My Interpetation of The Southern Raiders: Part 1 – A\ang

Warning: The views expressed in this analysis will be very critical of Aang. If you aren't critical of him in this episode, you aren't going to enjoy this post. This is your chance to leave. I probably won't have a debate for personal reasons.

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The Southern Raiders is probably one of the most discussed episodes in the fandom. Everyone knows Zuko Alone is great, but the discussion surrounding this episode is a war zone. In this essay I will try to answer every question posed in the discourse. This is part 1 out of three. In this part, I will discuss A\ang. I believe that understanding both Zuko and Aang's decisions in this episode will give us great insight into Katara's. Because the this episode is hers.

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1. Is Aang's philosophy of forgiveness valid?

(1) "Revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself".

(2) "You do have a choice: forgiveness". // "It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive". // "Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing".

This philosophy is indeed morally sound. Revenge comes from rage, a negative emotion that causes harm in the long run. Forgiveness is letting go of that rage, which is healing. I cannot write a full thesis, this essay is not about that. But on paper, I do agree with A\ang. He's right to say that letting go of rage is a better alternative than getting consumed by it. (However, his philosophy might not help some).

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2. Was A\ang being insensitive when talking to Katara?

First I must reiterate, a lot of people frame the conflict of the episode as one regarding the ethics of murder. In my interpretation, it is not. During this episode Katara was in a deeply emotional place. Her rage stemmed from intense grief and those around her should treat her as a mourner - with great sensitivity.

Now, was Aang being this sensitive with Katara? Well, in my opinion, very much so.

Imagine a scenario where A\ang just happens to meet Haru, and he's about to go on a quest to find revenge on who imprisoned his father. He tries to help him with the following sentences:

(1) Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

(2) Wait! Stop! I do understand. You're feeling unbelievable pain and rage. How do you think I felt about the sandbenders when they stole Appa? How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?

(3) I don't think so. I think it's about getting revenge.

(4) Haru, you sound like Jet.

(5) The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself.

(6) Haru, you do have a choice: forgiveness.

(7) No, it's not. It's easy to do nothing, but it's hard to forgive.

(8) You did the right thing. Forgiveness is the first step you have to take to begin healing.

Everything makes sense, right? The pieces fit.He just talks about his cultura\personal values, nothing about what Katara needs at the moment. He could have had this exact conversation with Haru without changing a thing.

Therefore his lines are impersonal and thus preachy. In this conversation he doesn’t show signs of trying to convince Katara not to end her mother’s killer because she is, fundamentally, a good person and couldn’t live having committed murder. He shows signs of trying to make her obey his cultural ethos. This is highly insensitive. Katara was in a very emotional place, filled with rage and grief. And his response was, intentionally or not, to impose his own cultural principles onto her.

But his lines weren’t insensitive just because they were preachy, some of them were judgmental and even harsh. When A\ang is first confronted with Katara’s intentions, he says:

A\ang: Um ... and what exactly do you think this will accomplish?

You can tell from his tone and how the rest of the conversation plays out that he does know what Katara thinks this will accomplish. He asks the question as a form of disapproval - that he thinks that going after Yon Rha won’t accomplish anything. He’s not being genuine, he’s casting judgment on her. He’s almost looking down on her and Zuko, looking down from a moral high ground and sarcastically interrogating the two. Another line that sticks out is

A\ang: Katara, you sound like Jet.

He says she sounds like the man who wanted to flood an entire village full of innocent civilians. He’s insulting her, and greatly so, all the while wanting to keep a moral high ground. This is incredibly rude and condescending.

In the next scene, right after the intense argument concludes, it appears as though A\ang comes around to the journey Katara was about to go through.

A\ang: I wasn't planning to. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man.But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

While he’s still discouraging Katara, it’s not outright condescending. But it’s as clear as day that he’d just preferred if she didn’t go on the journey at all. When he sees Zuko and Katara taking Appa to find Yon Rha, he says:

A\ang: So you were just gonna take Appa anyway?

Clearly disapproving of Katara. He doesn’t want her to go on the journey to find inner peace, he wants her to forgive the man who killed her mother right here and right now. He couldn’t change her mind on the subject, so he’ll advise her the next best thing. It is worth noting that in the beginning, before he advises her, he cracks a joke.

A\ang: It's okay, because I forgive you. [Pauses.] That give you any ideas?

Overall, A\ang’s behavior is unsympathetic and callous.Instead of placing his focus on Katara’s wellbeing, he preaches about Air Nomad teachings and goes as far as insulting her. Even when he comes around, it’s not because he realized his mistakes, it’s because he knew he couldn’t change her mind. And then he makes a humorous remark while giving him his supposed new found advice. The answer is: Yes. Aang was very insensitive when talking to Katara.

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3. Did A\ang know what Katara needed?

I don’t think he did. A\ang thought Katara needed to forgive Yon Rha, and as we previously established, without going after him. But even if we look at his second advice, she still doesn’t follow it.

A\ang: This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. [Katara situates herself on Appa's head.] But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

Katara explicitly didn’t forgive Yon Rha, and yet the whole point of the ending is that she’s in a better place now. No matter what Zuko says, A\ang didn’t know what Katara needed. And considering that his lines in the episode were as impersonal as they were, it isn’t a surprise.

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In conclusion, A\ang’s behavior in The Southern Raiders is questionable at best. He might have had pure intentions, and had a good message, but the way he put out the message was degrading and preachy. And in the end, he didn’t know what was the right thing for Katara.

not to like wax poetic about the literary nuances of Black Fucking Butler but i feel i need to point out how insanely campy it is. oh okay cool the butler is throwing butter knives at people with guns and winning. we're battling undertaker's zombie army by starting a boy band (we actually got the idea from the ZOMBIES' boy band). theres a curry making competition and its so important it needs an entire volume and a continuing motif dedicated to it. the Grim Reaper Death Gods are all cornballs with gardening sheers. the contradiction. the unintended irony.

i think the manga is like. toeing the line of camp. like its silly yet takes itself so seriously but its not too silly. my immersion is not broken by the silliness. but the anime is uncharted levels of camp. what the Hell was going on with pluto. you're gonna look me in the eye and tell me the phantomhives own a fifty foot dog thing and no one has noticed. simply one hell of a deer. ice skating. theres opium in funtom candy. the queen of england is maybe a little girl. speaking of which, the city of london just burned down. yeah the whole thing. the fifty foot dog was there too.

it's so ridiculously out of left field and the fact that none of the characters seem to notice or care feels like being gaslit. camp so visceral it's causing psychic damage. i am constantly begging the narrative to break character just once and acknowledge its silliness but doing so would negate the lack of awareness that makes it camp. its dated and timeless. an absolute milestone in camp history.

♡ You Hunt Eliza And She Hunts You Back ♡

(Uhm cannibalism.)

♡ You hated her with every fiber of your being, she was such a liar, always telling you how loyal she was to you but then her tail would wag at literally everything and everyone, if she truly was loyal only to you then it would only react to you. Her ears should only perk up for you and the sound she made as she ate others just pissed you off more, she should only be consuming your flesh or consuming nothing at all. Sonn you wouldn't have to deal with this jealousy, soon it would all go away and you'd be happy again like you were prior to meeting her, before this all consuming obsession had taken hold. ♡

♡ You'd taken her to the only open wooded area in the city in order to have a sweet relaxing hunting date. You had thought about not killing her when you'd seen how sweet she was cuddling you excited for you date today but the moment you stepped out the door her tail started wagging like crazy and you realized she was never going to change, her eyes would never only be on you and it had to be done. If she couldn't be excited only for you then she didn't deserve to be happy at all. You hoped she suffered in her last moments whimpering at the betrayal you'd given to her. ♡

Her head rapidly snapped to you as she heard the shotgun cock. Her ears and tail very quickly drooped, smile leaving her face as she realized you two weren't here for a date. She didn't know what she'd done wrong but whatever it was, she'd make it up to you! "P-puppy? Are you mad at me? I know I must have done something wrong but isn't this a bit silly?"

She took a step towards you, you were her puppy, you wouldn't hurt her even if you were really mad. "Run."

She turned around and ran, maybe you just wanted to play and scare her, she'd play along with this and then once you got it all out you'd go home and cuddle and-

♡ Things were peaceful once you no longer had to wonder where Eliza's loyalties lay, you did miss cuddling with her but every time you went outside now you felt at peace knowing she would never glance at anyone ever again, you were the last person she looked at and her final thoughts were on you. You left the body in the woods, it's not like people went there much anyways since they were too worried about walking into the actual forest and being trapped. ♡

♡ There was a different problem besides lacking her warmth at night or people questioning where your lover was, you told them she went hunting and hadn't returned yet for some reason, and that was the feeling you were being followed constantly, perhaps a wolf from her pack discovered what you'd done and wanted revenge, that would just piss you off even more though, Eliza wasn't supposed to be nice to anyone but you so the fact she was nice enough to someone else to warrant them seeking revenge made you wish you'd caused her more pain in her final moments. ♡

Your pursuer wasn't very smart or good at this, you always knew where they were and were so far good at evading them, though it felt eerie like they wanted to put you into a false sense of security by letting you think they were a bad hunter when they were still on your trail in actuality, they were playing with you. It was almost cute, you no longer had your Eliza so you didn't mind playing the game for a little while longer, you'd be the victor in the end anyways, wolves aren't very clever.

♡ A dead bird came to your doorstep with a message telling you to eat well, you threw it out. It was revolting, even if you didn't mind their stalking, the only one who you allowed to hunt and bring you meat was your Eliza and since she was gone you would not accept gifts from anyone else. You stabbed and mangled the already dead bird and left it on the porch to signify you would not take their gifts, they didn't seem to get the message, the wolf was steadfast, you'd give them that. ♡

♡ It was growing boring waiting for them to exact revenge for their lost friend, the game had to come to an end soon so instead when they followed you, you instead tried to get closer only to hear a collar jingle. It pissed you off, was your girlfriend close enough to another wolf to have matching jingling collars, so much for loyalty. The foot steps retreated as they realized you were trying to approach the alley they were in. ♡

"Hey, I hope you know your friend is a horrible person!" You shouted at them trying to antagonize them into showing themselves. They were there, they were always there so you knew they heard what you were saying. "What kind of bitch eats people every day but doesn't love their actual mate enough to even take one bite!"

Silence, you supposed they understood why you did it. Maybe they'd return to kill you later for harming Eliza for such a stupid reason, you didn't care.

♡ Your stalker didn't show themselves for weeks or even bother to leave birds again until one day two months after you'd shouted at them, a deer on your doorstep urging you to eat up. It was extremely freaky, they didn't seem to get your message, you didn't want a random ass werewolf to eat you, you wanted your own werewolf to eat you. If they tried to eat you then you'd drink poison just to ensure they'd go down with you. You started to eat things that were fatal to werewolves. ♡

♡ Then one day you saw her, sitting at your bedside watching you sleep as her tail wagged sadly. You didn't let her know you were awake as she whispered vows of making it up to you, how she'd been so awful to never understand what you truly wanted until you reached a breaking point. She wanted to protect you but maybe that was only causing more harm, she swore she would make this right. ♡

You smiled as Eliza went straight for your arm, while you suspected she wanted to make it less painful on you she also knew you would be forever mad if you didn't at least get to enjoy the act. You used your other arm to pet her head softly as she whimpered and ate you. Little did she know as soon as she finished her meal the poisons would kick in and hopefully this attempt would finally finish her off, you would be connected as one forever.

"You're a good girl, Eliza." You cooed as she continued trying to force herself to eat despite really not wanting to. She really was loyal to you, doing this just finally showed you she was such a good loyal girl.

♡ Eliza and you would be together forever, you'd never part again. ♡

Hope you're ready to add a bunch of books to your TBR pile! We have seven on our radar for this week. Which ones are you interested in?

Promposal by RaeChell Garrett Little, Brown/Poppy

High school senior Autumn Reeves has been waitlisted at her dream school. Determined to move to the top of the list, she must find a way to stand out. When a promposal she planned for a friend has half the senior class asking for her help, a brilliant business idea that will look great on her application is born: Promposal Queen.

Autumn has no clue how to start a business, so she joins the Young Black Entrepreneurs group and finds herself face-to-face with Mekhi Winston, the boy whose unexpected freshman-year kiss—a kiss that meant everything to her and nothing to him—cost Autumn her best friend. He’s the only person with the experience to help her, but how can she possibly trust him?

With her dreams on the line, Autumn’s willing to risk it. After all, Mekhi could be a good business partner without being a guy she would ever let near her heart again.

But when working with Mekhi jeopardizes her only chance at rekindling a friendship with her ex–best friend and long-buried secrets threaten to ruin Promposal Queen, another broken heart may be the least of her worries—her entire future is on the line. -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

When You Wish Upon a Star by Elizabeth Lim Disney-Hyperion

“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight . . . ” so begins the wish that changes everything—for Geppetto, for the Blue Fairy, and for a little puppet named Pinocchio. The Blue Fairy isn’t supposed to grant wishes in the small village of Pariva, but something about this one awakens some long-buried flicker within. Perhaps it’s the hope she senses beneath the old man’s loneliness.

Or maybe it’s the fact that long ago, before she was the Blue Fairy, she was a young woman named Chiara from this very village, one with a simple wish: to help others find happiness. Her sister Ilaria always teased her for this, for she had big dreams to leave their sleepy village and become a world-renowned opera singer. The two were close, despite their differences. While Ilaria would give anything to have a fairy grant her wish, Chiara didn’t believe in the lore for which their village was famous.

Forty years later, Chiara, now the Blue Fairy, defies the rules of magic to help an old friend. But she’s discovered by the Scarlet Fairy, formerly Ilaria, who, amid a decades-long grudge, holds the transgression against her sister. They decide to settle things through a good old-fashioned bet, with Pinocchio and Geppetto’s fate hanging in the balance. -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Queen Bee by Amalie Howard Joy Revolution

A teen girl seeking retribution against her backstabbing former best friend finds her plans slightly derailed once she catches the eye of a familiar, handsome marquess. Bestselling author Amalie Howard delivers a delightful, anti-historical Regency-era romp that’s Bridgerton meets The Count of Monte Cristo!

Lady Ela Dalvi knows the exact moment her life was forever changed—when her best friend, Poppy, betrayed her without qualm over a boy, the son of a duke. She was sent away in disgrace, her reputation ruined.

Nearly three years later, eighteen-year-old Ela is consumed with bitterness and a desire for . . . revenge. Her enemy is quickly joining the crème de la crème of high society while she withers away in the English countryside.

With an audacious plan to get even, Ela disguises herself as a mysterious heiress and infiltrates London’s elite. But when Ela reunites with the only boy she’s ever loved, she begins to question whether vengeance is still her greatest desire. -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Blood Debts by Terry J. Benton-Walker Tor Teen

Thirty years ago, a young woman was murdered, a family was lynched, and New Orleans saw the greatest magical massacre in its history. In the days that followed, a throne was stolen from a queen.

On the anniversary of these brutal events, Clement and Cristina Trudeau—the sixteen-year-old twin heirs to the powerful, magical, dethroned family—are mourning their father and caring for their sick mother. Until, by chance, they discover their mother isn’t sick—she’s cursed. Cursed by someone on the very magic council their family used to rule. Someone who will come for them next.

Cristina, once a talented and dedicated practitioner of Generational magic, has given up magic for good. An ancient spell is what killed their father and she was the one who cast it. For Clement, magic is his lifeline. A distraction from his anger and pain. Even better than the random guys he hooks up with.

Cristina and Clement used to be each other’s most trusted confidant and friend, now they barely speak. But if they have any hope of discovering who is coming after their family, they’ll have to find a way to trust each other and their family's magic, all while solving the decades-old murder that sparked the still-rising tensions between the city’s magical and non-magical communities. And if they don't succeed, New Orleans may see another massacre. Or worse.

A Whole Song and Dance by Sarvenaz Tash Disney-Hyperion

A freshman in NYU’s prestigious musical theater program, Nasrin spends her days prepping for auditions, sweating through dance classes, and belting her heart out for the viral streaming show she’s been cast in. But on calls with her maman and baba, she’s their jigar talah, the golden child who put her theater dreams aside to follow in their entrepreneurial footsteps as a business major.

At least her whole life isn’t a lie—she is taking a single business course. Except she’s kind of failing it. Cue jazz hands?

Nasrin needs to bring her grade up fast if she’s going to keep her parents in the dark, so she grudgingly signs up for tutoring with the infuriatingly smug and annoyingly attractive Max. And yet...as the semester rushes by, the sparks of anger that first flew between them start to turn into a very different kind of spark. The kind she definitely does not have time for.

Except when Nasrin’s charming though devious cousin takes an interest in Max too, Nasrin has to figure out exactly what has been an act—and what’s for real. Can Nasrin decide what—and who—is truly worth fighting for, and find a way to step into the spotlight as her full self? -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

An Appetite for Miracles by Laekan Zea Kemp Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Danna Mendoza Villarreal’s grandfather is slowly losing himself as his memories fade, and Danna’s not sure her plan to help him remember through the foods he once reviewed will be enough to bring him back. Especially when her own love of food makes her complicated relationship with her mother even more difficult.

Raúl Santos has been lost ever since his mother was wrongly incarcerated two years ago. Playing guitar for the elderly has been his only escape, to help them remember and him forget. But when his mom unexpectedly comes back into his life, what is he supposed to do when she isn’t the same person who left?

When Danna and Raúl meet, sparks fly immediately and they embark on a mission to heal her grandfather...and themselves. Because healing is something best done together—even if it doesn’t always look the way we want it to. -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Firebird by Sunmi HarperCollins

Caroline Kim is feeling the weight of sophomore year. When she starts tutoring infamous senior Kimberly Park-Ocampo--a charismatic lesbian, friend to rich kids and punks alike--Caroline is flustered . . . but intrigued

Their friendship kindles and before they know it, the two are sneaking out for late-night drives, bonding beneath the stars over music, dreams, and a shared desire of getting away from it all.

