guiltily, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why he felt guilty. “There's mum and dad,” she said after a moment, “I better go. Write me this summer, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Harry replied, and smiled as he watched her hurry off towards her parents. He then noticed a cluster of flaming red hair coming towards them, and he smiled as he recognized Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley, Ginny, Fred, and George approaching them.

“Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley said in greeting, and pulled him in for a warm hug. “Did you have a good term?”

“I—yeah, it was fine,” Harry replied as he smiled at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way, but her eyes still looked a little sad. Did she know?

“I know you have a busy summer ahead of you, but do try and come visit us, dear. We'd love to have you again.” The twins exchanged muted smirks behind their mother's back, and Harry felt his stomach drop a little. Oh yeah, he thought to himself, they definitely know.

“I'd like that, Mrs Weasley,” Harry replied, meaning it. She smiled and pulled him in for another hug.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” Mr Weasley said, and reached out to grab his shoulder after his wife had let him go. Harry nodded, hoping his smile appeared more genuine than it felt to him. Mr Weasley released his shoulder and he shook hands with both Sirius and Remus, before bidding him one last farewell as the family turned and headed towards the exits. Ron turned back once, and offered him a small smile and a half-wave.

“C'mon, Harry,” Sirius said with a small grin, grasping his shoulder, “let's go home.” Harry smiled, and felt some of his gloom leave him at those words.

~*~

The trip home was much faster than normal, given that Harry could now legally apparate.

Sirius helped Harry carry his trunk inside the building, then Harry used a levitation charm to manoeuvre it up the many flights of stairs and into the flat.

The inside was just how Harry had remembered it. Mismatched armchairs and a threadbare sofa before a crackling fire, old and fraying carpets covering the cold stone, and a warm feeling of home. Harry could also smell something wonderful. He loved Remus's cooking, which almost put Mrs Weasley's to shame—not that he was ever brave enough to ever tell her so.

“Hungry?” Sirius asked as he set Harry's trunk next to the door. Harry placed Hedwig down next to it, opened the cage door and she fluttered out to join Archimedes on top of one of the bookcases. The ancient, half blind owl squawked and clicked his beak irritably at Hedwig before they both settled down together, Hedwig careful to give the cranky old thing some space.

“Starving,” he replied with a small grin, “what's on? It smells great.” He fell into step with Sirius, and saw a large serving pot of lamb stew on the table, charmed to stay hot, as well as a loaf of fresh bread. Next to his usual place setting was a small square something, wrapped roughly in light brown paper. He turned to look at them, then reached out to pick up the small parcel. “What's this?”

“Something of a welcome home present,” Sirius said, his mouth twitching a little in the corners. “Go on, open it.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then tore away the paper. In his hands was a journal with a glossy leather cover, though after a moment he noticed the faint green sheen the leather seemed to carry, and he realized that it wasn't leather, but dragonhide. Harry loosed the clasp that held it closed to look inside, and indented in gold on the inside cover were the initials, 'H.J.P.L.B'.

Harry blinked in confusion, then looked back up to the pair.

“What...?” Harry didn't know exactly what he wanted to ask.

Neither of the men answered for a moment, then Sirius reached inside his robes and pulled out a slightly creased scroll of parchment.

“You're technically of age,” Sirius explained, “but we've been wanting to do this for a long time...” he passed the scroll to Harry for him to read, and he nearly dropped the journal in his hands from shock.

The parchment was a Ministry form, and across the top it read, 'Petition for Adoption'.

“Since you're an adult, we'd need your consent,” Sirius finished, and his attempt at a nonchalant tone did not completely conceal his nervousness at how Harry might react.

Instead of answering, Harry sat down with the form and his new journal, opened it to the first page, and grabbed a self-inking quill off the counter.

“Today,” Harry said as he wrote, “Sirius and Remus asked me to be their son,” he paused and looked up at them. “And I said yes.”

It was the best night of Harry's life. He ate, drank and celebrated with his new, official, legal family—not just guardians, not just in name. They sent off Hedwig with the signed papers right away, and Harry had never before felt such excitement in sending off owl post. Remus rounded off the evening with a celebratory toast of expensive champagne and a sumptuous opera cake, and Sirius shot off a few close-range fireworks with his wand.

Harry went to bed that night exhausted but perfectly happy for the first time in weeks. He promised himself to remember to send Hedwig to Ron and Hermione with the news when she got back, and fell asleep that night with a smile spread across his face.

