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mariamermaid · 3 years

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Darkest Nights

Regulus Black x fem Reader

Summary: It was blatant, that the day of your wedding would come. Yet, you feared it as much as he did.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, arranged marriage

A/N: I don´t know too much about Regulus, which is why I decided to interpret this oneshot in my own way. (Also, Timothee Chalamet as Regulus= chefs kiss)

Denial was the first stage you encountered. Blatantly you had been prepared for it your entire life, but when the message reached you, it was still denial. It couldn´t be true, you were promised more time. Time to live.

Any excuse sounded better than the one thrown into your face: There was no other option.

You recalled word for word in your head as you starred at yourself in the large mirror. It should be an honor, you´ll be a good wife, you´ll have a big house. But none of it mattered to you, your priorities laid differently in society. Will I be happy?

The mirror, the room and the entire house was furnished with golden details; flowers, flourishes and patterns. It reminded you of the palaces in the renaissance period. You had loved the paintings from the time, but finding yourself in a similar ensemble on your wedding day felt all too wrong.

A knock appeared on the door and your mother entered, stunned with her hand over her heart as she admired you. The two servants, who had helped you to get ready, carefully stepped back. Their work was done. If it weren´t for your mother´s sake, you´d thank them from the bottom of your heart.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, he´ll be very pleased to see you.”

Yeah, because that´s all that mattered. Your eyes wandered back to your silhouette in the mirror; long, delicate arms of lace traveled down your skin, the train measured at least ten feet and the veil, which was still placed to show your face, followed the train. Your mother handed you the flower bouquet, white, blue and lavender. Then she pulled the veil over your face and nodded a last time. “Your father will be waiting for you downstairs. They´re all ready.”

Heavy chains were attached to your feet and each step you took, was harder.

Outside the hall, where the ceremony would take place, your father waited for you. He matched your mother´s dark attire, but as so often, he loved the embellishments on his suit. In your opinion, they always looked disgustingly conceiting and plump on him. Every cell in your body screamed for you to run and as you stepped inside the large hall, you wondered why you didn´t listen to your heart. Like the rest of the villa, it was stunning and a true architectural treasure. Dark, even wood was spread on the floor and the walls were delicately painted in cool grey tones. Against the gold details, the walls looked like painted clouds, dreamy and far away.

Within the dark ensemble the white spot like a ray of sunshine; you.

Why didn´t you run?

Would it be so bad to never see your family again? A family that had no emotional connection to you, you were never told, how much they loved you or even appreciated you.

You could live a free life, away from all pressure and deciding how you wanted to live. If you wanted to get marry, or not and even more importantly, who.

The painful truth was, that running even as far as you could, only brought you time. You were their only child, their only way to safely secure, pleasant and reputable future. They would find you eventually and by the mark on their forearms, it wouldn´t be a reencounter to spread joy.

Under the veil, none of them saw your shivering jaw and your blinking eyes in tears as you made your way to the altar.

Your father´s hand, softly put over the arm you had linked with this, grabbed you harsh enough to stop you from running. It might have looked like a lovingly scene, how he approached Regulus and placed your hand in his, but it wasn´t.

It felt like somebody threw away the keys from your chains.

Oh, right, Regulus was there as well.

You had barely acknowledged his presence, which was surprising due to the fact that he was your soon to be husband. You would never, not even on your deathbed, admit it, but he looked attractive. Plenty of times you had seen him wear a neat black suit, but today he didn´t look like Mommy´s boy put in attire. Somehow, he looked like a true man in front of the altar.

He seemed so steady and calm, was he even pressured into this?

You had spent almost your entire school career knowing him, he was a year older, but you couldn´t remember a singular conversation between the two of you. You started believing, you never had one.

Regulus wasn´t the scrawny kid anymore. He was tall and had a sleek figure, which he had proved many times as Slytherin´s seeker. His dark, rather short locks framed his angular face and his high cheekbones. He truly looked like a perfect descendant for a pure-blooded family.

His hand was warm, no hint of nervousness, while yours was as cold as ice. He barely glanced at you, both of you facing the altar and the wizard, who guided you through the ceremony.

He was a man of at least sixty years, grey hair and beard, but everything that left his lips, barely entered your conscience.

Finally, it felt like years, the peak of the ceremony had come.

You turned to Regulus, carefully and slowly, his long fingers grabbed the edge of your veil and pulled it back to reveal your face.

What did you expect to see in his expression? Excitement? Awe? Admiration?

For a split second, his jaw tensed, but he turned back to his neutral expression. You didn´t know how to pinpoint those bare split seconds, where his façade had vanished, and you didn´t like, not knowing how he felt. Was he glad to marry you? Was he only looking forward to this, because you were pure-blooded? Did he find you pretty or at least attractive? Or did he find you so attractive, that he wouldn´t hold himself back? Would he follow his instincts and ignore your potential feelings?

You wanted to curse and scream, but your eyes were glued on his lips and you felt how the magical string wrapped around your hands.

“Today Y/N and Regulus join their lives in the union of marriage. Before I declare you to one another, I want to hear you confirm that it is indeed your intention to be married today.”