A connection begins to smolder . . . but will feelings of guilt and the mounting pressure of life outside of these adventures extinguish their spark before it catches fire? -- Cover image and summary via Goodreads

Hi Katrin! In reference to your previous ask about Ciels final smile of Kuroshitsuji 1, I just have to ask - why do you think Ciel is unhappy in his final moments?

I think I mentioned it a long while back in an ask I sent you (where I just dumped my ramblings about book of murder in your inbox - once again, sorry about that!) but Sebastian leaving Ciel in Paris didn't feel like a rejection to me.

Of course he senses the doubts Ciel clearly has about throwing his life away and I think misunderstands it. I don't think Ciel was second-guessing his revenge, but perhaps his readiness to die.

When Sebastian leaves him, he doesn't seem angry - that much is clear. Instead, he wishes him to "forget everything and have pleasant dreams", with a rather wistful expression on his face. And what this line ends up reading as is a bittersweet goodbye from the demon - an offering for Ciel to let go of his revenge and find happiness in the afterlife with his now soon approaching death.

I think he is disappointed because at some point he started to stop holding Ciel to human standards as he would everything else, but I also don't think he's resentful of it. Ciel is human and he can't keep expecting him not to be, so it was perhaps his fault for doing so.

Not wanting to die doesn't seem like something that would suddenly make Ciel's soul undesirable to Sebastian, so there must be another reason for him to let it go. He cannot offer Ciel life, since he knows that death is readily approaching him, but he can offer him an afterlife.

This offering almost acts as a thank you for the moments of excitement their contract had given his monotone life and I believe that is why he makes it.

He sticks around to see if Ciel accepts his offer, though already expecting him to, and is there to witness the very moment the boy rejects it. Gone is the uncertainty of Abberline's death and the Paris crisis, and Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive, returns to him - sharper, colder, more ruthless than ever. Sebastian realises his misjudgement and returns to his side, ready for the final battle. Killing an angel. It's laughably symbolic.

I think it is at some point during this battle that Ciel fully acknowledges his feelings towards Sebastian. I completely agree with you - completing his revenge did not fulfil him. I don't think he felt victorious or triumphant from it, or even the satisfaction he might have expected from it. Like you said, he probably realises how wasted his life was in pursuing such a fate, but still understands that it was the only path he would've accepted, being who he was.

But that isn't to say he was unhappy. Just because it wasn't revenge that gave him fulfilment doesn't mean he didn't find it elsewhere. The smile he gives Sebastian doesn't read to me as bitter or condescending, but actually seems quite peaceful. And the reason for that, I think, is that he doesn't fear dying by Sebastian's hand.

Those same reddened eyes and fanged smile would be the last thing he sees – and was that really such a bad way to go? He knew how and when and by whose hands he was going to die, and not everyone could say the same. What's more, at this point, I'm pretty sure he would've realised what he was feeling for Sebastian, so I don't think he would be resentful for dying at the hands of someone he loved.

Sebastian, for him, had always represented the end. And a beautiful end at that. That's why the smile seemed peaceful to me.

He lets go of the bridge. Initially, I assumed it was a mixture of blood loss and a symbolic decision to let go of life and surrender himself to Sebastian, but from your analysis I actually think your idea about him wanting a final act of rebellion is wonderful. All Ciel really wanted was to be remembered by Sebastian, so why not send him one last gift? Let him have one last surprise before it's all over. Die on his own terms - it's a beautiful idea.

He dies in mid-air. We see the exact moment Ciel Phantomhive dies and exact moment his cinematic record blossoms from his lifeless body when the blood loss finally takes him.

It's a beautiful scene, regardless of how you analyse it and I absolutely love hearing everyone's interpretations of it since they're all so different from one another. Reading your analysis in this ask was particularly wonderful to me because it was such a different take from what I was used to. I tjust hought I'd share my view on the scene so I could hear more of your thoughts on the matter. Whether it's in literature or media, watching how the tone of a scene can change as the angle from which it is interpreted switches is perhaps one of the most interesting things you can do.

(My post about Sebastian leaving Ciel in S1 & London Bridge scene for those who are interested).

Thank you for this, I really love your asks, comments, and thoughts! I agree that Sebastian leaving Ciel in S1 wasn't a rejection - I think he was resentful to an extent (he sends Ciel several very dark looks when Ciel stops him from killing the Queen and when they are riding to the hotel), and personally, I see a mix of feelings when he's watching Ciel from afar later. He's quiet and thoughtful, and I think there is a storm of conflicting feelings brewing inside him. I particularly love your words about Sebastian being willing to give Ciel an afterlife.

As for how Ciel takes it... I think he's grimly determined to see everything through. I agree that he fully acknowledges his feelings for Sebastian at this point; I also think Ciel realizes he loves him at the very end of S1, seconds before Sebastian leans closer to take his soul. I imagine the entire life flashing right before Ciel's eyes, his adrenaline spreading through him chaotically and clearing his head in a way he's never experienced before. His reservations, stubbornness, reluctance to succumb to emotions - it's all going to lose its meaning because this is it. In a few seconds, he won't just be dead - he won't exist. I think Ciel is going to see everything with startling clarity, and he'll realize, "Oh. I love you," but of course he won't say it aloud.

I agree Ciel sees the beauty and the peace in being consumed by Sebastian, but at the same time, I see misery in him in those later moments. Sorry, I can't share gifs or even good pics right now, but here are some screens to illustrate what I mean:

I think he looks like in his darkest and saddest moments here. There is sorrow, bitterness, hopelessness in his eyes - he won, but it doesn't feel like it. Ciel always knew he was going to die and Sebastian was going to devour his soul, but now he is being proven right, it is finally happening, and I think he has mixed feelings on this. During their time together, he learned to enjoy life in his way. He enjoyed their games, being challenged, solving puzzles. He always knew it's temporary, but knowing and seeing it are two different things, and I don't think Ciel is as willing to die as he was before. The way he's startled when the Undertaker tell him he's going to die anyway even without Sebastian in the picture, Ciel's sudden burst of emotion when he tells Abberline that he had forfeited his future, his behavior afterward, how he was delaying the conclusion of their contract by holding Sebastian back - I think Ciel was re-assessing things.

This one breaks my heart in particular. In this specific moment, I don't think Ciel doesn't want to die in general, but he doesn't want to leave Sebastian. He's staring at him with emotions he never allowed himself to feel - he's ready, but he's wistful. He wishes things could have been different in some other world, that his book could have another ending, but he knows there is no place for what ifs in his life.

You know, after all of Ironwood's developments and moments the past couple volumes, something that fascinates me is the surprising number of commonalities and reversals, both character-wise and thematic, between him and the previous arc villain Adam. Their differences are obvious, but both are men driven by ostensibly higher and (at first) noble goals who became corrupted by an obsession with power and control, their egos alienating their allies and leading them down paths of madness and murder.

DEFINITELY. I've been noticing the exact same thing these past couple volumes XD

There are SO many interesting parallels between Adam and Ironwood when you start looking closely. Both are men who are convinced they are the noble Hero but in reality are so consumed by their self-centered ego and trauma that they'll end up trying to destroy anyone who they perceive stands in their way. Plus they're both such flawless deconstructions of archetypal male power fantasies that a good chunk of the fandom was entirely suckered into their BS hook, line and sinker XD

And of course, the Dramatic Irony of this similarity cuts both ways: Turns out Adam is all too similar to the leader of Atlas, the place that hurt Adam so much and embodies everything the he hates? A man that Adam likely regarded as his arch-enemy.

And it turns out Ironwood is likewise all to similar to a petty thug obsessed with revenge and all to willing to butcher anyone who stands in his way.

It really ties back to that line from Ozpin: "Will the person staring back at you be the very thing your should have feared from the start?"

And the best part is that these parallels are definitely intentional on the part of CRWBY. Just put the lyrics of 'Lionized' and 'Hero' side-by-side and you can see a lot of similarities. Or one of my favorite subtle moments; In the premiere of Volume 8 when Ironwood calls Penny and starts super laying down the 'abuser acts nice to convince their victim to come back' act, we get a meaningful shot of Blake with a look that absolutely says that what Ironwood is spewing is a kind of bullshit she is all too familiar with...

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested;  the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd​ - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood​ - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

 Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles. 

 "You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.  

 "I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. " 

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times. 

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.  

 Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

 Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

 You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

 "My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

 Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction. 

 "My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

 Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg. 

 When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm." 

 ***

 After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una." 

 Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening. 

 Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?" 

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes. 

 "Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted. 

 This is new. 

 Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead. 

 He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

 When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

 "Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first." 

 When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths. 

 "Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming. 

 Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips. 

 "Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass. 

 As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you. 

 You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

 You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

 Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

 Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

 You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately. 

 You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

 You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

 Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

 You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

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Koutaro Bokuto || Kiss Kiss, Fall in Love 🍃

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | series m.list | hq tag | main blog ||

What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? // No love, my love… // All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. –Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all || W. Shakespeare

↠ A love story as told through kisses…

↠ Requested By: Nobody, I just had an ~i d e a~, Mr. Krabs ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW floofy-floof ((but my blog’s 18+ so if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ Chronology: Pre and post time skip. ↠ CWs/TWs: I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: Tetsurou Kuroo is his own gd warning. And this time the asshole’s brought friends. They’re a bunch of little shits, but like it’s for the good of your love life lmfao. Also a legit warning for mentions of food and eating in the ‘Volleyball Kiss’ section. ↠ No betas—we die like grammatically incorrect men here. ↠ Total WC: 5.9k~

Long time no see!

November was very… let’s say annoying—yeah, that’s a good word for it lol. Cue me writing comfort ficlets for myself featuring Actual Human Sunshine Koutaro Bokuto because he’s got the type of energy I need to get through these trying times lol…

Needless to say, I am a Stage 3 simp for this pretty owl boy (as well as childhood friends to lovers vibes), and I’m totally okay with that. I will now leave you to (hopefully) enjoy the fruits of said simping lol…

🍃 First Kiss

Eyes on You || WC: 3.3k~

You fly into the body before you with curses spat out from between gritted teeth, damn near snarl when you hear the raucous laughter that echoes through the door that slams behind you in nearly the same moment. No doubt they’ve barred the thing from the outside, wanting to keep you in for their twisted amusement just as much as their safety, the absolute assholes.

Oh, somebody’s gonna pay royally for this one—several somebodies, in fact—but you’ll have time to exact your revenge later. For now your main concern is extracting yourself from the person that’s holding you up without accidentally copping a feel. Easier said than done, that, given just how damn thick he is.

Even at sixteen Koutaro Bokuto is nearly six feet and two hundred pounds of pure muscle; the sheer size of him makes it all but impossible to touch him without feeling like you’re groping him at least a little, but then again it really all comes down to intent, you suppose. And you certainly have no designs on him like that. Which isn’t to say that you don’t find him attractive, quite the opposite in fact, it’s just that you’re not a creep about it–

Though he’s probably thinking otherwise, given the way you’re acting right now. At the very least he thinks you’ve gone a little bit feral…

You stop hissing out profanities and half formed threats just long enough to mutter an apology as you finally untangle yourself before moving as far back as the closet’s limited space will allow for (which isn’t much given the fact that it’s, yanno, a fucking closet).

Fuck that rooster-haired motherfucker for throwing this damn party in the first place. All that ‘building cohesion between teams’, ‘prefecture solidarity’ bullshit was just an excuse to get on some fuck-shit, as per usual. And doubly fuck Konoha for suggesting that you tag along. “Finals have been rough on us all, but you especially need to loosen up, Manager-chan. I’m just looking out for you!”—yeah, okay. And definitely fuck Yamamoto’s thirsty ass for suggesting you all play some seven minutes in heaven/spin the bottle hybrid.

And hell, while you’re at it, the universe can kiss your entire ass too. If it wasn’t so clearly using those closest to you to conspire against you, you wouldn’t be trapped in Kuroo’s janky little coat closet with the guy you’ve spent the better part of the last year actively crushing on.

You don’t even know when you started to catch feelings for Kou. You’ve known him for most of your life, so there’s a chance that it’s all some great and inescapable inevitability or something equally kismeic; or maybe it’s something less flowery and abstract, a base attraction driven by teenage hormones and proximity. You can’t rightly say one way or another, but what you very much do know is that once you found out life got a whole hell of a lot harder.

Koutaro Bokuto is just so… everything you could ever want in a boyfriend, really.

Aside from the obvious physical appeal, he’s honestly one of the best people you know. He’s caring, sweet, kind, funny, giving oftentimes to a fault… He’s always there to cheer you on with that heart-stopping grin of his, always the first one to extend a hand and a word of encouragement whenever they’re needed, or a shoulder to cry on when you have to let it all out. Honestly when you stop to think on it, it’s not even surprising that you fell for him—what’s actually weird, in your extremely biased opinion, is how there aren’t more people fawning over him.

Sure, he gets a fair bit of attention for what he’s able to do on the court, but that’s all superficial. The few admirers that he’s attempted to pursue a relationship with never really wanted him in truth. They only ever wanted the convenient parts—the infectious joy and seemingly endless laughter and the clout that came with being so closely associated with a guy that was very clearly going places. But when it came to his other side—the hard crashes in mood and energy both, the ‘himbo’ moments that saw him occasionally misstepping, that single minded drive that so often tunneled his vision down to volleyball at the detriment of everything else—they couldn’t hang.

It always hurts, seeing him come back to you with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs, but in true Bokuto form he always bounces back with a few well-placed words of praise and reassurance. Still, you know that it has to be taking a toll on him, it certainly is on you. How many times can you assure him that there’s someone out there for him that will accept him for all that he is and is not before your true feelings come tumbling out? Or worse yet before he finds that in someone that isn’t you?

That fear runs deeper and colder than even that of rejection, but despite it all you’ve still yet to gather the courage to tell him the truth. And so you hide it all away instead, waiting until you think yourself strong enough—brave enough—to throw all caution to the wind and properly confess.

Being as close as you are, it hasn’t been easy to keep your feelings to yourself, but you’ve been managing to hold your own. Mostly. Really it’s only Koutaro himself that’s unaware of your feelings, as literally everyone else that spends more than five minutes around the pair of you has picked up on it. The record for fastest time of recognition goes to Akaashi, unsurprisingly.

The overly observant first year had peeped you the very same minute you’d come to stand next to the Ace—though in your defense it was kinda hard to hide your reaction when Kou had pulled you into a bone crushing hug, his face instantly burrowing its ways into your hair and taking noisy pulls of the familiar scent in between gushing about having missed you while he was away visiting family over the break.

“Ah, so this is your partner then?” the ravenette had asked as he looked between you with a small smile. Said smile turned questioning when you both gave an answer in the negative, and then he was focusing his appraising gaze solely onto your very flustered self. He blinked once in recognition of the panic that had started to rise behind your eyes before shrugging. “Hm, sorry, my mistake…” The small nod that he’d shot your way afterwards was enough to assure that your secret was as safe with him as it was with anybody.

And sure, none of your friends have ever outted you, but they have been doing the absolute most with their attempts to push the two of you together. It wouldn’t be so bad, honestly, if Kou wasn’t so damn oblivious. It almost feels pointed, his ignoring their blatant efforts and your feelings that are growing more and more obvious with every interaction. While he may not always be the smartest academically, there’s no denying that he’s got a creature sense when it comes to all things emotional.

If he hasn’t picked up on it yet it’s because he doesn’t want to—be that purposefully or subliminally.

Either way it smacks of the rejection that you refuse to put yourself, or your friendship, though. This is why you avoid his stare in the dimly lit space with crossed arms and pursed lips. The bald bulb overhead casts you both in a sickly yellow tint that does nothing for your complexion, but everything for Bo’s eyes. They look like pools of honey or maybe even molten gold, and their fathomless depths are something that you would gladly get lost in if given half the chance.

For his part the Ace runs a hand over his hair—there’s even more gray in the strands than there had been this time last year, with the remaining black bits being relegated to blocky lowlights—as he looks from the door to you and back again with a sheepish expression.

“I would say ‘it could be worse’, buuut… Well you don’t exactly seem thrilled about being stuck in here with me.”

In your still rattled state you don’t know how to respond to that without potentially giving something away so you settle for a noncommittal (and mildly distressed) sound.

He deflates a bit at that, his broad shoulders noticeably drooping as he leans against the little shoe rack at his back. “Yeah, I mean, that’s fair. After all, why would you want to be trapped in a closet with your bestie when you could be sucking face with your crush, amirite?”

Though it’s meant to come off as a joke, there’s a thread of something that begs you to meet his stare. When you turn to face him, however, his gaze is focused on the slab of wood that bars you from freedom.

“It must’ve really sucked since he was right there, too. If there was just a little bit more force behind your spin you could’ve been in here with him.”

His tone is overly casual, clearly forced, and not nearly good enough to cover up the thread of something darker that lies just beneath the surface. You’ve only ever really heard his voice take on such a tint one time before, when Shiratorizawa’s Ace had come in and upset the rankings early in the season, nudging Bo out of his top three spot. Though he had tried to play it off, it was extremely obvious that he was–

Wait.

…Is he… jealous?

You’re not sure if it’s just some terrible combination of wishful thinking and projection, or if you’re actually detecting a hint of dejection-fueled envy right now. And if that’s not surreal enough, he actually thinks that you have a crush on someone that isn’t him? What in the actual fuck…

“I… Wha? Kou, what are you–? Who are…?” You mentally go over who was sitting where before it all clicks. “Wait. Akaashi? You think I have a thing for fuckin’ Keiji Akaashi?”

The sharpness of your tone leaves him flinching as he replies with a “Umm, yeah?” that says this should be obvious—which by his estimation it probably should be given the fact that it’s your supposed crush.

“Why would I–? I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with him, but where the hell are you even getting this from?”

He shrugs. “You mean besides the fact that you’re always staring at him? Which I mean, fair. He’s a handsome guy—those baby blues? I’m swooning.”