~*~

As the Summer began to progress, Harry's joy began to ebb, and his dread surrounding his betrothal returned. It was just over a month until the Ball where his bonding would be announced, and Sirius and Remus punctuated his lazy summer relaxation with classical dance lessons, fussing over the perfect dress robes for the occasion, and his morning lie-ins were interrupted more than once by howlers from Lucius as the two sets of parents argued over whom to invite.

Harry was grateful that he had Ron and Hermione to vent to at least, even if they had no idea how to advise him. More than once, it helped to reign in his burning desire to suffocate Sirius and Remus with a pillow, but did little in the way of helping him get through the near-constant nagging, nor their reprimands whenever he dared scoff at their attitude towards the whole thing.

“Harry,” Sirius, Remus, or the pair of them had told him on more than one occasion, “this evening is extremely important. It's essential that you make the right impression.” Harry would roll his eyes every time they said this, but offered up no verbal complaints, not exactly keen to be told off—again.

No word of the so-called 'main event' of the evening had made the papers. The Ball had been mentioned several times, and Harry supposed someone—Lucius, most likely—was forcing the Prophet to keep it quiet. Harry was grateful for that; he was definitely not looking forward to the paparazzi firestorm that would inevitably follow the announcement of his engagement to Draco Malfoy.

Halfway through July, Harry found himself standing on a small stool in the centre of the sitting room, an enormous pile of dress robes draped over the sofa, with Madam Malkin tutting and circling him, while Sirius and Remus stood out of hexing reach (after Harry had hit them both with a particularly well-aimed Silencing Charm) and threw in comments and criticism.

“No, the red is too flashy...”

“It needs to be tighter across the chest...”

“Are you sure the neckline isn't too deep?”

“No sequins, Remus!”

“Would you two stop?” Harry finally snapped at the pair of them, after shrugging out of a particularly itchy and tight set of robes. “I'm not a bloody doll. Draco and I won't like each other any better even if we're both in designer robes.” He shuddered a little as images of what he assumed a wizarding fashion show would look like, with himself in various horrid 'fashion' robes popped into his head.

“All right, sorry, Harry,” Remus smirked a little at his outburst. It was a strange expression to see on a man that was normally so zen. Harry had no idea what that expression was supposed to mean, but he resigned himself to trying on more clothes than he probably ever had in his entire life. Sirius and Remus nodded or shook their heads at each new outfit he was supposed to try, though they offered no more remarks.

Harry almost cheered when he was told he could get down. He rushed into his T-shirt and jeans before anyone could change their minds, and Madam Malkin flicked her wand to arrange the robes in a neat stack, then shrunk them to the size of a glove before she stowed them in a drawstring bag.

“Gentlemen,” she said, nodding to each of them in turn, “I will go over the adjustments you wanted, and I will be in touch next week.” She smiled at Harry, and he felt his face tint pink when he saw her eyes flick momentarily to his scar.

“I can't wait,” Harry muttered, and he was relieved when the elderly witch finally took her leave.

~*~

“Harry, I know it's not exactly fun but don't you think you're being a little, well, overdramatic?”

Harry was sitting in his bedroom with the door shut. Ron and Hermione were sitting across from him, a jar of Hermione's trademark blue flames crackling merrily in a jam jar between them. Harry didn't immediately answer Hermione's question, and instead chose to glare sullenly at the tiny fire.

“It's a nightmare, Hermione,” he said at last, “they're acting like Ron's mum did leading up to Bill and Fleur's wedding.” Harry looked up to watch their expressions shift from mild disbelief to outright horror. “Except about a hundred times worse. They keep dressing me up like a goddamn doll or something—as if Draco will like me any better in blue, or green, or whatever next horrific set of robes they make me try on.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, but neither spoke right away. Harry took the opportunity to fill the silence with more complaining.

“Oh, guess what they're making me do next week? A makeover. Haircut, facial, manicure, pedicure...” Harry shuddered. “I'm starting to wonder if hexing them until this is all over isn't such a terrible idea, after all.” Hermione pursed his lips as Ron snickered next to her. After a moment, her face softening a little as Ron reached out and twisted a few of his fingers with hers.