The lie couldn´t be bigger. A no was stuck in the back of your throat.

“Now I ask you; Do you, Regulus Arcturus Black, take the hereby Y/N Y/L/N as you wife? If so, repeat after me.”

You waited for a stutter, but Regulus repeated the words without hesitation.

“I, Regulus Arcturus Black, take you Y/N Y/L/N, to be my wedded wife. I give to you in the presence of these witnesses, my promise to stay by your side, In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. And cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

“Bride, please repeat after me.”

Oh, dear Merlin help me to not completely ruin this.

“I, Y/L Y/L/N, take you Regulus Arcturus Black, to be my wedded husband. I give to you in the presence of these witnesses, my promise to stay by your side, In sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow. And cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

The magical promise, which wrapped around your hands like a hot string, tightened as the words left your mouth.

“I now announce you, husband and wife!” You felt how the golden glistening oath disappeared, but you still felt the warmth pressing against your skin. It was done. All plans and hopes for this not to happen, were completely useless. You were now officially Y/N Black, wife to Regulus Black. Regulus eyes pierced into yours, somehow you took the last of your strength to keep up the eye contact. Then, to your biggest surprise, he offered you the smallest hint of a smile.

“Even the most beautiful places turn dark during night.”

Regulus´s voice was steady, but quiet. For the first time this evening, he spoke to you in his own will. Without the pressure of a family member watching. You glanced at him, while his eyes were stuck on the ensemble. He was right, it was beautiful.

The light walls were barely enlightened anymore and the golden details, which glistened from time to time, seemed to float in the air. The delicate paint strokes had become invisible, vanishing into dark. Regulus fitted in, with his dark suit, green attire and jet-black locks and you contrasted him in a way, that couldn´t be more opposing. The white fabric attracted the last bit of light, like the rising moon beneath carpet of golden stars.

You had spent the early evening, which was turning into night already, with careless and empty conversation. Even though Regulus was at your side for most of it, you didn´t even perceive him. You were too focused on not crying, not running, not saying the wrong things, not falling over your dress, not eating too much food, not smiling too much, not fake smiling enough and not being you.

“I meant it, you do look stunning”, he added, tilting his head ever so slightly in your direction. Previously, the words had seemed nonchalantly thrown into a conversation. Now, it sounded honest and against his offish body language, Regulus was different beneath his façade.

“Thank you”, you replied with barely a whisper.

For once, he wished to be more like his brother Sirius, who swept of girls with no effort and compliments fell of his lips like the lies for his pranks. Of course, he wasn´t there.

Regulus never imagined that his bride would be you or even closely like you. He remembered you from school, something he never told anymore. Back then, you had barely exchanged words. You knew about each other´s existence, but a safe distance was kept. However, he remembered the evenings at the library. Where you had sat quite focused, tapping with your pen against the book. You had watched every single of his Quidditch games and you cheered.

You were cunning and smart, driven by your own ambition to surpass yourself, but unlike him, you were empathic. People approached you easily, feeling enchanted by your natural politeness. Regulus had become used to the shadow side; people evaded to not get in is way. They avoided him, not knowing what lied behind his dark exterior. Maybe they even feared him.

He knew it was wrong for him to feel relieved to find you in the spot of his bride, he was bereaving you of all prospective dreams and a chance for true love.

“I´m sorry.”

The apology took you by surprise and your head snapped towards him. “For what?”

He sighed, knowing he couldn´t dodge the eye contact anymore. “For having to marry me.”

The emphasis clearly laid on the word me, even though he tried to hide it.

“Are you happy to have me as your-“, you paused. You had never said it out loud. “As your wife?”

He chuckled. Regulus Black chuckled. “I knew marrying out of love was never an option, but honestly, you´re the best bride I could´ve wished for.”

He quickly became serious again, too fast for your taste. “You´re not like them, not as posh or artificial.”

“Apparently, neither are you.” You added, feeling how your body leaned a little closer to his.

“I try my best.”

The dark had covered expectations and superficiality and what was left, was a man at your side, who was honest and real. Not perfect, but not cruel. You didn´t fear him anymore and more importantly, you didn´t fear potential actions. He wouldn´t lay a hand on you, unless you would allow to do so. There was only one apprehension left, the dark mark burning on his arm.

You didn´t know how or why, but that obligation was reserved from you. Slytherin or not, pureblood or not, you weren´t evil. You weren´t one his fealty and you swore on your life, that it wouldn´t change.

Regulus felt your apprehension, but for now he wasn´t ready to share the perilous information with you. The horcrux inside the cave was his secret, but if it meant keeping you safe and sound, he was ready to risk it. For now, it was his task to make you believe him. Regulus Black wasn´t evil and he didn´t share the Dark Lords radical views. The dark mark on his arm was just like the ring on his finger, an inescapable path.

Carefully, but with clear intention, he took your hand. “I will never hurt you; I promise.”

You saw something inside his eyes sparkling, but you couldn´t pinpoint it. Pressing your lips together, you starred at the rings on your fingers. “You shouldn´t make a promise you can´t keep.” He opened his mouth to disagree.

“But promise me to be honest; talk to me Regulus. I don´t want this to be a marriage of secrets and intrigues.” He nodded agreeing. “I promise it, do you?”