Once again the joke falls flat, not least of all because he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. That he clears his throat harshly before pinching at the space between his eyes—eyes that are squeezed shut and turned skywards—afterwards only serves to lend credence to your assumption.

You reach for him then, his name falling from your lips on a sigh, but an extended hand sees you stopping short. He tries to assure you that it’s okay, that he’s happy for you, really, and is even willing to play wingman for you if you’re too shy to make a move on your own. That he’s so willing to put your happiness ahead of his own, even when it’s obviously tearing him apart, only serves to make you fall just that little bit deeper.

Seeing him like this you cannot for the life of you remember why it was you were so scared of confessing. Kou has always been so gentle with your heart, cradling your feelings close to his chest and handling them as gently as if they were his own. Even if he couldn’t return your affections he would never spurn them—or you.

And so you gather up the hand that still hovers just inches away from your chest between both of your own. Years of honing his craft has left the skin on his palm overly smooth in some places and rough and hardened in others. These callouses tell the story of an unyielding devotion to a passion that was once little more than a distant dream spoken about in a pillow fort on rainy weekend night. In the time since he’s done everything in his power to make that dream come true, and you’ve been right by his side for the whole of it, and will continue to be, if given the chance. But that’s a chance that you’ll never get if you don’t take one yourself—right here, and right now.

It’s a lot easier to jump, you find, when you know that someone’s waiting to catch you.

By the time you’ve laid out the whole of your heart to your best friend, his smile’s much wider than any you’ve ever seen from him before, and that’s certainly saying a lot. His free hand comes up to slap at the middle of his forehead as he calls himself a dummy with a huff of exasperation.

“‘Only looking at Akaashi because he was always next to you’—or, erm, well me. How did I never notice?” He continues to assault himself even as he laughs, prompting you to take this hand into your care too before he gives himself a headache.

“I dunno, but I guess it kinda makes sense? Honestly I didn’t even really sort out my feelings for you until the start of this school year, so…” You give a half shrug as you tangle your fingers together. “I guess I can kinda see why you would’ve thought that, since it all happened around the same time.”

He concedes the point with a half nod, but—“Still, I… I dunno. You would think I would’ve picked up on it before now. I mean, I had always hoped, but… You never said anything when I went out with those other people–”

“Yeah, because it wasn’t my place. It’s not like I had any claim over you, so–” When he gives you a confused looking pout you sigh loudly. “It would’ve been really fucking selfish of me if I told you to not go out with them just because I wanted you–”

“Not if you would’ve told me why,” he insists, “not if I wanted you too.”

“I… Kou…” You can feel your cheeks heating and you’re quick to duck your head to hide your flustered state. “Fuckin’– You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“And why not, hm? Why shouldn’t I tell the person that I’m absolutely head over heels for just how much they mean to me?”

He loosens a hand from your grip then, cupping your chin and raising your face back to level. You stubbornly keep your eyes downcast for several long seconds, though once you finally look up…

Koutaro’s pretty eyes are blown impossibly wide with a grin to match; his skin has taken on a light, but thorough blush, with the pink stain stretching from his scalp and down to his neck to disappear beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“Gosh, ____, you’re really cute. Have I ever told you that before?”

Your whining of his name scales up into a sharp gasp when he poses one simple question:

“Can I kiss you?”

Your mouth is replying before you brain can properly process his words, with the “Gods, yes” falling past your lips on a sigh. His own lips move just as quickly then—just as desperate, needy, hungry. He’s on you in nearly the same instant, using your still tangled hands to pull you into him as he all but slams your faces together. Even with the barrier of your lips there, you can still feel your teeth colliding, though better those than your noses you suppose. Really it’s only the fact that your head was already somewhat tilted that saved you from that good discount rhinoplasty.

You both pull apart with muttered sounds of pain, but despite the embarrassment that’s clearly playing out across the Ace’s face it’s obvious that he wants to try again, and you of course, are all too willing to let him.

He’s gentle this time, slow and methodical and oh-so-tender as he cups your face between his slightly shaky palms. He holds you like you’re something infinitely precious and fleeting, with a quiet reverence overtaking the whole of his being. He doesn’t try to kiss you right away, choosing instead to look you over with those honeycomb eyes that syrup with an affection that you never thought would be aimed at you, but craved nevertheless. Rough thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks—“So soft,” he mumbles under his breath. “So soft and warm and cute~”—in a supplicant’s display that leaves your face heating all the more.

You want to return the favor, want to make him feel as adored and cherished and loved as you do in this moment, but it’s almost as if you’re caught in trance. You’re drunk on him already and he’s barely even touched you. It’s all so much—too much, really—and yet you’re ravenous for every bit of affection that he’s willing to offer. Months of longing (years, if you’re being honest) have made you greedy for his attentions, with your rapidly mounting need begging you to entreat him with a soft “Kou, please.”

Your words pull him from whatever stupor he had slipped into, leaving him to blink dumbly for a couple of seconds before nodding his assent and slowly following through. Long fingers curl under your chin and, after allowing you to melt under the smolder of his eyes for a beat more, he draws you into the kiss.

When he presses his lips against yours this time it’s a slow, careful thing. Inexperience on both your parts makes the initial meeting a bit awkward; first there’s not enough pressure, then there’s too much lip somehow, and adding tongues into the mix is a whole entire thing, but you’re both determined to get it right, and once you do…

All-consuming is the only way you can think to describe it. Kissing Koutaro fills up the whole of your being, replacing any thoughts and concerns with him-him-him, invading all of your senses. You’re so caught up that you don’t realize that your seven minutes are up, not even when the door is wrenched open to flood the closet with a light that is quickly eclipsed by your host’s hulking frame.

“Time’s up love bir- Oh.” Kuroo chokes out a startled laugh as he takes stock of the situation with those sharp, feline eyes of his. “Oh damn, okay, huh. Didn’t uhhh, didn’t expect things to go that well. I guess congratulations are in order then, as well as thanks–”

“Tetsurou…”

Clearly the boy’s got a death wish as he ignores your warning growl of his name in favor of winding you up some more. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to say it now—just promise me that I can be best man at the wedding and we’ll call it square.” When your only reply is a raised middle finger he just cackles that ugly, not-so-little laugh of his before closing the door again with a comment about leaving the pair of you to it.

The retort that you can feel building behind your teeth dies instantly when Kou tugs you back into him. He regards you with heavily lidded eyes and a lopsided smile as he promises to help you jack up your meddling mutual friend later—“But for now…”

He lifts your chin with a curl of his fingers in a move that is already becoming familiar to you, before stealing your breath away once again with his kiss.

🍃 Volleyball Kiss

Eyes on the Prize || WC: ~1.1k

One last warning for mentions of food and eating for anyone who may need it. The whole of this section is centered around Bo eating himself silly so if that’s a thing that makes you uncomfy for any reason you’re probably better off skipping this one…

You and Kai listen with somewhat rapt attention to the tale that Kuroo weaves about the latest convention that he and Kenma attended—somewhat being the keyword as you cannot help but to divide your attention between him and the humanoid owl that is steadily creeping up behind him. Said owl boy is the reason that you’re even entertaining this conversation, as well as the excessive heat of the grilling station, in the first place.

Bokuto’s love of all things meaty and delicious is known throughout the prefecture, add to that the caloric needs of a hyperactive athlete of his stature and it hardly comes as a surprise that he’s had more than his fair share at this barbeque. He’s as relentless in his quest for more yakiniku as he is for a clean spike on the court, and you being the loving and supportive partner that you are, are here to help him out.

Your job is a simple one—all you have to do is distract the rival school’s captain while your boyfriend secures another helping. It’s an easy enough feat given that Tetsurou absolutely loves the sound of his own voice (never mind the crush he’s been nursing on his best friend for years now), so keeping him talking’s been easy enough.

You nod and hum and laugh along with the overly tall middle blocker, all the while keeping an extremely amused eye on Bo’s surprisingly stealthy approach.

“–his face when he found out! He looked like he wanted to cry, puke, and punch something all at once. Gods, I wish I could’ve gotten a picture…” Tetsu continues around a chuckle. “And then the poor booth worker had to–”

You have no idea how he sees the set of chopsticks when they’re barely visible to you, but Kuroo’s sentence immediately devolves into a rebuking cry of “Oh hell no, Bokuto! You are not getting all the meat, you son of a bitch!”

In that same moment he snatches up your boyfriend by his collar, but it’s too late. The slices of rōsu have already been banished to the seemingly endless abyss that is his gaping maw never to be seen again. As he chews his prize with a self-satisfied smile the lot of you cannot help but to laugh, though it’s pretty clear that Kuroo is none too pleased at having been bested.

“Fine. You win this time, but try that shit again and I promise you it’s your ass.” To you, “And you. I expected better from you, ____, though I have no idea why.”

“Me neither,” you agree. “Really, you’re hurting your own feelings at this point.”

He snorts at that, shoving your still nomming boyfriend in your general direction before putting a hand on both of your shoulders and herding you away from the grills. “Alright ya gremlins, you’ve had more than your fair share–”

“I actually haven’t had any meat,” you inform him around a snicker.

“Yeah, well Bo’s had enough for the both of you. Now kindly go away and leave some for the rest for us.” Kuroo gives you one last little shove before heading back to the grills, mumbling something about getting at least one veggie kabab into his various kohai. You wish him luck before turning your attention back to Koutaro.

For his part your boyfriend is still happily munching away on the various cuts that he managed to snag before being pulled away, occasionally dipping into your plate to grab a bit of rice and the odd vegetable when you give him an imploring look. He tears through the lot of it with the type of ravenous energy that only a teenaged athlete can harness, and it’s only after making several more trips to the buffet style spread to fill up on various sides and desserts that he’s satisfied.

Unsurprisingly the itis kicks in fairly quickly after that leaving Kou to crash hard. He all but collapses on you, complaining about how full his tummy feels all the while, and asking you to rub it for him.

“Don’t whine now, you did this to yourself,” you chide, though there’s no real heat behind the words.

“Babyyy,” he whines anyway, eyes droopy and lips pouted up cutely, “don’t be mean to me, I’m sick.”

“You’re ridiculous is what you are.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyways~”

Well, he’s not wrong.

You let him position himself as he pleases—that your charitable act will see a good portion of your body going numb from having his hulking frame braced against your middle is proof that no good deed goes unpunished. But you can’t bring yourself to care overmuch, not when he snuggles into your chest so sweetly, arms wrapped around your middle and legs stretched out behind him to tangle with your own sloppily. With him lying on his stomach it’s pretty much impossible for you to comply with his initial request, but when you point this out to him he just shrugs.

“Play with my hair then? Please??”

Your fingers lace themselves into the two-toned strains without further prompting. Between the heat of the day and all the sweating he’d done earlier his hair has lost a fair bit of its volume; the near sentient locks seem to wilt further as Kou’s breaths go heavy with sleep. Within moments he’s lost to the waking world, or at least you’d thought he was–

“Thanks f’helpin’ me get mah meat, babe, luh yooou…” He raises up just enough to punctuate the sleep-slurred declaration with a sweet little kiss to your lips. Bleary eyes watch you intently for a beat afterwards, clearly waiting for something—oh.

“Love you too, Kou-Kou Bean.”

He gives you one of those megawatt grins then, the kind that always leaves your heart speeding up from a beautifully tumultuous mixture of overflowing happiness and boundless love and all things good and wholesome, and then he’s flopping back down into his previous position and knocking out with a speed that’s equal parts concerning and impressive. Likewise your hands find their way back into his tufted mane, stroking through the locks and rubbing at his scalp until his breaths deepen into soft little snores.

It doesn’t matter that your butt’s gone numb and that he’s drooling on your shirt—you’ll gladly stay like this until the end of time if it means giving him back even a fraction of the love and happiness he brings into your life.

🍃 One Hundredth Kiss

No Words Needed or Eyes on You, Pt. 2 || WC: ~700

Sometimes you can almost swear that Koutaro’s gaze legitimately has a tactile quality to it—how else can you explain the fact that you always, always know when he’s looking at you?

The feel of his gaze varies. Sometimes it’s like a caress against your cheek, a small show of affection when he can’t readily offer it in a more substantial way. Other times it’s like he’s incessantly tapping on your shoulder, an excitable puppy’s bid to get you to acknowledge him. And other times still it’s far less demanding, settling over the whole of you like a comforting weight—a warm embrace that’s usually followed shortly after by the whole of his muscled frame fitting itself snugly against your back.

In the now it’s more like that tapping, if not as insistent, and you find yourself turning around after just a few seconds. Sunshine irises brighten more than what should be possible the moment your eyes meet, though the view is soon eclipsed by their crossing. Before your brain could ever hope to process the motion, your own eyes are mirroring the motion; it’s a kneejerk reaction at this point, a Pavlovian response to a game that you’ve been playing since your earliest days. He pulls another face then, with you making an even weirder one in reply and him trying to top it right after. The pair of you go back and forth like this for a good few minutes before your laughter makes it all but impossible to go on.

You tilt your head back when your giggles finally die out, a contented sigh pushing past your lips as you brush away the tears of mirth that’re still stubbornly clinging to your lashline. When you drop your head back to level you’re not at all surprised to find that your boyfriend’s already watching you. His gaze has softened down into something soft and syrupy sweet and his smile is just as gentle. He extends a hand towards you then in a move fit for a Disney prince, and you’re quick to accept the silent invitation.

He tugs you into his lap, ignoring feeble protests that are more out of habit than any actual concern at this point, and situating you so that he can bury his face into curve of your neck. A deep breath fills his lungs with your scent, though the trailing exhale is more akin to a lovesick sigh.

“Thank you.”

The words are murmured so quietly that had you not been so close you would have missed them entirely. Your replying inquiry is posed just as softly in fear of potentially breaking the fragile atmosphere with something louder.

“For this,” he gives you a purposeful squeeze as he says it, “for being you, for letting me be me.”

Instead of further filling the air you chose instead to set your lips to a sweeter work. The kiss you share is a chaste thing—a physical manifestation of the overwhelming love that you have for this man just as much as it’s a promise, one that you could never fully put into words, but is understood just the same.

I love you, it says, all of you, without conditions or restraint.

And when you feel his smile blooming underneath your lips you know that he not only understands, but reciprocates it a hundred fold.

🍃 Forever Kiss

Eyes on the Future || WC: ~1k

“I think I love you.”

Koutaro seems to realize that this may have not been the best thing to say in nearly the same moment that the words breach the air, if the near comical way his eyes widen is any indication.

“I– sorry, I, um, meant to think that,” he amends, voice sheepish and cheeks reddening as he gives you a half smile.

“If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t,” comes your dry reply. “What do you mean you ‘think’? And why are you only considering the possibility now, when we’ve been together for years? I mean, are you just now realizing it? Or did you not love me before, or–”

You’re sure that this is all just some sort of misunderstanding, a breakdown in communication not just between the pair of you, but between Koutaro’s brain and mouth as well. It’s a common enough occurrence that you really shouldn’t be surprised, but still—what the hell??

He shakes his head hard as he comes to gather you up in his arms, but your mildly panicky confusion has you stiffening under his touch. He makes a pained sound at that before assuring you over and over again that it’s not what you think at all.

“Of course I love you, baby! You know I do! Hell, I loved you before I even really knew what love was, before I even realized that was the reason being around you made my heart race and my head all jumbly. I just–” He stops short then and takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. He does this a few more times before he trusts himself to speak again.

“Okay, so we both know I’m not always the best with words, so please, just… Just let me get it all out and then I’ll explain any super confusing bits afterwards. That okay?” A small smile pulls at his lips when you nod, with the plush of them coming to cuddle themselves against your forehead in a move that almost seems compulsory, like he couldn’t not kiss you in this moment.

“See, it’s stuff like that that just makes me so”—he makes an odd noise then, one that would be indecipherable to most others, but makes perfect sense to you—“yanno? You’re always so patient with me, even when I stop making sense. You get me, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that.” Another kiss follows his words, this one a lingering peck against your mouth that’s clearly meant to further illustrate said appreciation.

“We’ve known each other for a long time now, most of our lives, really, and I’ve spent nearly the whole of that time falling for you in every possible way. First you were my friend, then my best friend, then my crush, and then mine—like mine-mine, and honestly I still don’t know how I got so lucky. I went into that closet fully expecting to have my heart broken, but I got the exact opposite, I got you, and in the time since I’ve found that there’s so many more ways to love you.

“That’s what I was trying to say before. I think I’ve fallen again, maybe for the last time, actually. I, uh– Hm. How do I even say this? Uhh… Give me a sec?”

You nod again from where you’ve buried your face against him in a vain attempt to hide your flustered state. What had started off as a mildly concerning statement has turned into a declaration of a love that runs deeper than you ever dared to hope for, and gods you Are Not Prepared for this. Like at all.

“Okay, so,” he starts after a few long moments, “I love you—like a lot a lot. I know I said that I thought I fell for the last time, but that’s only partly true because I’m still falling. What I feel for you, it doesn’t have a bottom; it’s big and so, so deep, and that so scary to me, not gonna lie, and kinda overwhelming, but like in a good way, if that makes any sense? Am I even making sense anymore?”

Though you nod again, the weight of his gaze begs to be met and so you lift your eyes to meet his and what you find swirling through their golden depths leave you gasping. There’s a universe’s worth of love to be found there—continually expanding to hold the yield of a well whose source is everlasting. You’re not sure what it is he sees in your eyes, but whatever is there is enough to give him the resolve he needs to continue on.

“I want forever with you, babe, no matter what that looks like. Marriage and kids, one or the other, or neither really. I don’t need altars or rings or to stand up and recite age old vows in front of a big group of people—I don’t need any of that so long as I have you.”

“And you do,” you promise. “Always have, and always will.”

He smiles brightly at that before his lips part around that infectious laughter of his. He manages to get a teasing “Oya?” out in between his chuckles only to be met with the word in duplicate, but before he can say it again you’re pressing your lips against his. Giggles lace themselves into the ministration making it more of a meeting of mouths than a true kiss, but neither of you would have it any other way–

Because this is real and it’s true and so very, very you.