“They just want you to look your best for your big night,” Ron said, unable to completely erase the amusement from his voice. Harry pelted him with a wrapped chocolate frog, and he caught it with a small smirk as he continued, “anyway, it's not so bad. Mum made Bill do all that before his wedding. It's not like they paint your nails magenta or anything, they just clean you up a bit, that's all.” This information made Harry relax a little, though he still didn't love the idea of a stranger pawing at his hands and feet for an hour.

Around midday, Remus knocked and came in with sandwiches.

“Thanks mum,” Harry said with a grin to his retreating figure, and the comment earned him a light smack upside the head, while Ron snickered softly.

“He hates it when I call him that,” Harry explained as he helped himself to one of the sandwiches.

“I'll bet,” Ron replied with another short laugh, though it was muffled by his overlarge mouthful of roast beef.

“Really,” Hermione said with a small huff, “you shouldn't do that, Harry. It's really rude!”

“Do what?”

“Assign gender roles to Sirius and Remus as if one has to be the mother figure and the other has to be the father figure!”

“I'm not! If anything, Sirius is the mother hen here, but Remus does all the cooking like your mum does,” Harry said while nodding towards Ron, “it's just fun to poke fun at him about it from time to time, that's all. It's not like I actually mean anything by it.”

“Sirius? Really? I'd assume he'd be more...I dunno, gruff, or something.” Harry snorted at Hermione's statement.

“Yeah, I wish.”

Ron and Hermione stuck around for the rest of the day, making polite small talk over dinner with Sirius and Remus. They pointedly discussed anything but the enormous pile of dress robes Sirius had brought home with him. They stuck to safe topics instead—Hermione's plans to attend Muggle University, Ron's upcoming internship with the Auror Office, while skittering close to the topic of the upcoming Ball, but never actually going into it.

Harry was grateful for that, as beyond the upcoming Lughnasadh Ball—which still made him want to run away screaming—he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He hadn't had a whole lot of time to consider it, and while at one time he wanted to join the Aurors with Ron, now he wasn't so sure.

Remus and Sirius had reminded him on more than one occasion that he didn't have to choose right away, and had hinted that he wouldn't have to work if he didn't want to. The Malfoy fortune he would inherit would probably keep him set for life, but the idea made Harry feel sick with a strange sense of guilt. He had always taken care of himself, more or less. He didn't like the idea of relying on anyone else like that.

When his friends had departed, Hermione Apparating, and Ron travelling by Floo back to The Burrow, Harry suddenly found himself alone with his parents, and a terrifying stack of robes.

“Breathe, Harry,” Sirius said with an amused grin, “we'll go through those tomorrow, all right?”

'There is a God,' Harry thought, and smiled a little at them. “Thanks. I'm gonna go read or something.”

He headed for his room before they could change their minds, and fell into bed. Harry rolled onto his side, left arm folded under his head, and he stared at the wardrobe across the room.

It was no longer the same beech wardrobe that had been there when he first arrived so many years before, and it had since been replaced with an oak one. There was a slight burn mark near the right handle, and there were indentations that had been varnished over, small reminders of the piece of furniture's age. Next to it, his trunk had been propped up. It had been emptied several weeks earlier, and looking at it now, Harry felt a strange pang of sadness. The trunk had seen him through the last seven years, and somehow knowing he wouldn't need it for the foreseeable future made him feel, if possible, even more depressed. He didn't move, but his eyes flicked across the belongings scattered around the room, feeling suddenly, strangely nostalgic at the sight of everything. Would this still be his home after the Ball?

Harry dozed, but didn't exactly sleep. He had forgotten to take off his glasses, and they had left angry red lines near his temples.

Groaning a bit, Harry sat up, took his glasses off, and set them down on the side table while he stretched, bones in his back and shoulders popping and cracking out their stiffness. He slipped off the bed and rubbed at the sore marks that had been left on his face, while he walked to his wardrobe. He fished out his pyjamas and had every intention of going back to sleep, but he paused when he heard a loud objection that could only come from his godfather.

Harry paused to listen, but the muffled sounds of Sirius and Remus's voices were suddenly too soft for Harry to hear clearly. While he knew he shouldn't, he pulled the pyjamas on as he pondered indulging his curiosity, or giving his parents their due privacy. Caving to his curiosity, Harry padded over to the door silently, he turned the handle as quietly as he could, and opened the door barely a hairline crack, and a thin line of flickering firelight spread over his bedroom floor. The sound wasn't much better, and Harry found himself wishing for a pair of Extendable Ears. He slid to the ground and pressed his ear against the tiny gap in an effort to hear them more clearly.