“Yes.”

Cautiously, as if you could break beneath his touch, he placed a strand of hair behind your ear and slowly, waiting if you would push away his action, he placed a kiss on your forehead. You didn´t push him away, catching yourself almost leaning into it.

Yes, even the most beautiful places turned dark during night, but tonight the darkness revealed true nature. And in this darkest hour, the two of you were shining together strong as the brightest light.

#regulus black #regulus black imagine #regulus black x reader #regulus arcturus black #regulus black oneshot #timothée chamalet #harry potter imagine #sirius black #mariamermaidimagine

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themadhatterofficial · 3 years

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Eyes, Bodies, and Potions

The Golden Trio was always meant to take down Voldemort.

Perhaps, if things happened a bit differently, if the pieces managed to link together in another way...

(Dark Golden Trio AU)

********************

Harry Potter only knew violence growing up.

The young boy hidden away in the cupboard under the stairs would sit in fear and anticipation as heavy footsteps pounded above and rattled the dust onto his tiny bed. He had a single mirror in his cupboard that Aunt Petunia had given him as a Christmas present after his uncle had slammed his head into it hard enough to cause cracks to run through it like an overzealous spiderweb.

No matter how many times he tried to avoid it, Harry always ended up watching himself in the dingy glass. In anything remotely reflective, really.

Everywhere Harry went, people commented on his eyes. On how pretty they were, how they made him look respectable, how much they stood out against the darkness of his skin and the heavy bangs that resembled a rat's nest at the best of times.

It had jump started Harry's obsession.

Everywhere he went, Harry would stare at eyes. Brown ones, blue ones, grey ones, green ones, and every mix you could think of. He liked the emotions that ran through them, how they told stories that faces and bodies would never reveal.

He could see the happiness when a couple held hands.

He could see the fear when a man gripped his girlfriend's arm a little too tight.

He could see the joy in a father's eyes when his baby snuggled further into his neck.

The fear was nice sometimes. When it was someone who deserved it. Like when Dudley's friend Henry punched Harry hard enough to take out his baby tooth and split his lip. Harry had launched forward and kept hitting and hitting and hitting until Henry was crying too hard to make noise and he was covered in reds and blues that never blossomed on Harry's deep skin.

(Henry's eyes were grey. They were scared. It was nice.)

(Henry's parents also moved their whole family far away from the neighborhood the very next week. Harry chalked it up to coincidence.)

Harry liked the happiness a lot more than the sad or scared ones. He liked sitting in the little park far from the Dursleys' and letting the long cuffs of his torn hand-me-downs scrape below the swing, watching the happy families laugh and jump and run around with one another without caring about anything else.

For as long as Harry could remember, he had wanted that. He longed for it. He would sit in his tiny cupboard on the last night of July and beg and plead whoever was up there for someone to find him. At first, Harry wished for someone to take him away. Now, Harry would be content with someone approaching him to just talk. It was a far-fetched dream, something he only dared to dream of in the quiet darkness when he pretended that his parents weren't worthless drunks who cared for the bottle more than their son. That he had a mother that took the time to tame his bird's nest of a head and read to him at night, that he had a father who taught him how to play chess and cook breakfast for his mum in bed, and maybe even an uncle that bought him secret ice creams that ruined his dinner and taught him how to talk to pretty girls at school and maybe even a sister who laughed too loud and grinned too wide and let him wrap her up in soft blankets when she was too cold to ask for it.

But for now, Harry would settle for their eyes.

********************

Ron Weasley, in Ron Weasley's opinion, was not very special.

He was the sixth child of seven in his impoverished family. He got hand-me-down everything, and was expected to do as well as his brothers, if not better. It was nothing special if he could do this, because Percy could too, and if he could do that, well, Bill already had years before.

Sometimes Ron wished he was an only child, if only for the attention he would have.

(He never wanted his siblings dead, Merlin no. He loved them all and wished them the best, even if he was a bit jealous of them.)

Perhaps this was why he was often seen hanging on Harry or Hermione's arm, spending every bit of his free time with the first things that were his, and only his.

They weren't things, and Ron knew this. He knew that they were people, and he knew that they were their own people. He never claimed them aloud, and especially didn't hint at it to Harry. He was already treated like a Thing by his muggles. They locked him away and took him out when he was of use. Ron wanted to be with him all the time, even when he didn't listen and remained as stubborn as an ass.

But they were still Ron's. He didn't like when Fred or George or Ginny would try to covet Harry's attention, or tease Hermione until all the blood rushed up to darken her cheeks to a deep blue. She would hide behind her massive hair that curled around her wildly in a way that she wasn't.

Later, Hermione would shyly admit that she'd never felt wanted, and that she quite liked the way Harry and Ron so openly expressed their need for her. Harry would say the same.

Ron Weasley liked watching people.

He saw everything he needed to from a distance, even if he wanted to get closer. He liked watching quidditch especially, how their bodies moved so gracefully and held no hesitation in their gestures. (This did not extend to his brothers and sister. He actually didn't like watching them in particular, even if he could never pry his eyes away from Harry twisting and turning and reaching as far as he could.)