You can’t rightly say what the future will hold or what forever truly looks like, but so long as Koutaro Bokuto’s in it—by your side, and hand wrapped firmly around your own—it’s one worth running towards with arms spread wide and heart laid bare.

Taglist ((open to 18+ users only)): @scarlettriot​ ((giving you a tag since I know you were waiting for this one to drop lol))

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

Love Potion

Request: What about a Draco imagine where she is dared to put a love potion in his drink by ron hermione and harry. And he ends up drinking it?

A/N: Here’s your request! I hope you like it! I’ve made some slight changes, but I hope you like it regardless. I’ve made the effects of the love potion a lot gentler than what would be experienced; I’ve tried to make it look like Draco has a great love for the reader that he doesn't mind showing, but not in a way that would bring any cause for worry.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: love potion

Word count: 2.7k

She was going to hell; she was sure of it. If she wasn’t going to hell, she was going to be tormented by this for months.  

The love potion sits heavy in her pocket as she walks into the Great Hall for breakfast. Spying her friends at the Gryffindor table, she heads towards them.

Hermione spots her first, “Morning, (Y/N). Did you sleep well?”

She frowns at her, “Not particularly.”

Ron finishes the food in his mouth before he asks, “Do you have it then?”

“Yes, but I really hate this idea.”

“It’s a dare, (Y/N). You should have picked truth.” Harry states as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“If I had chosen truth, you would have asked if I had a crush on anyone and I am not ready to release that information yet.”

Harry rolls his eyes, smiling at her, “We all know you have a crush. We just don’t know who on.”

“Exactly, and you won’t ever know. That’s the exact reason why I picked dare. I just didn’t think you would dare me to essentially drug Malfoy.”

“What are you so worried about?” Ron asks, grabbing a piece of buttered toast from the centre of the table.

“You’ve dared me to drug Malfoy. He isn’t exactly the happiest bunny, is he? If he finds out I did this, he’s going to make my life hell. More so than he already does. I can take being called names but who knows what he’ll escalate to after this.” She drops her head into her hands, regretting the day she was ever born.

Hermione casts a worried glance over her, “She’s right. Who knows what the reaction to this will be? It might not be the smartest idea.”

Ron starts to splutter indignantly, “You were up for this last night!”

Hermione nods, “And now I’m saying it’s a bad idea. (Y/N), if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

Ron sighs, “If you don’t do this, you forfeit, and you have to tell us your crush. I can already guarantee you that I’ll be making fun of you. This is a chance for you to get some revenge on him though, for everything he’s called you.”

She sighs, weighing up her choices. Malfoy hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to make her life difficult but her friendship with the ‘Golden Trio’ meant that she would be in the firing line of any rudeness sent their way.

“I don’t even know how I’m going to slip him the potion.”

“Drop it in his drink?” Ron suggests, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I thought of that Ronald! But how do I get close enough to him to put it in his drink?”

Ron is silent for a moment before shrugging, “Now that is the question.”

She groans, letting her head fall back onto the table. Harry begins to laugh but is quickly stopped by a swift kick to the ankle from Hermione.

“That’s it!” She announces, slapping her hands onto the table, “I’m going to do it.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione watch her walk away.

“This has the potential to backfire horribly,” Harry murmurs; Hermione hums in agreement.

She has reached the Slytherin table now; silently thanking every god and deity that Draco is sat somewhat apart from his friends as he eats his breakfast.

“Draco?” She asks, quietly.

“(Y/L/N)? Can I help you?”

“I’m really sorry to do this, but could I borrow your notes from Potions yesterday? I zoned out and I think I missed an important part of the class.”

“Why can’t you ask your friends? I’m sure Granger has her own notes.”

“Please, Draco. We both know that yours are the best in the class.”

He smirks at her answer, but nevertheless, he turns to his bag and starts looking for the notes.

As he’s distracted, she takes her chance. Unscrewing the top to the love potion and pouring it into his pumpkin juice. She whispers an apology as she hides the empty bottle in the pocket of her robes.

Draco turns back to her, the aforementioned notes in his hand. He stands as he hands them to her.

“(Y/L/N)?”

“Draco?”

“Why are your friends watching us like that?”

She turns to the Gryffindor table to see Harry, Ron and Hermione watching her and Draco with wide eyes and open mouths. They’re sat there in disbelief that she actually carried out the dare; the pit of guilt in her stomach grows deeper.

She takes the notes from him, “I’m not sure. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor talking amicably is bound to get some people talking though,” She teases slightly, “Thank you for your notes, Draco. Really.”

He takes a drink of his pumpkin juice before he replies, “It’s fine. Just bring them back to me before our next lesson with Snape.”

She nods as she turns away. The guilt pooling in her stomach as she heads back to the Gryffindor table so she can grab her bag and head to her first lesson.

She was screwed.

----

An arm being wrapped around her shoulders set off the first alarms in her head. Looking up to the owner of said arm, she was only slightly surprised to see Draco.

“Can I help you, Draco?”

“I wanted to walk you to class.”

“We don’t have the same class first period.”

He shrugs, “And? I’m still going to walk you to class.”

It isn’t a long walk to her first class. She spies Harry, Ron and Hermione waiting outside the classroom waiting for her.

She pauses, turning to the boy whose arm is wrapped around her shoulders, “Thank you for walking me to class, Draco. You didn’t have to.”

He looks down at her, smiling softly, “I didn’t have to. I wanted to. Join me for lunch?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you for lunch.”

“Enjoy your lesson.” Draco murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her cheek before leaving for his class.

She looks towards Hermione in shock; (Y/N)’s hand rising to touch the place where Draco’s lips had been but a moment ago.

Hermione looks just as shocked as she does but understanding soon sweeps over the brunette’s face.

“What? What is it?”

“The love potion you gave Draco has made Draco fall in love with you, (Y/N).”

------

The morning goes by swiftly, and (Y/N) soon finds that the lunch hour is soon upon her. Leaving the classroom, she is surprised to see Draco waiting for her. His presence doesn’t fail to bring attention to the pair; her classmates all have their eyes on her as she walks up to the blonde-haired boy.

“Ready for lunch?” She asks, giving him an out in case the love potion has worn off early.

His arms sneaks around her waist and he pulls her in for a long hug; one that she happily returns. “I missed you,” he whispers.

“You did?” She murmurs into his shoulder.

“Yeah, I missed you a whole lot. Come on, let’s go to lunch.” He says, pulling away from the embrace but keeping a tight hold on her hand.

Truthfully, she was happy to let Draco hold her hand all day long. She had never shied away from her feelings for the Slytherin Prince but kept them to herself because it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

On their entrance to the Great Hall, she felt as if all eyes were on her or rather their entwined hands.

Draco leads her to the Slytherin table, purposely choosing a spot away from his friends. She sits down next to him where he lets go of her hand, but quickly places it on her knee; using his only free hand to put food on his plate.

The feeling of his hand on her knee almost has her confessing to her crimes then and there. She likes it too much.

They eat in relative silence; small bits of conversation is the only silence. Draco asks her about her morning; whether she was enjoying her classes, how her exam revision was going. He did this all the while looking at her as if she was the only girl in the world for him. The intensity of his gaze had her ducking her head, pushing her food around on her plate.

“You make me really happy.” He states.

“I do?”

“Yes, you make me very happy, (Y/N).” That’s all he says as he returns to his lunch.

(Y/N) pushes her plate away, telling Draco she’s full when he looks at her in concern. She doesn’t elaborate that she’s becoming consumed with the guilt from this morning, but also becoming consumed by her feelings for him.

------

It wasn’t real. The effects of the love potion on Draco wasn’t real; his love for her was not real. He would never have feelings for her; the chances of any feelings for her would be most certainly lessened the minute the love potion wears off from him.

As the day continues, she has to remind herself of this too many times to count.

------

It was a long day.

She takes it upon herself to take Draco to the Slytherin common room where the final effects of the love potion can wear off in peace. On the way to the common room, Draco had wrapped an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss to the top of her head as if they were in a relationship and the affection was not the result of the love potion currently running through his system.

She felt her heart start to break at this. Her feelings for Draco has so far gone unnoticed by Harry, Ron and Hermione. As well as by Draco himself. She would not let herself break from this; she would suffer the consequences of the love potion in private – where she could be alone with her guilt and her thoughts.

Entering the Slytherin common room, she and Draco take a seat on the couch in front of the roaring fire. He toes off his shoes, instantly making himself at home. She perches on the edge of the couch; feeling as if she has just infiltrated enemy territory.

“(Y/N)? I need to tell you a secret.”

“I think you’ve done enough of that today, Draco. .”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, “I don’t understand what you’ve just said, but here it is.”

Draco becomes silent, as if dragging out the suspense for the confession.

“Draco! Just tell me.”

His shoulders start to shake, and she starts to worry thinking he’s started to cry. It doesn’t take her long to realise that Draco is actually laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s my secret. Are you ready?”

She nods, poised for whatever he has to say.

“I faked the effects of the love potion.”

“You knew I put a love potion in your drink!? Why didn’t you say anything?” She shouts, grabbing a cushion to throw at him.

He catches the cushion easily. “I wanted to see how long it would take you to crack. Turns out the whole day.”

“How? I saw you take a drink!”

Draco grins, “Sleight of hand. After I saw you put the potion in my drink, I distracted you long enough to switch the drinks.

Her face falls into her hands, “Oh my god. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

Draco pulls her hands away from her face, “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t! I am so glad you didn’t drink the potion; I’ve felt awful about it all day. I am so so sorry, Draco. Nobody deserves that! Please forgive me.”

He squeezes her hands, “You’re forgiven. It’s not like I haven’t taken my revenge by embarrassing you all day.”

She pulls her hands away from his, running them through her hair. “You faked the love potion? Why?”

“A number of reasons.”

“And they are?” She prompts.

“Well, for starters, I knew that if it didn’t work, you’d never hear the end of it from your friends.”

She nods; this much was true. They would never let her live it down. “Okay, what about the rest?”

He mumbles something so quietly that she has to strain her ears to catch any part of what he says.

“Draco, I didn’t hear you.”

A blush stains his cheeks and he doesn’t look you in the eye as he says, “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“You what?”

“I wanted to spend time with you.” He states.

Her eyes widen as she looks at him incredulously, “Why? Why did want to spend time with me?”

The blush is back in his cheeks as whispers, “I like you.”

If her eyebrows could go any higher then they would be in her hair. Draco doesn’t miss this.

“What? Would it be so bad if I did?”

“Of course not, Draco. I just don’t understand.”

“I know. I’ve been awful to you in the past, and you can’t know how sorry I am. But I do, I like you. I faked the effects of the love potion so I could be near you.”

“Oh, Draco.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you. Do you want to know why I was dared to put the love potion in your drink?”

“An explanation would be nice.”

“I had to choose in a game of truth or dare. I chose dare because if I chose truth, Harry, Ron and Hermione would pressure me to confess who I have a crush on and I wasn’t ready to say anything.”

Draco is quiet for a minute, letting her words sink in. She lets her gaze shift from Draco’s face to watching the fire currently warming the Slytherin common room.

“Who do you have a crush on?” Draco eventually asks.

She continues to watch the fire; not knowing what to say but also scared to look him in the eyes and confess. Her heartbeat races; her pulse sounds in her ears.

“Who do you have a crush on, (Y/N)?” Draco repeats.

She fiddles with her fingers, whispering, “I don’t know what to say…”

“You almost drugged me today. I think the least you owe me is the name of your crush.”

She opens her mouth; an apology ready on her lips, but when she sees the smile on his face, she realises that he’s trying to make a joke. He’s trying to make light of the situation.

“Draco! I’ve told you how sorry I am.”

“I know. And I’ve accepted your apology.”

She relaxes slightly, smiling at the blonde-haired boy sat next to her. The boy smiles back at her, poking her leg with a socked foot.

“Come on, tell me who you have a crush on. It has to be someone really important for you to choose a dare over a truth.”

She sighs, “I have a crush on you, Draco.”

His smile disappears, “I told you to not pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you, Draco. Not one time through this conversation have I pitied you.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious when I confessed my feelings for you.”

“You really like me?”

A smile breaks out across her face, “I really do.”

“I don’t know if it’s been established but I have a crush on you too.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“I would only fake the effects of love potion for one person, and that person is you.”

She places a hand on her chest, smiling widely, “I’m honoured, Draco.”

He laughs quietly, grabbing her hand from her chest and bringing it up to his lips.

“I’d rather you kiss me properly, Draco.”

He raises a single eyebrow, “Is that so?”

“It is.”

He shifts on the couch, tugging on the hand he’s still holding to pull her closer to him, to press her against him. His hand reaches up to caress her cheek; his nose brushes against hers. She surges forward and presses her lips to his; Draco is shocked only for a moment before he kisses her back.

When they start to run out of air, they pull away.

“I’m glad you accepted the dare.” Draco whispers, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

She grins, kissing his quickly before whispering back, “So am I.”

solace — obi-wan kenobi

summary  :  after the death of satine kryze, obi-wan kenobi returns from mandalore to the jedi temple.

warning(s)  :  character death, it's pretty fluffy with some angst.

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader, mentions of obi-wan kenobi x satine kryze

notes   :  this is my first fic on tumblr like,, ever. i hope you enjoy lmao 🧍🏻‍♀️. oh also it’s written in all lowercase intentionally!

       though you didn’t know much about their relationship, you knew from a very young age that obi-wan kenobi loved satine kryze. the jedi and the duchess were destined to live their lives apart, honor bound to serve the people before themselves, whether it be the citizens of mandalore or the jedi order. you had seen them interact firsthand, the endless bickering and shrewd glances at one another making up a feeble attempt to cover up how they truly felt. you hated the way your stomach twisted and your heartbeat quickened when you saw how he looked at her, overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions a jedi were barred from feeling. he drowned in her touch, however subtle that might be, her hand on his face leaving him with burn marks, his fingers on fire as he grasped her wrist.        you stood idly by, hopeless in the shadows, because that was what the force had destined for you. you, like obi-wan, had duties as a jedi, duties that you would put over your own well being and selfish desires, even if that meant spending hours watching obi-wan languish in the realization that life would never allow him to be happy. he’d lost his master at an age where, although he was not terribly young, he was still vulnerable to the world and its brutalities.