“Sirius, I'm just trying to look at this objectively.”

“Objectively?” He heard Sirius hiss in obvious anger, “Remus, you know damn well that we didn't sign those papers just because of the Rite.”

“I know, but it's just a precaution. After the debacle at the end of last year when those Death Eaters murdered Albus we need to make sure that the Dark forces think that it's just a legality, and that he still has Lily's protection. I don't like it any better than you do.”

“It's still fucking cold. How could we possibly tell Harry that? It's bad enough that he has to go through with this betrothal against his will, he'll think we never actually wanted him. I won't do that to him Remus, we've done enough damage already.” Harry heard a soft clink of a glass slamming down against the wooden table.

“Would you rather the bloodbath that would follow if a hoard of active Death Eaters showed up at the Lughnasadh Ball?”

“No, I suppose not,” Sirius paused, “but I won't lie to him about it. I won't do that to him anymore.” If Remus replied, Harry didn't hear it over the strange buzzing that seemed to suddenly fill his head.

Harry slid to the floor, and did not bother to try stifling the burning behind his eyes. He hid his face in his hands, and struggled to breathe; it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. He distantly heard his parents (how he used to love that word) get up and head to their bedroom, still muttering to one another heatedly. Harry swallowed his cries of anguish and frustration, while his entire form trembled.

A/N: The journal scene was pulled almost word-for-word from the American version of Queer As Folk. That scene will probably come off as cute or cheesy as hell, depending on your viewpoint :P

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[jbankai89]

The Stag and The Snake Part I, Chapter Six - Complications

My good friend and braintwin @kuriquinn suggested I try posting my actual fics on Tumblr, rather than just linking them, so I'm giving it a try. For those of you following my work on AO3 or AFF, these will be reposts until I'm caught up and everything is posted. :)

Title: The Stag and the Snake

Author: JBankai89

Status: Complete, Part 1: 12/12 Part 2: 22/22

Rating: Part 1: PG-13, Part 2: NC-17 Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Achievements: None

Warnings: Violence and Gore, Violent Sexual Assault, Minor Character Death

Summary: Vernon Dursley is enraged with the prospect of raising a boy he never wanted. Petunia recalls something that might help them get the child out of their hair more quickly. Overcoming their recalcitrance for anything magical, they invoke The Rite of Betrothal. Who will Harry be forced to marry, and will he be able to cope with all the demands it will entail?

Word Count: Part 1: 46 772 Part 2: 85 442

Other Links: AO3, AFF, LJ

Notes: Please note that this fic also contains Evil!Snape, which is a trope I hate, because Sev is my favourite character, but for the purposes of this story, he worked best.

This fic is based on the story of The Swan Princess, which I will be following the canon of in conjunction with the HP canon. Canon divergences include Voldemort is definitely dead, Lucius Malfoy is a bit OOC, and Sirius did not go to Azkaban. Because most of the story takes place before and after Hogwarts, a lot of the Hogwarts years are glossed over. I tried to keep the links and stuff organized how they did it on the old LJ group MyChemicalSlash, so I hope this is clean enough for you guys to follow easily.

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Fic Masterpost

Chapter 6 – Complications

The trip home had been less than fun.

“What did he mean, Sirius? What did he mean?” Harry had asked in a tone nothing short of panic, “I don't have to come back, do I? Draco's mean! I don't want to be his friend!”

The poor boy was practically in tears by the time they crossed the threshold, and Sirius felt utterly helpless as he watched the little boy cling to his hand tightly, his knuckles white, and he seemed to be teetering between a deep desire to vocalize his distress, and genuine fear of being reprimanded for doing so. Remus gave Sirius a significant look, to which he nodded minutely.

“Come on Harry, you'll feel better in the morning,” Sirius picked him up, and Harry's little arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, and he pressed his head into Sirius's shoulder. The soft sniffling of the little boy trying to keep himself from crying almost broke him.

Being a parental figure to the child of his postmortem best friend was exhausting on many levels, especially considering that though he and Remus had spent the better part of the last five years preparing to take Harry in, Sirius had been wholly unprepared for the little James doppëlganger he had been confronted with.