Every quidditch match was exciting. Ron would emulate certain things, ever since he could remember. Bill's easy-going swagger. Charlie's big hand movements. Percy's chin tilt he did when he was trying to make a point, or the seamless weaving and bobbing Fred and George had mastered together. He'd mostly out grown it before Ginny came along, but sometimes he even ran his hand through his hair like she did. His dad did it, and it was a small thing the three of them shared, and Ron coveted it.

The most ingrained thing about Ron was probably his tactile nature. His mum was the same way. They were probably the most expressive, always ready to give out a hug and kiss on the cheek or just to hold someone.

This came in handy later in life.

Hermione likes to stand on her toes.

It's a small thing that he's sure she isn't really aware of. She'd mentioned offhandedly that her parents had forced her to do ballet when Ron mentioned it, and it became more and more clear. When she stretched she pointed her toes perfectly, and when she turned to speak she'd often spin around on the tips of her feet. It was endearing, especially even when she went on her long winded tangents about anything and everything.

When she talked, her smile lit up the room and her hands flitted about excitedly. When she saw something that caught her eye, Hermione would stretch out her neck and raise her eyebrows high into her uneven bangs.

Hermione was also very awkward. She hid behind her big kinky curls, which Ron soon learned were in that weird frizzy stage because of repeated failed attempts at straightening it. (He quite liked her hair just the way it was, but Hermione didn't, which was disappointing.) Ron would shake his head and teasingly pull on one of her coils so it bounced tightly. She would flush, and when they first met she absolutely despised it. It wasn't until they'd known each other for so long that she would allow him to do so. He was the only one other than Harry that was allowed. Soon after she began to grow comfortable with his casual touches.

So when she would awkwardly put her hand forward to shake Ron's, he would push it away in order to wrap her up tightly in his arms. She'd tense at first before hugging back tentatively, then tightly, as if she never wanted him to let her go.

Harry tugs at his sleeves when he gets nervous.

He does it a lot, actually. When they ride up, he pulls the cuffs down to grip in his palms.

When adults speak to him, he squeezes himself inward to make himself smaller. When they raise their voices, his head drops down ever so slightly, as if it's an instinct he's trying to fight. When they get too close, his body twitches away as if it has a mind of its own.

Ron soon noticed that Harry couldn't handle yelling. Ron and Hermione began to fight about Merlin-knows-what one night by the lake. It wasn't until Ron's voice was slightly hoarse and he paused to take a breath that he remembered that Harry was still there. He was sitting on the damp grass, completely still with his hands muffling his ears and his head tucked between his knees.

Ron always warns Harry before reaching to him. Always asks if its okay. It's soon obvious to Ron that no one has truly hugged Harry, and does so whenever he has the chance. And Harry absolutely clings onto Ron, which is really nice. No one's really done that. His siblings weren't always the touchy-type and his parents were always too busy with this or that to dedicate so much time to the Least Favorite.

(Ron knew that they loved him. He never doubted that. But he was nothing if not a realist.)

But Ron's favorite thing was when Harry would jump on him. Harry never talked much unless one prompted him endlessly, and it was even rarer for him to initiate a conversation or reach out for anyone or anything. So when Harry would get so excited he tackle-hugged Ron into the grass or the floor of the common room, and Hermione would burst into giggles beside them, he'd feel his heart burst open for these two people that truly appreciated him.

Watching people fall was pretty fascinating.

Their bodies would turn and prepare for the inevitable, bracing in fear before the impact came.

They showed something real, in those moments. The shock, the resignation, pure, unadulterated fear that overtook their entire bodies dominated Ron's attention when it happened. And when the fear happened, he saw who they were. How one handles the fear, the harsh reality ready to break their nose it, shows who they truly are.

When Hermione fell into the Devil's Snare, and Ron and Harry were stuck in the stage of fear, he could see Hermione's brain turn over. He saw the way she went straight from the fear to the calm determination of someone who was not ready for the end. He could see the clear fuck you on her face before she sunk below the vines.

When Harry's broom began to shake and throw him off in a violent rage, Ron saw the fear. He saw the clear fear outline every bone of his body before his grip tightened and his body swung upwards. He could see the resignation, and he could see the acceptance of what would happen. But that wasn't standing out as much as the look that overtook his entire face. He could hear it from the stands, the way he was telling himself - not without a fight.

Ron quite liked the fear. He liked seeing them panic and squirm. He liked knowing who they were, if only for a moment.

When he punched Goyle in the face, he saw it. When he beat him over and over in the empty corridor, Ron knew. He didn't have that fight in him, the way his best friends do. He was pitiful, really. Ron felt no sympathy afterwards, merely watched as the larger boy scrambled away bloody and terrified.

And later, when Ron let Harry bandage his knuckles in a way that no eleven year old should be able to do with such ease, he watched the blood swirl down the drain with morbid fascination.

His knuckles were swollen and bruised, and Harry was endlessly careful with them.

Goyle had gotten a good punch in, and Hermione's hand flitted around his cheek worriedly for a good two minutes before calming down.