       life had not been kind to obi-wan kenobi. he was old when he started training, feeling the need to work twice as hard as his fellow initiates, just for him to be remembered and not cast aside. he was constantly battling his darkest fear, that he was never good enough for his master and he would one day be considered unmemorable or unworthy.        life was still cruel to obi-wan kenobi. he felt the cold, bony fingers of satine kryze cradle his face, leaning into her touch before she fell back limply, dark blood staining her abdomen. around him, maul laughed, as vengeance had finally been served. all those years the scarlet skinned zabrak had spent wasting away, he only had one thought: kenobi. it was a mantra that kept him going, a fire that fueled him, that drove him so far to the point of madness that the only thought echoing in his mind was exacting his revenge on the man who had caused him so much misery, obi-wan kenobi.        with some much needed help, obi-wan had escaped his jail cell on mandalore, but maul had won, for now he was trapped eternally in a prison of his own mind. if he closed his eyes, he could still see satine in all her beauty. the soft, pale buttercup locks of hair were strewn messily across satine’s face, framing her pointed features that highlighted her regality. her eyes, normally a stunning, brilliant blue, were now overshadowed with heavy purple circles underneath, fluttering once, before lying still. obi-wan could still feel the ice of her touch on his auburn beard, could still hear the hoarse whispers of her final, dying breath in his ears. worst of all, he could still sense through the force as her life signature died out, like a warm sun casting its final rays before leaving a planet in darkness.        he had loved her, and she had loved him.        though light years away, separated by many planets and suns and stars, you could sense his anguish. it was overpowering, tainted by the dark side; this was the closest obi-wan had been tempted to stray away from the light. still, he clung on to the light, clung on to the idea that there was still good in the world, despite every curve thrown in his way.        the night ahead of you, should obi-wan not return before then, would be sleepless, as worry for the man ate at your insides, and you were helpless to resist as it consumed you. you were, for lack of a better word, attached to him, and he you, and that was the most dangerous thing a jedi could be. the very idea of caring for one being over another was discouraged, but no one prepared you for how hard it would be to follow a code you lived by.        at last, you sensed his presence here in the temple. throwing on a beige cloak, you quietly shut the door of your sleeping quarters to greet him. it was late enough in the evening for the temple hallways to be barren, but not too absurdly late for you to be awake, as the bright yellow hues of the coruscanti sunset dimmed and made their final goodbye through the transparisteel.        “obi-wan,” the breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his. he resembled a shell of who he once was, clad in red mandalorian armor that oddly suited him. his russet hair was disheveled, dirtied by dust and sweat, shoulders sagging as his arms lay limply at his side. his ocean eyes were swimming with sorrow and grief, mourning the loss of someone — it didn’t take much to put the pieces together. satine kryze. he had gone to rescue her, and returned alone.        “y/n,” his voice is like a melody in your ears, though his tone is solemn and tired. they stood close enough for it to be amicable, but far enough for it to be agonizingly respectable. neither of you made any movement to get closer, knowing the probability of someone stumbling upon them was far too likely.        “what happened?” you bit your lip, studying his face. his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, his fair skin littered with dirt and battered with cuts and bruises.        “maul,” came the short response. “he… i must report to the council.” waves of alarm began radiating off of him, as if he had just remembered something important.        “master yoda and master windu are both away,” you sucked in your breath. “you should speak to them tomorrow.” all he could muster was a nod of his head, and you knew then that he would only talk about it in time. silently, mannerisms mirroring one another, you began walking, your pace slow and your shoulders brushing just slightly every few steps. there wasn’t much to be said; obi-wan was silent for most of the short trek back to the jedi sleeping quarters.        “will you be alright?” you stopped in your tracks, pausing in front of his quarters.        a faint smile crept onto his face, his lips twitching upwards but his eyes remaining dull. he nodded quickly before turning to enter his quarters. “thank you, darling.”        however persuasive the famed jedi negotiator was in his prime, there was something about the way his voice sounded so tired that made you doubt the truth of his words.        obi-wan’s name was on the tip of your tongue before he disappeared behind the door of his quarters, not allowing you to call after him; he could lie to you once, to save you from needless worry, but he could not do so twice.        without much resistance, you retreated to your own space, the walls and floors scarcely decorated, what little furniture you did possess simple and modest. after a moment, you retired to your sleep couch and allowed your sore muscles a bit of relaxation. sleep did not come to greet you, not even as you spent hours tossing and turning, the normally soft mattress underneath you now lumpy and hard.        with a sigh, you threw the covers over you aside, wincing as you were greeted with the coldness of the floor as your feet touched the ground. you made your way to the hallway, pitch black and coated with a blanket of silence, a dim light seeping through the cracks of the door opposite of yours. obi-wan was still awake. raising your hand to knock on the door, you were surprised as your knuckles were met nothingness, as the door slid open automatically.        obi-wan had not moved since the night began, sitting in his own turmoil. the mandalorian armor had been stripped off of him and was now cluttered in a corner of the room, and it looked as if he had used the refresher — droplets of water still clung to his hair, and his sleeping clothes looked fresh and clean.        “can’t sleep?” you spoke up with a rueful smile, careful to keep your pitch low enough so only he could hear them. the door closed behind you, and then it was just the two of them. he looked up; dark circles of grief and exhaust making him appear older, more fragile. in a hasty, unsure movement, you had crossed the length of the room and settled yourself next to him, the sleep couch dipping slightly under your added weight.        there were so many questions you longed to ask him, like the details of his journey to mandalore, and why he couldn’t even bring himself to say more than a few words at a time. but patience was a jedi’s greatest tool, and you forced yourself to simply sit in silence, the feeling of obi-wan’s grief hanging heavy in the air.        “i lost her.” his voice is hollow, monotone. there is no need to say her name, but it enters your mind anyways. satine.        “i know,” you let out a weary sigh. “i’m so sorry.” without more words, you felt his body shift, feeling the heat coming from his body as he drew closer to you. “you need to rest, love.”        there was no reason for him to protest, but you knew why he had stayed awake for so long. nightmares. they would haunt him for the rest of his life, chasing him mercilessly for as long as he remained asleep. no matter how awful life treated him, obi-wan kenobi never cried, at least not in front of anyone — instead, he allowed himself to rot away, internalizing everything for fear of burdening another being with all of his agony.        tonight would be no different, you suspected, as you felt a weight on your shoulder, as a head full of strawberry blonde hair, still dewy with shower water, rested against your side. it was hesitant at first, as he barely allowed himself to lean on you, but after a moment of his cheek on your shoulder, he collapsed, the full weight of his body and all his worries heavy against your frame. as your arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, your breath was light and tense. this was the closest you’d ever been to him, to anyone, really, the feeling of his skin against her own a foreign concept she’d never dared to explore.        it was the way he smiled. it reminded you of warm summer days, of lazy mornings on naboo surrounded by nothing but fields of flowers soaked in sunlight. he was like the sun, bright and hopeful; steady and dependable.        it was the way he laughed. it reminded you of cozy winter nights, of waking up to a ground littered with snow, the frigid air of the outside making evenings surrounded by a crackling fire intimate and welcoming.        it was the way he looked at you. his gaze reminded you of a chilly autumn breeze, of carefree days and brisk weather that made your skin tingle, your heart feeling light and free, singing to the fallen leaves of the sky.        it was the way he touched you. it reminded you of spring, of new flowers blooming in soft sunlight, of plants budding with new, green life and animals of all shapes and sizes fluttering around with their young. it was the start of something new.        you loved him.        it went against everything you stood for, but you loved him.        and maybe somewhere, buried deep within his soul, he loved you too.        in another lifetime, perhaps you were the right person at the wrong time, or the right person at the right time. but in this timeline, where the jedi code was carved into your bones, where the light side ran through your veins, where your duty came above your being, it was the wrong circumstance.        you had been so deep in thought, woefully wishing a for love from a man who could not do so, that you hadn’t noticed how obi-wan’s breathing slowed, how his eyes, which had once fought to stay open, were now blissfully shut. the man who had been through so much, who had endured so much heartbreak and loss, had finally sought solace in your arms.        your own eyes fought to stay awake, knowing how much trouble you’d be in if anyone caught you both in such a… compromising position. however innocent the intention may be, the council would not see it that way. your last conscious thought was that of i must wake up before sunrise, before you lapsed into a peaceful sleep.

Hello again 💜

This thing got pretty long, plus we are kind of changing the subject here, so I decided to send a new ask. But before we get to that, I'd like to say that I'm so very flattered to know you like this interpretation of mine! Although I would never suggest that this one might be even partly true for original Dreamtale. That would be... Wow. I don't know, every time I get too embarrassed to think about it properly (x

Now to the main subject, which is your little idea ✨ First off, I'd really like to hear more about this, if you don't mind sharing! Here or in DMs, everything's fine by me. And, secondly, I do have my own headcanons on that matter! As I mentioned, I believe both corrupted Nightmare and Shattered Dream's bodies get completely broken after them eating the black apples. The way I see it, that's because the negative energy either twin absorbs is much more than they can take. Imagine this. We have a jar that can contain a litre of water (and a little bit more, as any jar in existence). That first jar is Dream's skeleton body, and that litre of water is Dream himself, a light being of pure positive energy. We also have a jar that can contain a litre of acid (and a little bit more, too). That second jar is Nightmare's skeleton body, and that litre of acid is Nightmare himself, a light being of pure negative energy. Let's stop here and emphasise that acid, though not as welcome everywhere as water, has its own use and is very important, while water, while being vital, can also be extremely dangerous.

When we add a bit of acid to the second jar, it's fine, but when we add so much it could destroy the whole Multiverse, of course it destroys the jar, even though it is supposed to contain this exact acid.

When we add a bit of acid to the first jar, it breaks in a moment, for it was never meant for said acid.

What remains in both cases?

Acid.

End of this huge metaphor. Now let's remember that acid meant negative energy. And that is what I believe to be true: corrupted Nightmare and Shattered Dream's bodies are made of pure negativity and nothing else. Its concentration is just so high it actually can be seen and touched in the physical plane of existence.

So the energy doesn’t need an exit anymore. It is the only thing left. With the remnants of either twin's memories (that's how I explain to myself why corrupted Nightmare doesn't remember himself pre-corruption, only feels the need to take revenge; and doesn't that remind you of what I've already said about his mother before?), but that's another matter. Physically, there is only this searing, all-consuming, absolute negativity.

Okay, now I'm questioning if all of this even makes sense. I mean, it should, but is my choice of words ok?.. Guess I'll have to wait for your reply to know that. So nervous again...

Anyway, I'll be looking forward to hearing your thoughts about this! It will certainly be super interesting!

Hugs,

anfie.

Hi anfie╰(*´︶`*)╯

Thank you for your ask! Indeed, it's better to start it with a clean slate x) And don't you dare underestimate yourself! (òwó) You never know how well-aimed the idea can be ☆

I'm so glad to hear you liked that little idea of mine <3 To be honest, that rhetorical question was the completion of my thought which you successfully developed on your own!

The metaphor with jars is great, and the parallel between Nightmare and Nim does make more sense now ;3; So all thanks to you! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

Though I believe that positive, that is water here, is not weaker than negative, which helps it hold on / mix with the negative, preserving a part of itself anyway ☆

Take care *hugs* ♡

Thenerius - pt 2

word count: 5,675

male tiefling x female reader

Read Part 1 here

AN: whelp i guess this is getting (hopefully just) a third part... good luck to everyone else who’s going through finals week and don’t procrastinate your final projects/tests like i am! literally have a final today to study for and take after my 8 am and a portfolio due friday i haven’t started on lol

You were getting one last bucket-full of water for a much-needed bath from the pump around the back of the barn, too far to hear when the thundering sound of hooves on the dirt path approach the cottage. You also miss the shout of greeting and the sound of voices entering the cottage.

The sun was finally dipping below the horizon on a long day of playing catch-up around the homestead, and your only plans for the evening were to wash up and make dinner before passing out. So, when you finally reentered through the back door soaked in sweat and worn work clothes only to see your mother sitting at the small wooden table with none other than Thenerius, you were understandably shocked.

He was obviously here to kill you, getting revenge for how you humiliated him and refused his advances when he wanted you to accept them the most. You had been brave in that moment, brushed aside the fact that he was a pirate and more likely than not a killer, and now you would be paying the price.

When the tiefling saw you frozen at the doorway, his already bright demeanor seemed to reach the levels of the surface of the sun, blinding then burning when he stood up to greet you enthusiastically. You almost wish he was here to kill you, that fate infinitely better than whatever he actually had planned instead.

Pointedly ignoring him, you addressed your mother only, asking if she took her medicine yet.

“Your friend from work was keeping me company,” your mother smiled, though it was clear that she was drained from the encounter, “He brought your weekly payment from Aedan.”

Your head snapped over to Thenerius, the tiefling having the nerve to grin and hold up a pouch of coins. You were distracted, however, when your mother let out a soft cough she tried in vain to hold back. She broke out into a coughing fit, starting small and growing until they wracked her body.

Your concern grew, helping her to the bedroom and quickly getting some cough syrup into her. Once she was settled, you went back into the main room to deal with the purple menace.

He was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room once you returned, the pouch sitting on the table. You stalk over and grab the pouch, shoving it into the tiefling’s chest.

“You need to leave,” you hiss, beginning to usher Thenerius towards the door.

“Wait!” The bastard had the nerve to dig his heels in, refusing to move until you give up on forcing him.

“What?” You spat, glaring up at him. Perhaps you would have found it amusing, how he had to duck his head to keep his horns from scraping the ceiling, a grizzled pirate trying to make himself fit inside the cozy cottage. No, you definitely would have found it hilarious, if said pirate wasn’t in your cottage unannounced, the location of which you never divulged during working hours, apparently trying to win your affections after your admittedly callous rejection.

“I-” Thenerius hesitated, any confidence he had that carried him all the way to your home dissipating when you weren’t as responsive to his charms as he’d come to expect from you, “I wanted to apologize. You were right, about the proposal. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You blinked, having assumed you’d be given another unwanted love confession. You’re not sure what to make of the admission, though you’re certain it wasn’t a trick, as he seemed genuinely remorseful.

“What part, that we’ve only known each other for three weeks or that it was because you were so lonely and any girl who wagged her tail at you would have had you falling for her?” You’re internally grimacing as soon as the words are out, unable to believe how cold you sound even to yourself. You didn’t want to goad him to anger if he was just here to apologize.

“If my memory serves correctly, I believe the exact phrase you used was ‘bat their eyelashes’ at me.” The attempt at humor didn’t quite reach Thenerius’ eyes, but you still allowed yourself to deflate at the opportunity of a reprieve, “but that it came too soon. I had done it thinking of all the time that had passed since I met you, the time I spent halfway across the world and all I could think about was returning to you. Your smile alone made the entire six month journey worth it, but you gave me so much more in that time - not your love. I know that, now, but… your time, and affection. Once you said  that - that we’d only been in each other’s presence for three weeks - I realized, perhaps I was rushed in my assessment of who you were. I filled the gaps of who I wanted you to be in my head.”

By the end of his faltering speech, you had shut your eyes, screwing them tightly shut in order to avoid having to look into Thenerius’ eyes, the raw emotion that swelled behind them that threatened to consume you with it. You refused to allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, to let yourself fall any deeper in than you already were entrenched from his flowery words. Just words, you told yourself.

“Is that all you needed to say?” You clear your throat, opening your eyes and looking anywhere but him, your resolve thinning with the mere awareness of his gaze upon you, feeling yourself being worn down.

Perhaps ‘worn down’ wasn’t the right verbiage, though it very much felt like it. Dragging you out into the light? Exposing you to be scrutinized, or to be known? What is the difference, if any? Either way, you felt as though Thenerius could read every passing thought darting around your head at lightening speed, projecting loud and clear your true desires no matter what you could say to the contrary.

“No, I want to know you. My feelings haven’t changed since that night, but I want you to feel the same.”

You let out a deep breath you weren’t aware you were holding. The short sentence is so simple, clear in meaning and intent. It’s… infuriating. A wave of something flowed over you in that moment, a realization like a bucket of ice water dousing you. You were shaking, your realized, but not with cold.

“You want to change my mind?” You whisper, cursing yourself for your inability to do much more in this conversation than to parrot his words, “You come to my home - unprompted, in fact, considering our last conversation, entirely unnecessarily - to what, exactly? Prove that I’m some prize to be won over by you? Come see how sorry my life is, see my sick mother and how I work my ass off at the tavern and here and think I’ll jump into your arms with some words? You must know that I wouldn’t go with you. Nor would I sit here waiting for you to return from the sea, hoping you’ll return for a few weeks every year and grace me with your presence and gold.”

You pause for air, realizing with horror that you were crying of all things. You quickly run your hands over your cheeks, glaring at Thenerius in a silent challenge, waiting for him to turn tail and run, “Now go.”

In yet another turn of seemingly endless events that should no longer have surprised you with how consistently they’ve been happening, Thenerius surprised you yet again.

“Well, this is awkward. I may have sent my men back south with my ship. I’m in need of room and board,” Thenerius said, and for the life of you, no matter how closely you examined his expression, you could not figure out what the hell he was thinking.

“Go to The Deep, then. I happen to be of the inside knowledge that there’s plenty of vacancies this time of year,” you said, brushing past the tiefling on your way back to your forgotten bucket of water, ready to escape this suffocating atmosphere.

“I don’t have enough gold for the length of time I’m planning on staying,” he replied.

“This is sounding more and more like your crew left you here and took the ship for themselves,” you deadpan, hefting the bucket up and carefully carrying it back towards the bathroom.

“My crew wouldn’t do that,” Thenerius’ voice suddenly turned serious, “I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t have come here if they had.”

“Well, unlucky me, then,” you grumble, “You’re still not staying here.”

“You’re very sarcastic,” Thenerius noted, and you prayed for his sake that the comment wasn’t a part of his vow to get to know the real you.

You disappear down the hall and into the bathroom, dumping the bucket into the basin. To your great relief, the water was still steaming.

“Wait, your pay!” Thenerius walked in behind you. You could tell the exact moment he realized where he was, quickly averting his eyes from you.

You roll your eyes. As if you would undress for any reason while he was still in the house.

“Please, you may have lied to my mother, but I’m no fool,” you snort, ignoring the outstretched hand to check the water, “Mr. Thistle would never trust a pirate with money, much less tell you where I live.”

“I’ll- come back later,” he says, turning to get out the room.

“No, you’re leaving,” you follow after him.

“Dear, it’s much to too late for him to ride, he can sleep here.” You and Thenerius both jump at your mother’s sudden appearance, both of you having forgotten that you were arguing right in front of the bedroom.

“But-” your protest is cut short when she only shakes her head, and you hope to Tova that she only caught the tail-end of your conversation with Thenerius.

“If you must, you can ride with him tomorrow to ask Aedan to give him a discount. Tomorrow.”

You run your hands down your face, glancing out the nearest window to confirm it was in fact dark out.

“Fine,” you sigh, pointing at Thenerius, “but you’re gone first thing tomorrow!”

Thenerius at least has the decency to not look too excited under your scrutiny, thanking your mother quietly.

“Go wash up, mom, it’s ready,” you inform her, moving away from the doorway so she can slip past.

You consider telling Thenerius to go last in the bath, but you’re covered in dried mud and animal shit and you weren’t going to have his tavern smell stinking up the sofa.

“You’re next,” you tell him, finally noticing how cramped the hallway was with two people in it. You push past him to to sit at the table again.

Thenerius followed you, keen to the fact that he was on thin ice and remained wisely silent as you waited for your mother to finish in the bathroom.

When she exited, dressed in her nightgown and hair wrapped tightly in a towel, you ushered Thenerius in, barely giving him time to grab his bag on the floor next to the chair he’d been sitting in when you first walked in. You enter close behind, going around him to grab a towel for him to use and quickly leaving him to his privacy, letting out the longest exhale of your life once the door shut behind you. You go back to the table and sit, trying not to think about the naked tiefling in your bathtub as you started the fire under the stove.

As soon as Thenerius stepped out of the bathroom with his bag in hand, you rush in, not making eye contact before you slam the door shut behind yourself.

The water is still somewhat lukewarm, and clear enough besides the murkiness from the soap. You think about literally anything else besides the fact that Thenerius had been in the same water just minutes before you, using the bowl to run water over your hair and quickly lathering the bar soap with a clean washcloth. The sooner you get out the better, you think.

It isn’t until you’re out of the bath and looking at your nightclothes that you realize you’re going to have to wear them in front of him, unless you change into clean day clothes just to change into them in the privacy of your bedroom later.

It’s just tonight, you tell yourself, he’ll be gone tomorrow. And why would you have to modify your routine for him? He’s the one intruding. It won’t be a big deal so lang as you act like it isn’t. It’s not like you’ll be prancing around naked. They’re your winter ones, the material made much thicker than the normal cotton.

Properly talked up,  you walk out, pretending not to notice how Thenerius stops mid-sentence in a conversation with your mother to stare at you like the moon herself descended in front of him.

“I’ll have dinner ready soon.” You mumble, not stopping until you were safely in the kitchen.

You take the last eight eggs and crack them onto the iron skillet sitting on the stove, immediately sizzling before you take a flat spoon to scramble and scrape them into three plates. You then add leftover cuts from a chicken you culled from your flock a week ago to the skillet to cook, already seasoned. Then, you took the stack of unleavened bread your mother made during the day while you worked before putting them on another flat slab of iron on the stove to warm them.

Once you had a sizable enough stack for three people, you wrapped the resulting unleavened bread in cloth and balanced the three plates in your arms and carried everything back into the dining area.