The illusion had been crushed almost at once as Sirius saw almost nothing of James in him, save his appearance. Instead, Sirius found a deeply sensitive boy who had been deprived from any form of comfort or love for far too long. It pained Sirius more than he thought possible, and he absolutely hated having to push Harry into this.

After he tucked Harry into bed, Sirius joined Remus on their sofa, and he pressed his fingers into his temples with a soft groan.

“That was about as fun as arm wrestling a grindylow,” he muttered while he took a steadying breath, and raked his fingers through his tangled hair. “God, the poor kid. After all the shit those muggles put him through, I hate making him do this.” He looked up then and saw a small roll of parchment in Remus's hand, and smiled bitterly. “More good news?” he asked, and Remus's mouth twitched; Sirius couldn't tell if Remus wanted to smile or grimace.

“Dumbledore blocked our Petition for Adoption. He says because of Lily's protection Harry gets...there, it would be ill-advised for him to no longer consider it a home.” He sighed, and reached out to lace his fingers with Sirius's. “He also said that he can confirm, with absolute certainty, that Voldemort is definitely gone, though,” he said while his mouth broke into a small smile. “So that's something.”

“Then why would Albus want to keep sending Harry back to those abusers if Voldemort's gone?” He knew the man was brilliant, but sometimes his thought process utterly baffled him.

“Many Death Eaters are still at large, ones that would mean Harry harm if he were to stop considering that place as a home.” Remus sighed and dropped the letter onto the table, then his fingers moved to rub the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. “And now that the Courting has officially begun, Albus is extra concerned for Harry's safety. The undercover Aurors in place, the extra protective enchantments around the Malfoy Manor as well as our own flat...it may not be enough to ensure that Harry will be completely safe.”

“And then there's Snape,” Sirius said, his voice surprisingly level, despite the fact that the idea of his presence earlier that week filled him with almost overwhelming anger and disgust.

“Albus swears up and down he was on our side.” Remus reminded him patiently, though his expression showed that he was uncertain whether he entirely believed it.

“He may have been allied against us in getting rid of Voldemort, but that doesn't mean he's a decent human being by any means,” Sirius muttered. “The git was infatuated with James, and it got out of hand pretty damn quickly.”

“It seems my recollections of our school days blocked that bit out,” Remus mused, while he reached forward and poured them each a healthy measure of muggle whisky. “What happened?” Remus asked as he pressed the glass into Sirius's hand, and he knocked back the drink before he began.

“I don't know all the details, James wasn't exactly eager to share that, erm, experience with me,” Sirius said with a frown as he tried to get his thoughts in order. “I know Snape had been friends with Lily growing up, and they stopped talking to each other after fifth year, you know, when he called Lily a Mudblood?” Remus nodded, but remained silent while he waited for him to continue.

“Well, in sixth year, James was cornered by Snape. I don't know everything, like I said, he wasn't keen to discuss it. Suffice it to say Snape cursed him, and attempted to...well...” Sirius grimaced. “I think if James had been anyone else, Snape may have actually managed it, but James got out of there no worse for wear. He told me what happened in confidence, but I don't think it ever happened again. It wasn't hard to miss, how the little greaseball stared at him after that. I think it took all of James's willpower to refrain from tormenting the git, and, of course, Lily would never forgive him if he started that up again.” Sirius shook his head. Even after all these years, he still couldn't fathom why Lily was ever friends with someone like Snape.

“And here I thought he was just jealous that James had gotten close to Lily,” Remus said with a small frown. Though his tone was even, Sirius could see the absolute disgust written all over his face. “But be fair, even Severus wouldn't do something like that to a child.”

“Wouldn't he? He's not exactly the picture of mental health.”

“I don't think it's something we'll need to worry about, at least not yet. We could send an owl to Albus and request that he keep a close eye on things after Harry starts at Hogwarts, make sure Severus doesn't do anything...untoward?” But even as he spoke, Remus seemed to sense that it would be a useless endeavour.

“Albus has a soft spot for him, I think. I feel like it might be a safer bet to tell Harry...well, not that, but just ask him to be extra cautious, at least when the time comes.” Sirius helped himself to another shot of whisky. “I don't know why he trusts the man so completely. There's got to be a reason, but I don't like the idea of Harry going anywhere near him.”