And the next day, when Goyle's bruises were yellow with some kind of accelerated healing potion, Ron was quite disappointed that the colors had left so quickly. He felt put-out, robbed even, of the satisfaction he'd wanted. That he'd earned.

But when their eyes met, and Goyle flinched to look down with shameful fear, Ron decided that he could settle for that.

********************

Hermione Granger had always been a smart girl. It was something she had always prided herself in. Top of her class, always on time, always perfect.

Her parents had made sure of that. The Grangers would not permit their only child to fail. They refused to have a fuck up for a daughter. It would disgrace them beyond belief, leaving the family humiliated and shame-faced for all of the world to see.

Hermione Granger was used to the low expectations. She had long since grown accustomed to people looking down on her. From her buck teeth, to dark skin, to her frizzy hair, not many expected much from her.

They were proper people, the Grangers. Practical and no-nonsense types that expected their child to achieve a level of success that they were never able to reach.

So it was quite a shock when one day a severe-looking woman appeared on their doorstep in a tall pointy hat and bright green bathrobe that smelled faintly of cat treats.

Hermione had had an inkling about the magic. Strange occurrences, things that logic simply could not explain.

"It snowed once," she had murmured under her breath.

The three adults stopped their snapping, which had been quickly escalating into a fully-blown argument, to look towards the girl.

"What was that?" the professor had sniped quickly.

Hermione looked towards her parents, their lips pressed together tensely as they stared down their daughter through narrowed eyes.

"It snowed," Hermione'd said a bit more clearly. "When... when I read Narnia." She barely kept from flinching when her mother's fist clenched at the mention of one of those horrid fairy tales, but Hermione looked down and twisted her lips from side to side.

"Why is that?" the woman had asked a touch less harshly.

"In the story the kids went through a wardrobe and found a place where it snowed all year round. I just wanted to visit somewhere... somewhere different. Like..."

When Hermione made no effort to finish the professor made the effort to kneel before her to match their heights.

And slowly, the professor's lips began to pull up ever so slightly into an encouraging (and slightly conspiratorial) smile. "Somewhere magical?"

"Yes," Hermione had breathed out emphatically, nodding her head so vigorously that the beads in her weighty braids clanked together loudly enough to echo around the silent room.

"Well, I think that I may be able to make that happen."

To be entirely truthful, Hermione didn't much like school.

She loved learning. She had always loved learning. It was her favorite thing in the whole world. But the pressure, both from the school and her family, made Hermione want to tear her hair out until there was nothing left. Her parents were terrible about it. They monitored her grades as closely as humanly possible. And it was't enough to just do good, or great, or perfect. She had to be better than everyone in anything and everything she did.

Hermione had done ballet when she was little. It wan't her favorite thing in the world, but it had been fun.

But she wasn't The Best.

So her parents made her quit.

Harry and Ron were different than most.

They were her friends. Her real friends. Most people sneered at her in class when her hand always shot up and she jumped at the chance to answer every question she could and fight to be the first one to demonstrate how much better she was than them. (There had been a period of time where Hermione had stopped doing so. Her parents found out. She began raising her hand again.)

Her boys sometimes did that. When Hermione got overexcited and cut off the teacher Harry would sometimes hide his face with his hand or Ron would groan and roll his eyes. But the second someone else said something to her, they would jump at the chance to defend her and take no prisoners.

The three of them were family. A real family. Not like at home where dinner was tense and silent while Hermione's father picked apart every single sentence of her school progress reports, or when Harry would talk about his relatives in quivering whispers before quickly changing the subject before they could ask about his over-sized clothing and the gruesome pattern of raised skin on his arms.

Hermione laughed more with them in her first year at Hogwarts than she ever had in her entire existence. While Harry had a strange kind of gasping laugh that she could hardly distinguish between joy or pain, Ron's was full-bodied and bright. But they were both amazing. They sounded happy. Safe. Kind of like home.

She had never been so happy in her life.

Hermione loved magic.

It had a strange set of rules to it. Strange. Different. But soon enough, Hermione understood it.

Her favorite was potions. There was a definitive way to it, logic that was always followed. Hermione could follow a method and it would be perfect. Action and reaction. That was all it was. Action and reaction. Action and reaction.

(Snape was obviously terrible. He made her face burn and tears spring to her eyes. But she couldn't stop raising her hand or jumping in to answer questions. She just couldn't. If it got back to her parents it would be a thousand times worse than anything Snape could ever do to her.)

But outside of the classroom, Hermione fell in love with the method of potion-making. It was soothing and gentle and welcoming and just so perfect for her. Outside of the dankness of the dungeons and the harsh bearing of Severus Snape's beady black eyes, Hermione Granger sat in the sunlight of the second floor girls' lavatory and created masterpieces. She used her tools to create art. From potions of brilliant greens to velvety purples to bright blues so clear that she could see the bottom of the cauldron through. It was stunningly beautiful. And it took her breath away.

But she wasn't The Best.

(not yet, at least)

It was early on a Saturday morning.

The sun streamed through the tall window of the second floor girls' lavatory and landed on Hermione and her cauldron at the perfect angle. It was a potion recipe that Harry had found in the restricted section and given to her. (Normally, Hermione would never condone breaking rules. At school, no less. But this was a Special Circumstance.) It caused the consumer's heart to beat so fast that the blood couldn't make it through the arteries quickly enough, causing them them to clog and trigger a heart attack.