You had heard Thenerius and your mother sharing a hushed conversation through the walls, but weren’t able to make out any specifics. However, when thy both immediate hushed up once you entered, it was clear who the topic of their chat was.

You set down the plates, frowning once you realized you’d have to sit next to Thenerius, as it was only a four-person table and they were already sitting at opposite ends. Once you were seated, however, the dinner conversation was thankfully limited as everyone focused on their plates.

Then it was time for your mother to take her tablets, you watching carefully as she downed them with a cup of water.  She retired to the bedroom shortly after, and though she tried to make it seem as though she was solely doing it to give you and Thenerius some privacy, it was obvious she was drained of all energy as she slowly shuffled down the hall.

You ignore Thenerius and grab the plates, taking them to the kitchen to dump the scraps in the bin and be washed. Thenerius’ plate is practically clean already, but your mother’s is concerningly hardly touched at all.

Dunking the emptied plates plates in the half-full sink, you scrub vigorously. Just as you are about to place the first one on the rack to dry, however, Thenerius takes it from you and dries it with the dishtowel.

You decide to say nothing, simply handing him the next plate once he placed the previous one on the rack.

You bring Thenerius a stack of blankets, dumping them on the cot next to where he sat for him to assemble himself.

Just as you turn to leave, a hand falls on your shoulder and you immediately stiffen. It quickly retracts.

“I don’t need this many,” Thenerius says quietly, looking dejected when you look over your shoulder at him as he tries to hand you a few of the blankets back.

“You do,” you inform him, “we’re at a higher altitude. It’s going to get colder.”

Thenerius places them back on the pile, his mouth opening and then closing. You wait. Finally, he clears his throat, “Thank you, for dinner. And for letting me stay here.”

“Thank my mom,” you reply, “and don’t get used to it. I was serious when I said you’re gone tomorrow.”

After a moment, Thenerius smiles, small but hopeful, “not first thing?”

“You have to pay for the meal and bed,” you huff, turning back around and going into the bedroom, careful to be quiet as you cross the cottage so as to not wake your mother.

You make sure the door is shut securely, and for good measure, you stick a piece of paper in the gap between the top of the door and the frame. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep with the knowledge of a stranger sleeping in the next room, but almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, you’re waking to the sound of the rooster crowing the next morning.

You sit up abruptly, your mother still asleep next to you. You swing your legs over the edge of the mattress and scurry to the door, the paper still in the same spot you placed it when you take it back down.

You open the door quietly and slip out, glancing around the corner at the end of the hall to the cot. On the side closest to you, the stack of blankets are folded neatly, Thenerius’ pack leaning against one of the cot’s legs.

Your eyebrows furrow, going back to make sure the bathroom was empty before checking the kitchen, seeing neither hide nor hair of Thenerius in the cottage. Before you go search outside for the tiefling, you decide to at least get the stove going to warm up the cottage. As you stand in the kitchen looking for the box of matches, you realize you can hear the familiar, rhythmic thumping of an axe hitting wood.

Glancing out the window, you see Thenerius at an old stump splitting firewood a few yards away, his coat off and hanging from a tree branch. He stops to brush his hair back, careful to avoid his horns, before continuing.

Against your better judgement, you study him from the safety of the indoors. The last time you’d seen him, it had been shaved close. He apparently grew it out since then, dark waves forming curls around the nape of his neck that you’d noticed when he first arrived at the deep and now was sticking to his scalp with sweat.

As the sun broke over the horizon and illuminated the clearing, you could see how Thenerius’ back muscles flexed under the fabric of his shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms. Obviously, as a pirate, he would have to be at least somewhat fit. Hell, you’d felt them whenever he would insist you touch his arm while he flexed or would pull you into his lap.

But none of that quite prepared you for how he would look without the barrier of his coat, how he likely looked working out at sea.

You force your eyes back to the task at hand before they can venture downwards, finally finding the matches and lighting one with shaking hands before lighting the scrap of paper and tossing both into the stove.

Shutting the door and opening the grate, you return to the bedroom to change into your day clothes.

You immediately regret stepping outside as soon as you do, the light of the sun doing little to warm the icy air rushing inside your lungs and burning against your skin. Still, you are determined as you march around the cottage to where Thenerius continues to split the pieces of wood, though the pile of wood that took you months to chop down and cut into sections was now nearly gone and a neat stack of his split pieces had taken its place.

“I noticed you were running low,” Thenerius calls out as you approach, smiling as your eyes met his.

“It’s fine,” you huff, Thenerius’ smile brightening as though you just extended him the best praise of his life.

Annoyance bubbled in your stomach. Did he think he was cute? Acting like a love-struck teen and not a Tova-damned pirate? Or did he think you would be tricked by the illusion he put forth if he played pretend enough?

“Hurry up and finish that. There’s more work to do before breakfast,” you mutter, turning towards the barn as he would no doubt be crestfallen as you continue, “Then we’re going to The Deep.”

You go back to the kitchen briefly to grab the scrap bin before going to the chicken coop, making sure to latch the screen door behind you. You drop the scraps at the center of the enclosure, the chickens running over each other in a clucking mass of feathers and beating wings in their attempt to get at the food first. A few even manage to steal a few morsels before the more dominant ones chase them off.

Once the nesting area was empty, you went over and started collecting eggs in the same bin. Only six today, and you cooked the last of them in storage for dinner the night before. You worry your bottom lip, looking at the flock.

There were five hens and the rooster. You had been planning to let them breed in the spring to bring their numbers up, but that was still a long ways away.

You glanced over at the goats, currently in the pasture with the horses. You had two bucks and eight does. You had sold off the kids of four of the does, leaving you with five kids, three males. There was still the cured meat you got from the storehouse the other day, so you wouldn’t have to do anything drastic for food just yet, but it wouldn’t last soon at your current rate.

You had been planning on buying rabbits to raise for meat and fur, but you hadn’t been able to find the time to finish the winter hutch that was still partially completed in the barn.

Then you thought about everything else you had to do soon - castrate the three kids, patch the barn roof, harvest the second pasture’s grass and dry it for hay… and it seemed like every day you found something that needed repairing or replacing.

But… if Thenerius does plan on staying, you just may be able to keep everything afloat for the time being. With him there to collect the eggs and milk the goats while you worked shifts at the deep, then- appalled that you were planning ahead as though you would allow Thenerius to stay for months on end with you. No, you survived the last winter without any help, you could do the same this year.

Letting out a sigh, you dropped the eggs off in the kitchen before going back to the barn to wrap the horses snugly in blankets and let them out to graze in the pasture connected to the barn.

By that point, Thenerius comes to find you. You were admittedly surprised he’d finished that quickly, soaked with sweat and breathing heavily as he told you he was finished. You had even gone to check, not quite able to believe he’d gone through the entire wood pile that fast, or at least correctly. He looked proud when you peer up at him, but you refuse to praise him, directing him instead to the pasture while you grab two pails from the barn.

After showing him how to milk the does, you quickly fill about two pail's worth of milk between you from the four kidless does.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you set about making breakfast.

After taking the milk to the small pasteurizer in the barn, you and Thenerius returned to the cottage, your mother already up and standing by the stove.

You waste no time getting breakfast ready, making the six eggs you collected and take out the smoked meat. You make up two plates, setting them down in front of the two.

“I’ll be back soon,” you tell your mother, gripping her shoulder for a moment, “Don’t forget to take your medicine.”

“I’ve been taking it for three years, I don’t need you reminding all the time, you know,” your mother huffed, but she still pressed a kiss to the top of your head and waving you off.

“You aren’t going to eat?” Thenerius asked, thankfully swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

“I ate a couple boiled eggs while I cooked,” you reply, “clean the dishes after you’re done. We’ll go to The Deep afterwards.”

Grabbing your purse and heading to the barn, you click your tongue at the door leading out to the pasture, grabbing his saddle as your horse neighs loudly and nearly trampling over Thenerius’ horse in his attempt to get to you.

Any attempts on your part to name the capricious animal had been in vain, as he only ever responded to the sound of a clicking tongue, what your mother called him over to eat. It explained why he was fatter than a pregnant mare when you got here, unridden and getting fat on the lush pasture to himself and the treats.

Horse, as you’d taken to referring to him in your head, shoved his face into your hands, sticking your entire hand into his mouth in search of treats. You fish out a peeled hard-boiled egg from your pocket, the treat disappearing from your hand before you can even unfurl your fingers, Horse chewing it down quickly. Thenerius’ horse ventures over once she realizes you have food, and you have to press an open palm against Horse’s face to keep him from snatching the second egg you pull out before she can gently take it from you.

“Are those the eggs you ‘ate’?” You jump as Thenerius suddenly appears next to you, and you glare at him for sneaking up at you.

“I need to bribe him to come over and let me saddle him,” you said, neither confirming or denying the tiefling’s accusation, “he’ll be angry the entire ride otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Thenerius presses, his eyes never leaving you as you unpin Horse’s blanket and refold it, throwing it over his back before securing his saddle on top.

“There wasn’t enough,” you shrug, climbing onto Horse’s back and pressing your legs momentarily into his side to get him to start walking.

You’re almost to the main road when you hear Thenerius pull up beside you.

“You should have taken mine,” he says after a moment.

You sigh. Clearly, wanting a nice, quiet stroll into town was too much to ask for, “Our horse is fine. He needs the exercise, anyways.”

“Not the horse, the food,” Thenerius said, actually sounding irate with you, “if there wasn’t enough you should have eaten mine.”

You bite back a laugh. You’ve heard Thenerius actually angry before, yelling at his crew members when one shoved another into a table in the tavern and broke it.

He’d been absolutely furious then, scaring even you with how his red eyes burned like hot coals, his face darkening to what you assumed to be an unhealthy purple-blue color as he nearly came to blows with the offenders. That feared pirate captain now reprimanded you like a child.

“Please, it’s one meal,” you snort, “I had plenty while I was working.”

“You shouldn’t skip meals,” he insisted, drawing close to your side to look down at you sternly, “You’re going to still be working the rest of the day after this, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and snap your reins, Horse speeding up to a canter and leaving Thenerius behind. The journey was familiar to you both, and you don’t even need to provide the horse with direction as he follows the twists and turns of the winding path with a sure foot.

You just want to hurry and reach The Deep, collect your pay, dump Thenerius on them and then go to Alfore to meet with the doctor about your mother.

You reach The Deep before Thenerius, tying Horse to a post outside the stables and making a beeline inside with barely contained excitement.

When you enter the tavern, Lenora is the only one in. Her welcoming smile quickly shrinks into a sheepish one once she sees you, however, turning on one heel to head straight towards the inn portion of the building.

Your eyes narrow, making a detour from Mr. Thistle’s office to go after her. You had an inkling as to what that was all about, and you couldn’t help but need to confirm it.

Your hand falls onto her shoulder and grips it tight, yanking her back just before she can abscond up the steps.

“Where are you going?” You ask, putting on a pleasant smile for the few patrons at the bar as you steer her down the hall to the privacy of the storage room, once an office.

“Please don’t kill me - he tricked me into telling!” Lenora begged for mercy immediate, clasping both hands in front of her.

“I highly doubt that,” you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow and waiting for her to try again.

Lenora had always been something of a romantic, constantly falling for one sweet gesture after another and declaring someone her ‘soulmate’ every few months. If she caught wind of Thenerius’ proposal, of course she’d think it was fine to play matchmaker. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to make her sweat to teach her a lesson.

“Ok, but my intentions were good!” She pleaded, shaking your arm, “I mean, he obviously loves you, so I thought if he saw how you were living, you could get him to give you enough money for your mom!”

Your eyes widen, anger draining from your face and replaced with hurt, “so you told a stranger where I live, where my mother lives, so I could get him to feel sorry for me and bankroll my expenses? What else would I do, hm? Let him sleep with me for an allowance?”

Lenora realized her mistake too late, unable to backtrack as you spun around and left the room. You walk straight past Mr. Thistle’s office, too distraught to think about what you came here to do.

You untie Horse and quickly mount him, spurring him to go forward.

“Please don’t be angry! I didn’t mean you would do anything like that, I just wanted to help you-” you snap the reins twice to get Horse to a gallop.

“Are you okay?” You think Thenerius calls out, but you pay him no time as you race past, reaching the main road in no time and heading down the straight path to Alfore.

Your breathing is erratic as you try to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. Perhaps in the past, you would have acted out in anger, lashed out at Lenora for the insult implied.

Now, however, you’re just tired. Worn out from two years of being back in this shithole, struggling to make ends meet, doing whatever you could. And because of that, your own coworker - someone you thought of as a friend, even - believed you to be so unscrupulous in your need for money that you’d take advantage of someone’s emotions for your own ends.

The worst part is, you were tempted. Tempted to step back. Tempted to let someone else take the reins. Tempted to use Thenerius’ misguided feelings for you to your advantage.

Had this what you’d been reduced to, from academic work to flirting shamelessly with customers to line your pockets? Do things your mother never did even when she was doing the same job, running the homestead, and saving money for you to move to the capital for your schooling?

So, at the end of your rapid-fire cycling through the stages of grief, you have no desire to fight Lenora over her true thoughts about you, nor do you wish to turn on Thenerius for the way he’s crashed into your life. You don’t qualify every action you ever did out of necessity or lay bare the fact that you were actually embarrassed by them. You don’t try to separate yourself from your choices by bringing up your past life or hard work. You simply loathe yourself for it.

Without your constant commands, Horse slows to a trot. You allow it, not wanting him to get hurt because of you. However, you soon regret your decision as you hear hooves charging up to you from behind.

You pull over to the side of the road, praying that whoever it was just passed you by. Of course, you had no such luck, the other horse slowing down next to you and Thenerius looking down at you with a concerned expression.

You say nothing and you don’t bother trying to outrun him, resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t be shaking him anytime soon.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he said once it was clear you weren’t speaking, drawing your sulking expression to point directly at him, “I pressured her to tell me where to find you.”

“Why are you still here?” You ask instead, exasperated and unwilling to have a conversation with him of all people about what happened between you and Lenora.

“I told you, my feelings for you haven’t changed,” Thenerius said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Even if I allow you to stay, it would only be to use you,” you argue, “you could work for months and waste your time if I never change my mind. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“No,” he replied, a warm smile adorning his face as he looked at you, “because you said if.”

You blink dumbly as he spurs his horse forward, leaving you to catch up.

part 3

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

Arousal

3.5k Words, Romantic LAMP

Description: Roman, Patton, and Logan are a bit nervous to ask Virgil to take the next step in their relationship. Virgil reminds them that fear is *not* his only function. (AKA the Virgil Is Horny and Great In Bed fic no one asked for)

AO3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT I MEAN IT

Virgil knew something was up as soon as all three of his boyfriends hovered at his open doorway uncertainly, like they were expecting to have time after they knocked. He glanced up from his journaling, arching a brow and setting his book to the side, “Hey guys, what’s up?”

 Logan and Patton both gave Roman a not-at-all-subtle look and he glared back for a moment before seeming to resign himself to speaking first, “Ok, we want to start this off by saying how much we love you, and how this conversation will have no impact on how relationship functions now if you do not wish so.”

 “Well that’s not alarming at all,” Virgil snarked, smirking a bit when Roman spluttered and the other two’s eyes widened before he remembered they were freaked out and sobered up, “Ok, spit it out, what’s got you all so anxious before you even get fully in my room? You trying to steal my bit? Or-or are you guys really not cool with how things are going?”

 Logan gave Patton a sharp look at the hint of a tremble in Virgil’s voice, but it was too late, and Patton’s resolve to keep to their plan had clearly broken, “Wewanttobeabletohavesexwithyoulikewedowitheachother.”

 All three of his visitors went bright red, and Virgil said, “Come again?” at the exact same time Roman groaned dramatically and Logan screeched, “That was not what we rehearsed!”

 Virgil blinked up at them, still unable to follow, “Guys, one at a time, and slowly, what’s going on?”

 “Virgil,” Logan started, with a quick quieting hand to the other two, “We all love you, and each other, very much, as you are well aware. I am sure you are also aware that we, ahem, engage in sexual relations among each other as a way to express that love.” Virgil could see where this was going now and couldn’t resist a little bit of a grin to himself, which the others clearly didn’t notice as they were steadfastly avoiding eye contact and practically radiating nerves, “We would…. Very, very much like to be able to include you in those expressions of love, if you would have us. Though, of course, if you would prefer our relationship continue at the current-” Virgil cut him off there, unable to let him stay nervous any longer than he needed to be.

 “-While I appreciate the concern, I really do, I love you all for how much thought clearly went into this - well, um, I was sort of waiting for you,” Virgil said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Roman looked at Patton who looked at Logan who looked back to Virgil, then gave a bit of a start as he realized that the shadow under his eyes was beginning to turn a dark and shimmering purple. Virgil watched their expressions and couldn’t help but laugh a bit, “You all know I handle adrenaline right? And do you know what else aside from excitement and anxiety makes adrenaline heighten…?” He could see the moment the realization dawned in Logan’s eyes, then the moment those same eyes darkened and he didn’t hesitate to grab onto his tie and his hip, guiding him down onto his lap and into a deep kiss.

 Logan’s hands flailed a bit at his sides before coming to rest in Virgil’s hair and clinging on for dear life, lips parting on a whimper into Virgil’s mouth that made him chuckle as he pulled away slightly before giving a smug smirk to Patton and Roman behind them.

 “Caught up yet?” Virgil asked smugly, quirking a brow, and Logan slumped off his lap to curl into his side and blinked up at them blearily.

 “I think I get the gist,” Roman replied, then straddled Virgil quickly and pushed him back onto the bed before claiming his own kiss hungrily, passion belied by how tenderly he still held Virgil’s cheeks and the careful way he made sure to distribute his weight so he wouldn’t be crushing him.

 “Save some for me,” Patton announced brightly, tapping Roman on the shoulder like he was trying to sub in, “Come on, Ro, besides you love getting Logan out of his tie.”