“There won't be much we can do about that in the long run,” Remus said, still maintaining his almost infuriatingly level tone of voice. “I understand your feelings towards Severus, but especially under Albus's watchful eye I don't think he'd try anything, even if he wanted to.” He grimaced a little, “I just hope that we're overreacting.”

Sirius set down his glass, and removed his hand from Remus's. He pressed his hands into his face with a heavy sigh, before raking them through his hair again.

“I don't know, Remus,” Sirius muttered, “I just want him to have something as close to a normal childhood and adolescence as he can, given the circumstances. His life has been so effectively fucked up already, I don't think he'd be able to cope if Snape...”

“Slow down,” Remus said, and despite the subject of their conversation, he heard the man chuckle. “You have a father's love for Harry, of course you want to shield him from all the evils of the world.”

“Oh? And you don't?”

“You're his godfather. I was close with James, but you were like a brother to him. I see myself more in an uncle sort of role.” He winced a little at the title, and Sirius wondered if Remus was thinking of Vernon. “Don't mistake me, I care for Harry, but you're like the family he's never had.” Remus smiled slightly, “I have no desire to wedge myself between the two of you to satisfy my own cares that I carry for him.”

“You're too good for me,” Sirius said, smiling slightly, and reached out to squeeze Remus's hand.

“I know.” They both laughed.

It took Sirius a long time to get to sleep that night.

The whisky had helped relax him, but his mind was still overrun with worries. Was he overreacting to the whole Snape thing? No matter what anyone said, the way he had glared at Harry had deeply unsettled him. Sirius was certain that this wasn't the end of it. Harry was growing used to his life here, but Sirius hated to shatter his new sense of security when they had to hand him back to the muggles. He had no illusions about what was likely to happen, and he was certain it would take some weeks to put Harry back together when they were reunited.

Sirius rolled over and relaxed into Remus's warmth as he fell into an uneasy sleep.

~*~

Over the following few days, they made no mention of Harry's expectation to meet with Draco the following year, and both Sirius and Remus struggled with the temptation to over-indulge him.

They took Harry out everywhere—parks, cinemas, shopping malls, and burger bars. Harry was still extremely reluctant to ask for things, no doubt a tendency he had learned at the hands of his loving relatives. Sirius tried to drop hints that he would not be reprimanded for asking for things that he wanted, but they seemed to go over the boy's head. For the time being, he and Remus had come to a silent agreement to always ask him, “would you like some more?” and “Would you like to pick out a toy?” No matter where they were, intent on making sure Harry realized that if he wanted something, he could ask for it.

They did their best not to overdo it, and it seemed Harry also thought along the same vein.

“I don't want to be selfish,” Harry had whispered hesitantly to Sirius one evening as he was being tucked in, “I don't want to be like that.”

Harry looked genuinely frightened as he said it. Sirius assumed that his cousin had been doted on by Vernon and Petunia more than just a little, while entirely excluding Harry. The thought made him feel almost sick with anger, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral for the boy's sake as he looked down at him.

“Asking for things doesn't make you selfish, Harry,” he said gently, though the fearful look in his eyes did not fade right away. “You're allowed to ask for things that you want. Selfishness means wanting more and more all the time, and no matter what you have, you always still want things.” He paused, and he watched the boy work through what he was being told. “Remus and I don't think you're selfish, Harry. I don't think you ever could be, so try not to worry about it too much, all right?” Harry smiled sightly and nodded. Sirius stood and watched as Harry took his glasses off and rested them gently upon his night table.

“G'night, Sirius,” Harry said, yawning a little.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Sirius stepped into the hall, and shifted the door until it was almost closed. He leant against the wall, watching Harry for a few moments with a small smile. As expected, Harry grabbed his glasses, crawled back out of bed, and pulled out his rucksack. He heard the sharp gasp of shock and watched as Harry pulled from the bag an enormous pile of muggle storybooks. Sirius watched with a small grin as Harry touched the covers of each one, looked inside, and went on to the next. He knelt next to his bed for a very long time, just staring at the surprise.

Sirius had felt that Harry might be embarrassed if he knew that Sirius knew. Instead, he had left for a few hours with a small wad of muggle bank notes, and bought as many storybooks as he could. True to their word to Dumbledore, they were trying to keep Harry's contact with the wizarding world to a bare minimum, but Sirius refused to let Harry go through his childhood feeling as if he didn't deserved to be doted on by his guardians.

His work done, he walked quietly out to the sitting room where Remus was waiting.

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