Hermione hadn't planned on actually giving it to anyone. It would be disgustingly terrible. To cause someone's death...

But then, the colors were so pretty. Swirling pinks and purples moving like waves crashing upon the sand, splashing against the sides of the cauldron of their own accord. Her eyes traced their movements, transfixed into a deep state of pure calm.

She didn't even notice when some of it had splashed up over the lip of the cauldron. It landed on the tiles with a decisive plink that echoed in the silence.

Hermione hadn't seen the rat until it was too late. She watched in horror as the small rodent moved towards the spilled potion, sniffing at it before licking hesitantly.

Before she could yell for it to stop, the rat began to convulse on the dirty floor. Hermione could do nothing but watch as the poor thing's body shook violently, squealing pathetically and rolling around in excruciating pain.

And then the blood.

There was so much in its tiny body. It was actually quite shocking. Spilling from everywhere from its eyes to its mouth to its ears. It was a horror scene - party of one.

Hermione wanted it to stop. She wanted to save the little rat. It was cruel and unkind and unfair and...

Disgustingly beautiful.

The vividness of its blood threw her off. It was smooth and thick, running through the grooves of the tiles in gentle rivulets akin to that of the rivers that carved through the Forest of Dean.

It was very different to see this kind of pain tearing its course through something. It felt almost satisfying to watch. Like she was seeing her own pain manifest itself within a tiny conductor, forcing everything inside of her inside of it.

And it was Hermione that was doing it. Hermione's potion. Her own knowledge and power transferring into another living breathing thing, wreaking its havoc as it went.

Action and reaction.

Sometimes Hermione would watch others in school with the same lens that she had watched that rat. She would bore holes through the side of Pansy Parkinson's head or clench her hands to avoid tilting the entirety of her scalding potion down the back of Professor Snape's robes during class.

(She would fantasize about it. Sometimes Hermione felt like a monster for doing so, but then she would look at Ron when he dug his fingertips into the desk and glare at Draco Malfoy with a barely concealed type of rage that she Knew meant that they were the same.)

(Harry was a little different. He didn't always have that kind of rage inside of him. But he would watch when Ron would fight others, untamed and wild in every aspect. And it would glimmer behind the vibrant green of his irises that Hermione had yet to recreate with one of her potions.)

Hermione wanted to do it. She wanted to drip just the littlest bit of her art onto their wrists. Just a drop. She wanted to watch their skin shrivel and burn, eaten away by the nature of her poison. She wanted to hear them scream. She wanted them to feel what she feels, if only for a bit. She wanted to paint with their blood, tracing sigils of old into her skin and practicing the kind of magic that would have her mother fainting on the front lawn and her father puking into the ugly orange tulips tracing the stark white walls of her pretty little muggle home.

But for now, she'd have to settle for the rats haunting the bathroom floor.

#Harry Potter #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #black hermione granger #INDIAN HARRY POTTER #dark au #dark golden trio #golden trio #not v happy #and ive brought you mur #thank you #mur-dur!#JUDAS

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

Note

In your ask about how the nameless guy could be the nameless woman, you said that you thought the statute of secrecy is much younger than what is said in the series. Please elaborate how you know (not that I disagree with you. the wizards are s*** at keeping themselves a secret)

So, as I’ve discussed before, one has to take anything about history in the wizarding world with a large grain of salt. Specifically, I doubt the wizarding world approaches the discipline of history the way we do, history doesn’t seem to be much of an academic field (the wizarding world seems to only have two historians, one of which is dead), and there seems to be a strong incentive and tradition of propaganda.

So, that alone makes me suspicious of anything we learn relating to The Founders, Merlin, and even the Statute of Secrecy.

And now, JKR’s wiki.

JKR places the statute in the midst of the witch burnings (late 17th century) as basically an emergency action on the part of the wizarding community. Who had been steadily ostracized for about a century.

The children were particularly vulnerable and eventually they put their feet down, across the entire world (Tibet is somehow included in this), and agreed to make all the muggles forget about them.

I actually had thought JKR had made the statute earlier than that, which is my bad, so I would probably date it nearish the same time (and they do probably have records of when they put it into law) but I think the why and the how are a little different than wizards remember.

The Modern Wizarding World

To me, the Wizarding World we see in Harry Potter doesn’t reflect this story.

We see extreme anti-muggleborn sentiment in Salazar Slytheirn (who is supposed to be dated 500 years earlier). Granted, this is likely propaganda/popular legend dated to near when the statute went into effect, showing that “SEE THIS HAS ALWAYS PLAGUED OUR PEOPLE”, except he’s portrayed in a very negative light.

Salazar is a known dark wizard and when he doesn’t get what he wants, he puts a monster in the basement of the school. Even before Voldemort warped society’s perception of Slytherin, this is...

Well, it’s not the kind of legend you have about the other three founders.

That’s... not what your Cassandra should be doing.