 “Bribery and extortion,” Roman grumbled playfully, but still very much enthusiastically pushing up off of Virgil with one last nip to his bottom lip and crawling over to a very indignant Logan to draw him in for a kiss of his own before he could voice whatever sarcastic remark he clearly had prepared. Virgil noted hungrily that they moved together like a well-practiced dance, Roman’s hands deftly unknotting Logan’s tie with one hand while the other tilted his head to deepen the kiss even further and draw a moan out from the back of Logan’s throat.

 “Pretty, aren’t they?” Patton asked, sounding like he was commenting on a nice picture of the two of them and not them panting desperately into each others’ mouths.

 Virgil turned to Patton next, and oh, damn, his shirt was already off. Well, if that’s how he wanted to play it.... He hurried to tug his arms out of his sweatshirt’s sleeves and chuck it across the room, and was about to do the same for his t-shirt, but Patton stilled his arm with a touch and a saucy smile, “Allow me.” 

 Patton’s hands slid under his shirt and over his stomach, touch light enough to make him squirm, and scratched down to his waistline before actually hiking his shirt up, slowly, so slowly, brushing his lips lightly over each strip of skin he revealed along the way. He took extra time at his chest, though he stuck to the center line, and his collarbone, and his neck, and by the time he pulled the shirt over his head, Virgil was squirming and arching his neck up in an attempt to chase those devious lips, only to have him pull away playfully, “Uh uh, you wanna be polite and ask for what you want?”

 “Patton is fond of, er, maintaining proper manners even while otherwise occupied,” Logan chimed in from where he was mouthing and nipping at the juncture between Roman’s bare shoulder and neck, having apparently momentarily won that dominance battle.

 “More like he loves making us, and especially you, beg,” Roman teased, and Logan flushed from his tailbone to his ears, and wasn’t that a fun thing to know.

 Logan got his small revenge with a particularly hard suck that left Roman moaning before continuing, “And he is very patient, trust me on that one.”

 Patton smiled sunnily at Virgil and didn’t dispute any of it, so Virgil groaned dramatically before holding onto Patton’s shoulder and offering a seductive grin of his own, “Patton, please, won’t you please kiss me the way we both want you to?”

 “Oh you are going to be trouble,” Patton replied, but he didn’t exactly sound threatening when he was so breathless and clearly caught off guard. And Virgil especially wasn’t worried when he followed it up with the sort of all-consuming kiss that left him reeling. Where Logan had been surprised and Roman had been careful, Patton had no hesitation evident. He somehow kissed him simultaneously like he couldn’t get enough and like he had all the time in the world, and Virgil got lost in the weight pressing him down into the mattress for long enough that when he heard a distinct moan it jolted him out of his reverie, only to realize it had come from him.

 “You two having fun over there?” Roman asked, and Virgil sat up slightly so he could see that the only reason Logan wasn’t chiming in was because he was seated in Roman’s lap, hand shoved in his mouth clearly trying to muffle his own moans as Roman rolled a nipple between his fingers.

 “Sure seems like you two are having just as much if not more over there,” Virgil snarked, and Patton nodded with a bit of a giggle, rolling his shoulders in a way that managed to briefly draw his attention away from the scene in front of him. He bit his lip and gave Patton a significant look, and he grinned back and rolled off him easily. Virgil then crawled over to the two on the other side of the bed, knelt in front of Logan, and gently placed his hands on the inside of his spread thighs, not doing anything but just touching for the time being, “Well, Logan, are you? Having more fun over here I mean?”

 Logan couldn’t manage to muffle the resulting moan and then seemed to give up altogether when Patton slunk up on Virgil’s other side to kiss Roman over his shoulder. “We are certahainely not bored,” he commented in a valiant attempt at nonchalance that ended as soon as Virgil’s hand crept closer to his clearly straining crotch, “Oh Virgil please.”

 “Oh Patton does have you trained well,” Virgil teased, earning a glare that only lasted the half a second it took for Virgil’s palm to cover his dick and grind down, at which point it became a glazed look to match the resulting whimper.

 Virgil couldn’t have hidden his delighted look if he’d tried, “Oh you’re so responsive, that’s amazing.”

 “You think that’s something?” Roman spoke up, breaking from Patton’s kiss with a wet smack, “Wait til you get your mouth on him. He’s the loudest of all of us.”

 “Roman,” Logan hissed at the same time as Virgil’s eyes lit up even more, ���Oh really?”

 Patton chuckled and plucked at the waistband of Virgil’s pants, “I think it’s about time these all came off, don’t you?”

 The other three nodded and quickly set about stripping out of their pants. Virgil hesitated at his underwear for only a moment, shadow not even getting the chance to darken before Roman was tugging his own off and tossing them haphazardly on the floor, leaving no room for doubt that this was definitely happening.

 Virgil had one thought as soon as they were all naked and looking at each other. He didn’t even have time to wonder if it should be awkward before he was pressing Logan down to sit on the edge of the bed and dropping smoothly to his knees to see just how loud the logical side could get. Logan looked a bit caught off guard, but his eyes were still dark and he was clinging to the bed spread for dear life. Roman and Patton set up right near them, curling into each other and toying and touching while still very clearly trying to watch the “show”. 

 Virgil caught Logan’s eye before he leaned in, giving him ample time to stop him should he want to, and when he got no sign to the contrary he grabbed onto his waist, wrapped his lips around as far down as he could go without straining his throat just yet, and sucked, and Logan shrieked, hands tangling into Virgil’s hair in a clear sign to not go anywhere as he immediately started babbling out pleas and praises in equal measure.

 “Oh Virgil, you feel incredible please, please, anything more you are willing to give, please, I will not last long like this, wanted you so long,” he whined, and Virgil’s answering moan only seemed to serve to drive him higher. Virgil took his time exploring, trailing his tongue up and down the shaft and paying careful attention to any spot that made Logan’s voice hitch in his apparent stream of consciousness. Once he started to sink further down, though, Logan’s babbling lost all coherency beyond Virgil’s name and the words “please” and “close”, and after that it was only a minute or two before Logan frantically tapped at Virgil’s shoulder as he babbled an attempt to warn him before he was coming down his throat with a loud moan.

 “Told ya Specs was a screamer,” Roman teased, but he definitely sounded much more out of breath than before. Patton seemed to be lost to his pleasure, mouth wet where he’d clearly been licking his lips while watching and looking thoroughly debauched as he methodically ground his dick down against Roman’s hip. “Want to help me take care of this one, then you and I can have a little fun?”

 Patton’s eyes seemed to light up at the suggestion and he quickly reached out for Virgil. Virgil couldn’t say no to that any more than he could set fire to every hoodie in his closet, so he carefully made sure Logan was set up against the pillow to catch his breath and still have a good view, and gave him a soft kiss with a whispered, “Love you,” before he dove back into the fray.

 Virgil started with a kiss right to Patton’s pulse point as he sidled up behind him, trapping him between his and Roman’s bodies. “Hey Pat, sure look like you’re in your rhythm here, and I will not be the one to stop you, but how bout I tell you just some of the things I’ve imagined doing with you, hmm? Just a couple of little fantasies. I know how much you love it when I communicate,” he whispered, and in the back of his mind he marveled at the fact that their dynamic was clearly so fluid, that he didn’t have to settle into one role or another, that they could just have fun with each other and go wherever the night took them.

 Patton whimpered, nodding into Roman’s chest as he panted, and Roman himself seemed to be listening with laser-sharp focus as well, so Virgil continued, “God the amount of times I just wanted you to bend me over the back of the couch, right in the living room, anyone else be damned, and just take me, Pat.” Patton moaned, quieter than Logan but still very present, and Roman’s grip went white knuckled on the bed, “I have absolutely lost count. Or the amount of times I’ve wanted to drag you away into some dark corner, hike your legs up around me, pin you to the wall, and fuck you senseless.” That earned him a whimper, a stutter to the rhythm, a hissed out ‘close.’ “Or, and I have a feeling you’ll really like this one, where you catch me touching myself and you have to teach me a lesson in patience, of course, so you take Logan and Roman first, right in front of me, and you all make me watch and not touch, just be patient and wait my turn no matter how much I beg so nicely for you.”

 Virgil isn’t even completely done his last sentence before Patton is crying out, hips stuttering against Roman’s hip as he comes so hard it splashes all the way up to Roman’s shoulder. Roman barely seemed to notice the mess, though, as he eyed Virgil with a blazing fire to his gaze. Patton gave a lazy chuckle and Virgil and Roman a pat on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek each before extracting himself to crawl over and pull Logan into his lap and thread his fingers into his hair as they both watch the show.

 Virgil barely had the chance to say, “So you said something about ‘fun’, Princey?” before Roman tackled him back onto the bed and it’s so sudden that Virgil squeaks, and then they’re both making wide eyed eye contact before bursting into laughter, both so high off adrenaline they can’t even attempt to hold it back. 

 Roman quieted first, then Virgil, and they spent an inordinate amount of time just like that, with Roman cradling Virgil’s face in one hand. The only reason they know this is because Logan chose that moment to find his voice again, “So are you two going to actually attempt to orgasm, or are you simply going to continue staring into each other’s eyes for an inordinate amount of time to see if you can do it that way.”

 Patton pinched him in the side in retribution, making him yelp, but he succeeded in breaking the moment and spurred Virgil into a smirk, “He’s right, you know. You gonna make an honest man outta me?”

 “I’ll show you honest,” Roman snarked right back, hitched Virgil’s legs up around his waist, and ground down in one fluid motion that had Virgil’s back arching straight up off the bed in a desperate moan, and just like that the passion was reignited just as hot if not hotter than before their little interlude.

 They rocked into each other, somehow finding a rhythm quickly despite never having done this together before, and their cocks slid together in a delicious friction between their bodies that was somehow still just not quite enough but served to drive them higher and higher towards that cliff, moans and hisses of pleasure echoing through the room, both of them too turned on to even try to attempt words.They started to fumble their hands between themselves to get that extra bit of friction when everything shifted.

 Virgil had his face buried in Roman’s neck one minute, and the next he’s being pulled up to sit up slightly against the pile of pillows, and dragging Roman with him. They both blinked bleary eyes open and found two very dark eyed boyfriends still hovering over them. “We couldn’t stay impartial,” Logan stated, very matter of factly, though it was belied by the fact that he sounded like he’d been the one close to orgasm, “I assume you do not mind if we… are a bit more of an active audience.”

 Patton nodded along, then swooped in to claim Roman’s lips in a kiss, then grabbed onto his hand to guide it to Virgil’s dick which they both wrapped their hands around, and Virgil’s gasp was swallowed quickly by Logan, who mimicked those actions but in guiding Virgil over to Roman’s dick. Now caught up very efficiently, Roman and Virgil gave twin groans and started back up with a vengeance. Even muffled by their boyfriend’s mouths, they still managed to make quite a bit of noise, whimpering and moaning and gasping out ‘theretherethere’s in between feverish kisses that devolved into not much more than wet presses of mouth as they got closer and closer to the edge again.

 Virgil broke first, as Roman and Patton both twisted just right over the head of his dick and he came with a cry of a jumbled mess of all their names that probably sounded more like gibberish than anything actually resembling a word. Even as his hand stuttered on Roman, Logan’s stayed firm and sure, stroking him off with all the confidence and familiarity of someone who observed exactly the right way to do something and practiced til perfection. Roman didn’t stand a chance, and he was following Virgil into the fireworks no more than 30 seconds later.

 Roman slumped forward onto Virgil as his arms gave out, and Virgil let out an “oomph” but didn’t complain. He barely had the energy to pat Roman on the back, literally, and pant out, “You were right that was real fun.”

 “Damn straight,” Roman panted back with a lackluster pat to Virgil’s chest.

 “Nothing about any of this was straight, Ro,” Patton chided playfully, and all three of the others groaned loudly and dramatically, “Stop booing me, I’m right.”

 “Whoever taught him that meme gets last shower,” Roman grumped.

 Logan smirked while wiping cum off his hand with a tissue and Virgil gave him a gleeful look, “Well, Princey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I didn’t teach it to him, and Logan certainly didn’t, so that leaves….”

 “Ah shit,” Roman groaned.

 Patton attempted to contain his giggles as he rubbed Roman’s back comfortingly, “It’s ok RoRo, you can jump in with me!”

 Logan and Virgil side eyed each other, then looked back at the other two. “Perhaps we could do a group shower?”

 Patton smirked and they knew they’d fallen directly into his trap, “Well that certainly sounds like a lovely idea." He smiled sunnily then flopped back against the pillows, "But out of fairness I think Ro has to start it!” 

 Virgil couldn't help but chuckle a bit as Roman bitched and moaned but got up without hesitation, and he couldn't say he minded the view as he walked away, or the teasing catcall from Patton or the amused huff of breath from Logan against his collarbone. He could honestly say that he was already considering a second round, which was definitely some sort of record for him. 

 Yeah. Yeah he could get used to this.

@alextwdgf01 you request for a comic but I decided for it to be a fic instead... Um...Is it okay? The fic, I mean

Warning: The fic under the cut is rated M for Graphic depictions of violence.

The rattling of chains echoed and a screamed followed suit. It’s been like this for days. At least, Ford liked to think it’s only been days. He can’t tell at this point. It’s chaos outside. But said chaos is only stuck here in Gravity Falls because of Gravity Falls’ weirdness magnetism which prevents Bill from getting out.

Their plan had failed. So close… They were so close to defeating Bill. But the demon was able to get a closer look at Ford’s (who was posing as Stan) finger. Hiding it would be suspicious. Ford thought that the demon would be too arrogant or “caught in the moment” to notice the slight difference. Turns out he was wrong. Bill was observant. The almost successful attempt at conning him, Bill got angry and ended up killing both Dipper and Mabel. That hurt Ford way more than the 500 volts of electricity.

Like Bill’s original plan, Bill will torture the people Ford cares about to get the equation from him. Unfortunately, that only leaves Stan since the kids are… gone.

Another blood curdling scream came from his brother. Ford closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears. He should’ve been used to this. He heard a lot of pained screams in the portal before – some he even caused to survive. Why is this different?

Because it’s Stan

All he heard next were heavy breathing and rattling of chains. He opened his eyes slightly. The first thing he saw was Mabel and Dipper’s ashes. Bill must’ve done something to it because wind had blown many times and yet it still there in place as if it was mocking him. He heard the phantom scream of the kids as they were burnt alive. The way they called out his and Stan’s names...

Stop, Ford thought.

He looked up from his position to see the gruesome sight of his brother. His eyes were missing! The place where the eyes should’ve been are nothing but empty sockets! The eyes were telepathically floating next to Bill along with Stan’s left ear. Blood pour out of the empty sockets freely like waterfall. The same can be said to his mouth. While there was dried blood there, there were still new ones pouring.

Looking lower, Ford almost puked his guts out. Stan’s intestines were hanging. Drip drop. Blood trickled and fell to the floor creating a small puddle of blood. And yet looking at his chest, it’s still moving. Stan is still alive! How is he still alive?

Ford’s thoughts were cut short by Bill’s sadistic laughter.

“You still haven’t cracked yet, Sixer? My, my, I’m impressed. Your brother is screaming his eyeballs out!” one of Stan’s eyes was telepathically floated towards him, which made Ford visibly flinched. “I thought you cared about him. Or maybe you don’t and you actually ENJOY his pain? He did ruined your life after all,” Bill mocked. Ford clenched his teeth in anger and disbelief. It’s always that. Bill always uses that. EVERYONE always use that against him! “Whadda’ya say, Fordsy? Why don’t you just hand me the equation for old time’s sake? I’m doing you a favor here” Bill added.

Favor? How is this a favor?

Bill hummed in thought, thinking of what other torture methods he could do next. Psychologically and mentally torturing Stan is fun and all, but all Stan will do next is beg for his life to end with. While that tortures Ford a lot, it’s no fun if the other has grown immune to it that they accepted it now. What else do these twins like?

It looked like a light bulb lit up. Bill’s face looked happy and excited. Ford doesn’t like it at all. “Y’a know, Fordsy, I went into Stan’s mind one time,” Bill started. “I saw how he always seems to run away from everything.”

Is Bill about to do what Ford thinks he is about to do?

“I figured, let’s get rid of that ability!” Bill cheerfully grabbed a sledgehammer out of nowhere. Ford felt dread consume his body. Stan had always loved to run. He is pretty damn good at it too. Running always made Stan feel free… No, no, no, Ford felt tears start to form at the corners of his eyes.

The chains the held Stanley up disappeared and he dropped to the ground. Stanley gave a pained groaned as pain shot from his stomach at his – very – open wound. He should be dead! Bill must’ve done something that kept him alive. His left arm is twisted but both arms have deep unhealed cuts. His arms throb at being held up for too long. His legs felt like jelly. But most importantly, he is free. He can try to crawl towards Ford – wherever he is, to try and comfort his brother like old times. Like when he was punished by pops. To tell him he is okay.

But a sudden unexpected pain shot through his body, most especially his right leg. He heard the cracking of bones and a scream erupted from his already painful throat. If he kept screaming, he might destroy his vocal chords making his voice even uglier than it already is. Another extreme pain came from the back of his knee, another bone cracked, and another scream erupted from him.

Holy Moses! If there really is a God, please, please, please, fucking save him! He’ll take anything, anything at all just to replace this pain. He doesn’t mind if he’ll wake up back in his car, or if he wakes up and he was still stuck with Rico or Jimmy, or if he wakes up and Ford still hates him., just… God end this pain!

Another blood curdling scream came from him as another pain shot from his leg. But this time, he heard another voice. It’s not his. It’s Ford’s! Why was his brother screaming? Was Bill doing something to him to? No, no, no. Give the pain back to him, just not his brother! Not Ford!

On the third scream, Ford can’t handle it any more. Stan’s pain isn’t worth saving the entire world anymore! What… What has the world ever done for them? Fuck being a hero! Fuck Bill! Fuck everything!