Wizards treat the witch burnings as a joke. Oh, they don’t like the sentiment, but within the books Hermione notably reads historical accounts of witches and wizards who enjoyed getting caught by muggles because they liked being lit on fire and laughing in their faces.

Now, this is one account we get to see, but that this is something taught to the children just emphasizes that muggles aren’t viewed as a threat. They’re a nuisance or else a people to be pitied for their lack of magic.

While it has been 400 years, I think that the reasons for the founding of modern wizarding society would run deep. If it was truly because of the witch hunts alone, and fear of persecution, their narrative and attitudes would look very different.

This is not a society that went into hiding because of big bad muggles.

It’s a society that went into hiding because they were sick of this bullshit

The Bullshit Turmoil of 17th Century Europe

17th century Europe was a mess. Large parts of countries changed hands all the time, the continent was nearly always at war, and England might have been one of the biggest messes of all. Civil war, deposed kings, reform of the state religion multiple times, the witch burnings, etc.

I think the wizards just got tired of it and didn’t want to deal with it anymore. They already likely had Hogwarts, their own private, secret, educational institution, and already feel quite cut off from muggle society. Why should they pay taxes to muggle kings who change every week and whose religions constantly persecute them?

So, in the midst of all this chaos, they enact the statute. And I imagine it’s surprisingly simple. Most pack up and move, creating all wizarding neighborhoods, they have a council of their most important families meeting every so often which becomes the Wizengamot, and they become essentially a sovereign nation that just happens to leach off muggle infrastructure.

And as the years go on, and they like this not paying taxes or going to church thing, they slowly become more and more alienated from muggle society until they fail to understand it at all.

And so you have the modern wizard who literally has no clue why they separated off except that the witch burnings had something to do with it. The idea that muggles even have problems like these (politics, civil war, changing of state religion multiple times) is likely an anathema to them.

They’ve completely forgotten that they once had to deal with this too.

What About the Other Countries?

JKR doesn’t really cite when it became an international law but it’s presumably around the same time.

And you’re telling me that they were able to get people from every country, not just Western Europe, with starkly different cultures and attitudes towards magic, to agree to this? All at the same time?

To me, I think it was rapidly adopted in stages in Western Europe. Britain may have done it first then the French wizards went, “Hey, that looks like a great idea!” and went along for the ride.

I think it was imperialism/colonialism/westernization that spread the statue elsewhere. The British wizards get to China and India, sorry locals, you get to use wands, build magical academies, and have to go live separate from the muggles now. Doesn’t matter what you were doing before, our way is the right way!

With westernization, I imagine that the wizarding communities in those nations saw the changing times, and most decided to switch over to the more western model of disappearing as muggles seemed to appreciate them less and less. And even then we still have things like Rasputin happening.

The Statute Today

With increased technology, communication, and travel the Statute is untenable. It will fail. Eventually there will be something wizards can’t cover up with a gas leak. As it is, that’s very nearly Harry and Ron in 1992 when they fly a car over a populated city.

More, the alienation of the wizarding world doesn’t help. They now have no understanding of muggle culture. The only real understanding they have is through muggleborns and they’re disconnected from muggles as well as they’re essentially taken out of that society at the age of eleven.

The way wizards talk, the statute will always hold. Doesn’t matter that the obliviation department seems busier than ever, the idea that this didn’t always exist, that it can crumble, doesn’t even occur to them.

But yes, those are my general thoughts on the statute.

#ask #anon #harry potter

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plant-flwrs · 4 years

Note

no nonsense sarcastic sporty girl whos never put makeup on, using it after much pleading to the yule ball. Pair with whoever and let's see where it goes. (preferably one of the twins). Extreme fluff (always thought you were beautiful but now youre just gorgeous) type. Go about witj it however you want😁

the yule ball // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: um ok kind of losing my mind bc i got my first actual request!!! like that makes me so happy that people want me to like... make their ideas, i guess. anywho just had to say that. im so thankful for the people who read my writing and follow me and i just wanted to say thanks! so, thanks! i hope i made this request everything you wanted it to be anon, and thanks for requesting it <3 (also hope i picked the right twin for you lol) also sorry this took so long! i wrote this over like three times and with school starting i don’t have as much time :(

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“I just don’t see the point in it,” you explained to Alicia, feeling her confused eyes pouring into the side of your face, “make’s me feel weird.”

“You just aren’t doing it right!” she replied, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

You shoveled a forkful of eggs into your mouth, rolling your eyes as you chewed.

“Maybe,” you replied, covering your mouth full of food with the back of your hand.

“Hello ladies,” Fred said as he slid into the bench across from you.

“What’cha gabbing about?” George said, sliding a piece of toast off your plate as he sat next to you.

You moved to stab your fork into his hand, but missed, instead spiking the toast. Fred’s eyes widened, nearly seeing his brother lose a finger.

“Nice aim,” he said, filling his own plate.

“Was going for the hand,” you said, collecting the toast and lathering it with jam.

George wrapped his arm around your shoulder, unfazed by your attempted assault.

“Y/n refuses to join us when we get ready for the Yule ball,” Alicia said, also ignoring your failed stabbing.