“STOP,” Ford screamed. Bill stopped at the sledgehammer at hitting his other leg at the last second, clearly amuse. Tears fall from Ford’s eyes as he looked at his brother’s bloody face. Stan’s crying, but since his eyes are currently floating around, no tears came out. Ford knows because of Stan’s sniffling.

“I-I’ll… I’ll give the equation. Just please, please, stop hurting him,” Ford begged. He wants to run to his brother but the chains around his neck were holding him back. Bill lit up like a Christmas tree and Ford needed to resist the urge to punch him.

“You will? I knew you’d come around, Sixer!” Bill happily floated towards him and held out his hand, the weapon disappeared it seems. “I’ll give you the equation, but no harm will ever come to Stan or me ever again. And, you have to fix us both back up” Ford bargained. Bill appeared to be thinking for a moment before “DEAL” Bill’s hand lit up with a familiar blue fire as he waits for Ford. Ford grabbed the glowing hand and the knowledge of the equation was shared with Bill.

Bill looked like a child in which Christmas came early. “A deal’s a deal, Sixer!” Bill gleefully said. He snapped his fingers and Ford felt refreshed. He stopped feeling tired and felt like he drank gallons of water as his thirst was clenched. The chains around his neck were gone as if it was never there since it left no bruises.

He immediately ran towards Stan and slid on the floor to get near to him. “Stanley?” Ford whispered. He arranged Stan’s position so Stan’s head would be lying on his shoulder. Using his other hand, Ford checked under Stan’s eyelid. The eyeball is there and moving. Good. Stan’s intestines were back inside where they belong and not hanging open. His other ear is back in place too. He felt the broken leg to see if it’s okay. It’s there. There is a bone there like it was never touched.

“I won’t let Bill hurt you again,” Ford promised. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again… No one will hurt you again… no one will hurt you again… no one will hurt you again…” Ford repeated the phrase like a mantra. No one will touch Stan ever again. No one will harm Stan ever again. If he can’t save the entire world, the least he could do is save his world. He wiped the tears and snot from his face as he scanned his brother’s body just in case there were more injuries he had overlooked.

“Jeez, Sixer, So dramatic,” Bill said as he floated towards the twins. Ford hugged Stan tighter and gave Bill the scariest glare he can master. “Relax, kid. I did my end of the bargain. He’s alive, just resting. Maybe he’ll wake up with a sore throat though” he added. “What do you want this time? You got what you needed,” Ford asked. “The offer still stands, Sixer. I told you, you’re a FREAK! You’ll fit right in with us. Not sure about Stanley though” Ford’s glare hardened “But you two are a package so no separating,” Bill quickly added.

“The point is, I like you. You might as well join us in this party. If you accept this deal, I’ll give you power! You can conquer planets, galaxies, the multi-verse! Or you could stick with just being very powerful and not conquer any stuff - no fun in that though. You can exact revenge to those who wronged you. Prove everyone wrong,” Bill said. “So, do you want to be one of us?” Bill held out his hand waiting for Ford to shake it.

There’s nothing for him to lose now. The moment he broke and gave the equation, he knew it. He is a monster. Might as well join with Bill where he fits right in. Stan might hate him… Or he might not but he knows this betrayal will hurt Stan though. The power that will come with the deal, that, he needs in order to protect Stan. Ford doesn’t know how well Bill will keep his end, so Ford has to make sure no harm comes to them. If he has power, he’ll be able to protect both him and Stan. Yes… To protect Stan, he’ll take it. He’ll take this stupid deal.

“Deal”

~~~~~

Done! If you made this fair, congratulations! I hope the fic is okay.

Forever and a day

Hey guys Hope you’ll enjoy and as usual, likes, reblogs and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

The night was like the ones you only see in the middle of summer even though it was Christmas. The deep blue sky, almost dark and dotted with thousands of bright stars, was only lightened by the moon, a fantastic crescent illuminating the garden of the Burrow along with Fred and me. The only thing blurring periodically our sight was the cloud forming in front of our mouths when we breathed, except that, this was a magical vision. 

The Burrow, as each and every Christmas, was animated and full of joy and laughter. It was awesome, really, but Fred and I had needed a bit of time alone as we hadn’t had a lot of occasions since his departure from Hogwarts, a few months ago. We had escaped the loud cheers, preferring the peaceful silence of the night, accepting the biting cold as it gave us an excuse for cuddling, losing ourselves in the stars. 

A particularly violent shiver shook me, and Fred tightened his grip around my waist. 

“We can go back inside, if you want.” he said while rubbing my sides with energy. 

“No, I want to stay.”

I looked up again to the stars and noticed a few seconds later that Fred’s gaze hadn’t followed mine. 

“What? Do I have something on my nose?” 

“Except that adorable red colour, no, you have nothing.” 

“Yeah, that’s because I love Rudolf the rednosed reindeer.” I declared before chuckling when Fred frowned. 

“Is that another muggleborn reference?” he asked. “Dad never told me about this one.”

“I guess you know him as Patrick the red tailed niffler.” 

In front of Fred’s incomprehension and once my laughters had eventually calmed down, I explained who Rudolf the rednosed reindeer was. 

“And we wonder why muggles don’t believe in magic,” he mumbled. “If they present it like something that childish…”

I didn’t want to debate on the muggle’s capacity of imagining what magic could be - I knew it could turn into a heated argument - and decided to change the subject. 

“If nothing was hanging from my nose, then why were you eyeing me so intensely?”

Fred’s cheeks and ears, who were already red because of the freezing air, darkened and I smirked when he scratched the back of his neck, a recurrent gesture that never failed to show when he was nervous.

“That’s because, well, the moonlight… It makes you look, err- it makes you look cool, I mean- Stop laughing, I just wanted to compliment you!”

Indeed, I was laughing softly, melting on the inside because he was so cute when he was nervous… And Fred was almost never nervous. He was always so self confident, such an adorable and cocky boy, yet when he wanted to express his deepest feelings, he became a stuttering mess. And I loved this side of him, way more than the side that always wanted to dye my hair in green, that was for sure. 

“And you did well complimenting me, Freddie. The moonlight suits you too pretty well, love.”

And it truly was, from the freckles on his nose that contrasted with his pale skin to the sparkle in his eyes and including his hair that seemed softer than ever, everything of him which was usually awesome appeared just perfect under the moonlight. No kidding, my boyfriend was the best of all. 

Fred chuckled, mumbling something that sounded like “Your compliment was still better than mine” and pulled me closer to him. We were sitting on a bench, far enough from the house to be sure nothing - or no one, and especially not George or Ginny - would disturb us. We were still stargazing, both lost in thoughts deeper than the other could imagine, and not necessarily really happy. When a shooting star crossed the sky, that’s all naturally that my dearest wish crossed my mind, and fear flooded suddenly in my body. 

I hope we’re all gonna survive this war. 

I immediately felt the urge to be comforted by Fred, like every time I thought of the war inexorably approaching, and like every time, he tightened me a bit more and laid soft kisses on my hair. 

“It will be okay love. We’ll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure? Fred, it can happen so fast…”

“Y/N, listen to me.” His tone was firm but it was only to make me calm down, I knew it. “As long as I’ll be there, nothing will happen to you, I promise. And as long as you’ll be there, nothing will happen to me because I just cannot bear the thought of you being alone. Do you understand? I’ll be yours for forever, and you’ll be mine for forever. If you keep that in mind, then we’ll stay together.”

Our foreheads were now pressed against each other, and my hands were cupping his cheeks. Fred’s eyes were burning, a flame I had only seen a few times making them shine brighter than the sun. It was pure love. At the moment, I was so scared, so terrified and yet feeling so stupid for doubting of us that I reacted the only way I knew. 

“Forever? It isn’t long enough for me, love.”

“Then let’s say for forever and a day.”

“It doesn’t make that much of a difference, does it?”

“A lot can happen in a day.” he whispered before leaning in and pressing his lips against mine. 

And as the fire of our love was slowly consuming us, as the cold air seemed to disappear to be replaced by a warm atmosphere, I was so absorbed in the moment, so focused on his lips and his hands, that it never crossed my mind that Fred had expressed his deepest feelings without stuttering once. 

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

“Molly, you better tell these delinquents to stop their traffic!”

“That’s not traffic, dear aunt Muriel, that’s business.” said Fred with a smirk before tying an imaginary tie. 

Muriel grumbled and threw an imperious glance at Molly, who didn’t do anything but shrugging. 

“They don't listen to me, Muriel. I’m sorry.”

This dear old aunt Muriel had accepted to hide her family, the Weasleys being in danger now that everyone knew Ron was with Harry, and Fred had made a scene as he wanted me to hide with them. Muriel had firstly refused, pretending she wouldn’t have the energy to bear one more person. 

“Trust me, you’ll never survive with me if she doesn’t come with us.” He had muttered, after what Molly had ordered him to shut up for once and had pleaded my cause.

Muriel hadn’t had any other choice than accepting, and I suspected her to know Fred would have found a way to make me come here anyway. As a revenge, she had decided to be more insufferable than usual, which was an exploit according to George. 

“Shut up, it will begin!” suddenly exclaimed Bill, who was here with Fleur for one of the visits that were becoming more and more frequent as the weeks passed. 

Everyone gathered around the radio, Muriel complaining that she was busy writing a very important letter - Ginny confessed to me she had read a few sentences, and Muriel was in fact writing to one of the old blabbermouths she had for friends. After several hissing begging her to shut up, we all waited for Lee to begin his emission. We waited, but… Nothing.

“I don’t understand…” muttered Bill. “I thought-”

“Do you think it means something happened to him?” I asked, petrified at the thought that one of my best friends could be hurt because he had always kept bringing us hope. 

“No, he’s too smart to be caught.” assured George. 

But I caught the worried glance he exchanged with Fred. The silence seemed to last forever, and Bill eventually stopped trying.

“Maybe he just can’t right now,” he said. “I’ll keep trying to catch the signal, we’ll see.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Ginny’s voice was blank, and I turned to see that her face was pale. However, the flame of her determination was burning in her eyes. 

“Harry is at Hogwarts, and apparently the fight is for soon.”

Fuck. That was the first thing that came to my mind. As my brain was trying to process what Ginny had said and what it implied, Molly pressed her on with interrogations. 

“How do you know that? Ginny, is Ron with him? Is he safe? Ginny!”

Without a word, she handed her mother the false galleon I recognized easily. 

“Mum, we’ve got to go to Hogwarts.” said George. 

“How?” asked Molly with a quiet voice.

“The Hog’s Head. There’s a tunnel leading to the room of requirements.” replied Ginny. 

Molly sighed and murmured she had to warn the order. Fred and George got up in the same movement, and I immediately did the same. 

“Y/N, you stay here.”

For a second, I thought it was a joke. A particularly bad one, but a joke. However, I had never seen Fred being so serious. His jaw was clenched and he was frowning, and at the moment his eyes were darker than they had ever been. 

“I- what?” I asked in disbelief. 

Fred glanced at George before sighing. He grabbed my hand and half dragged me to the room we shared with his twin. He sighed once more and quickly passed a hand in his hair. 

“Y/N, I want you to stay here with aunt Muriel.”

“Are you crazy? I won’t stay on the sidelines, Fred. Don’t count on it.”

“Love, please, I just-”

“No!” I yelled. Fred winced. “There’s no way you’re going to fight without me!”

“Love, I just want you to be safe.” He grabbed my hand and lightly kissed my knuckles. “How long will be our forever if something happens to you?”

“Why do you keep thinking I’m the only one who could get hurt? Fred, I know how- how reckless you can be and… And I need to be with you, Fred, I need to be sure you won’t do anything stupid, you understand?”

“And if something happens to me? Y/N, if I die-”

“Don’t say that!” I squealed.

“If I die, who will keep you safe?”

Maybe Fred hadn’t heard me, all absorbed in his thoughts as he was, or maybe he felt the need to get this out of him. I would understand, I was feeling the exact same thing, I wanted to say out loud that maybe I would die too. This way, it would be real, totally real, and I could focus on something else. The way of keeping us alive, for example. But if something had to happen to Fred, if despite all my efforts, his fate was to leave me, then I knew what I would have to do. It was obvious.

“If you die,” I murmured, “then I’ll make sure our forever is still a thing.”

“Don’t say that. Y/N, please, don’t say such a thing. I- I forbid you to… Y/N, if I die- if I don’t make it out alive, promise me- promise me you’ll live. No matter what love, I need to know you’ll carry on.”

“Only if you promise the same.”

And that promise was sealed with the saddest kiss we had ever shared, our tears giving it a salty taste, our hands grabbing the other’s clothes in the same way you grip on the last thing that makes you alive. And it was true; at the moment, Fred was the only thing that helped me stay sane, and I had the firm conviction that our survival depended on each other. 

From the moment I had stepped in the room of requirements until the moment everything had gone black around me, from the moment Fred had made me swear to stay next to him until the moment I had lost him between two green flashes of light, from the moment I had stumbled upon Percy to the moment I had run into Fred’s arms, my own body had been controlled by the most primitive survival instinct. A rage I didn’t suspect had taken over me, making me kill enemy after enemy, without ever considering the fact that they were human. One the wrong side, maybe, despicable, for sure, but still human, with maybe children that were waiting for them at home. Not one second did I think of anything else than being enveloped in Fred’s arms after the end of the war, enjoying our victory hopefully without any loss and living our life like we deserved. But I had to get through this, I had promised him I would, and he had promised me too. 

I was unable to open my eyes, my body being entirely sore and my head seeming on the verge of the explosion. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move to get rid of this small pebble that was planting itself in my shoulder blade. The blood was rushing behind my ears, and the sound was not without recalling the sound of a river. It was somehow soothing. 

And slowly, or as it seemed for me as I didn’t have any way to measure time, the adrenaline in my veins disappeared, letting my heart beat less quickly and I could eventually hear what surrounded me. At first, it only sounded like a buzzing, and some noises gradually distinguished themselves. Steps near my head. Loud voices. Laughters. Cries. And after the hearing, it was my sight that came back to normal. 

The light surrounding me was forming a bright halo behind my closed eyelids. When my eyes were finally used to such a brightness, they flickered open. The very first thing I saw was a bunch of vaults above me, some of them half destructed and the sky being visible in some places. The second thing I saw was a glimpse of red hair. A smile immediately stretched my lips before disappearing. It was George, and something was wrong.

“George?” I asked quietly, my throat being so sore that this only world almost made me throw up. 

When George looked at me with puffy red eyes, my stomach twisted into a painful knot. It took a lot of energy for me to do something as simple as looking around me, but nowhere did I see the smile I needed. I wanted to ask him where Fred was, if everyone was okay, but I only managed to moan weakly. Much to my horror, tears flooded from George’s eyes and he pulled me against him without an ounce of delicacy. He just tightened me against his chest, clutching desperately on the back of my shirt, loud sobs shaking his shoulders. Without even knowing what had happened - or knowing it but refusing to believe it - I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him as tight as I could, feeling the tears rolling on my cheeks despite myself. 

George cried for a long time, and so did I without even being fixed on why we were such a wreck at the moment. When finally he stopped crying, he pushed me back just enough to look at me in the eyes without letting go of my shoulders. And when I looked into these eyes I knew so well and not only because they looked like Fred’s, when I saw the most heart wrenching desperation I could ever see, I slowly understood. And slowly, I felt the same desperation invading my eyes, and an excruciating pain taking over my body, because he had promised. He had promised nothing would happen to him. 

George grabbed my hand and without a word, he helped me get up.  My legs were too weak to support my own weight, let alone the weight of my pain, and I clung onto him like the lifeline that prevented me from drowning in my sorrow. We walked slowly, one step after the other, and it felt like we were struggling against a powerful courant. When they saw us, George’s siblings - I couldn’t recognize who -  stepped backward, none of them saying anything. Another step, and another. Arthur helped Molly get up, and she obliged in a painful sob. 

When she got up, I saw Fred’s body.

His clothes were torn and dirty. Blood covered the fabric and his skin. His eyes were closed, and he was still smiling. But he was dead. 

My knees gave up on me and I fell on the ground. I grabbed his hand desperately, his skin was as cold as ice and I didn’t recognize its touch, which used to bring me so much comfort because it was always so warm. And the tears were continuously rolling, blinding me whereas I wanted to memorize each detail of his face. Then the sobs arrived, all more painful than the precedent but still pleasant compared to the pain in my heart. George was crying next to me, an arm still around my shoulders, and we stayed like this for a long time. 

The night was falling on the castle, yet what remained from the Great Hall was still full of broken souls like George and I. People who weren’t ready to leave the last place they had seen their loved ones. George’s family had come back to the Burrow, preferring to mourn Fred in the intimacy of their house, but we weren’t ready yet. We were still sitting on the ground, in front of an empty place where Fred’s body had been laying before being carried away. 

We were staring blankly in front of us, George’s arm around my shoulder and my head resting on his, probably doing the same thing, namely recalling Fred. 

“I didn’t say I loved him…” My throat was sore after all the sobs that had shaken my body, yet I needed to say it, because the guilt and the regrets were suffocating me. 

“He knew it.” replied George, his voice as weak as mine and oh so broken. 

And I couldn’t know it, but George was remembering the last time Fred had rambled about me in front of him. “You have no idea on how much I love her, Georgie.” he had said with a goofy smile. “I would do anything for her… She’s the love of my life, I know it. You know what? When all of this is over, I’ll marry her.” 

“He knew it and he loved you too, Y/N.”

“And he loved you too. He was so proud of you, George.”

And we burst into tears, hugging each other with the same strength we wanted to hug Fred with, with the desperation we shared of having lost one of the most important persons in our lives. 

We cried because Fred was dead and at the moment, it felt like we would always cry because this loss was too much for us to bear. 

“I’ll be yours for forever, and you’ll be mine for forever. If you keep that in mind, then we’ll stay together.”

“Forever? It isn’t long enough for me, love.”

“Then let’s say for forever and a day.”

“It doesn’t make that much of a difference, does it?”

I was so stupid, because now, I would give anything for just one more day with you.

One day to say I love you. 

One day to live the forever we deserved.