Fred feigned a hand over his forehead, leaning back dramatically, “How will you ever form an unbreakable bond? Without the sanctity of Yule Ball preparations, you will have nothing that ties you together well past your prime,” he spouted, not stopping even after Alicia slapped his shoulder, “you will drift apart, knowing nothing of each other.”

George quickly removed his arm from your shoulder and dramatically clapped at his brother, who only pretended to remove and tip a hat to him.

“Why don’t you want to get ready with the girls?” George asked once Fred calmed down.

“I’ll come, I just don’t have much getting ready to do,” you said plainly, “just puttin’ on a dress.”

“Not even some mascara?” Alicia pleaded, her eyebrows raised to her hairline.

“I suppose I could let you put some mascara on me,” you said, and Alicia pretended to faint into Fred, “some!”

Fred laughed, and you got an eyeful of chewed toast in his mouth. You looked away in disgust, catching George’s eyes. He looked at you odd, like he was at incredible peace.

“Everyone’s gone mad today,” you mumbled, finishing your breakfast.

You had written home about the Ball, and your mother had sent you an incredible array of magazines to choose a dress from. You had to admit, the dress was awfully pretty.

Going to Quidditch practice, doing homework, eating, sleeping, and keeping up with romance do’s and don’t’s was becoming exhausting. Luckily, you could merge some of the activities together, like homework and eating, and keeping up with romance and Quidditch.

Alicia and Katie loved to talk anything and everything that involved the Yule Ball. If you breathed and it sounded like ‘yule’ they would talk your ear off. Katie had even asked Wood about the ball.

“Well, Oliver,” she started, wiping off some sweat from her forehead, “if you don’t have a date you could join our group.”

You Alicia, Katie, George, and Lee had decided to go as a group, not bothering with the stress of getting dates. You all knew that no matter who you took, you’d just end up ditching them to dance with your friends. Fred and Angelina were a different story.

Fred had been sending Angelina all sorts of mixed signals since he asked her. One day, he’s asking what color her dress is so they can match, and the next he’s telling her that in his opinion, dances are the most stupid thing a man could succumb himself to. It made you glad to be going with friends.

“I don’t know, Katie,” Oliver scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “I was going to run Quidditch plays on the empty field that night.”

Katie rolled her eyes and they landed on you. You felt a blush creep up your neck as she brought you some water.

“Hey, Katie,” you said, taking the water from her.

“Hey,” she said, smiling quizzically at you, “Alicia told me you weren’t all that excited about the ball.”

This surprised you. You hadn’t meant to come off as bitter, you just felt you were expressing your genuine disinterest.

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, “It’s just, not really my thing I guess.”

Katie nodded knowingly at you, like you had just hinted at some sort of huge secret. It made you nervous. You two were stood by the water cooler, and Fred, George, and Harry had come over.

“What?” you asked her.

“I think,” she said dramatically, “that the boy you like hasn’t asked you, and you aren’t excited because you don’t have a date.”

You thought she was joking, but she didn’t laugh. You blinked at her for several minutes, the gears in your head turning so fast that you couldn’t think whether to be concerned for Katie’s well-being, or your own. Among your deep thoughts, Fred laughed obnoxiously. George swallowed nervously.

“Katie,” you said slowly, “are you serious? Do you actually think that?”

She nodded excitedly, thinking you were going to uncover your deepest and darkest secrets.

“Oh Merlin,” your eyes widened, “you could not be more wrong.”

You left her with her mouth hanging open as you kicked off the ground and back into practice.

The next week, McGonagall called the entire house for a meeting. She and Filch stood next to an ancient looking record player. She explained the sacred meanings of the Yule Ball, but all you could hear was Fred and George’s snickering in your ear.

“Do you think McGonagall would dance with me if I asked nicely?” one of them said.

“I reckon you’d have to take her to dinner first, mate, she’s a classy lady.” the other replied.

Soon enough, McGonagall was sending you off to pair with each other, and you looked around. George was already looking at you, so you took a step towards him.

“Dance with me,” you held your hand out, “Weasley.”

“I’d love to,” he said, taking your hand.

His hand fell naturally on your hip, and it made your chest tighten. Your hands eased into the crook of his neck, and he swallowed hard.

You swayed to the old music, neither of you meeting the other’s eye.

Your dress was sent to you in a large cardboard box that sat unopened in the corner of your dormitory. It was propped against your mirror, and stayed there until the night of the Yule Ball.

“Oh!” Alicia exclaimed, clasping her hands together, “I can’t wait to see it!”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped into the bathroom, bringing the dress with you. You opened it slowly, and the delicate fabric of the dress was peaking out before you had even removed all the tape. It smelled of home, and your heart soared. The fabric danced through your fingers, sliding elegantly over your figure. Looking in the mirror, you slid your hands down your sides feeling awfully impressed by yourself.

You looked at the mounds of makeup on the counter in front of you, and picked some up like they were dangerous. Holding them away from your dress, you squinted your eyes to read the tiny labels. Deciding on a few, you looked intensely into the mirror, your face creased with concentration. You covered the eye-bags you had developed while studying for tests. You put some pink powder on your cheeks like you had seen your mother do. Lengthening your lashes with some odd dark goo, and styling down your eyebrows with some odd clear goo.

When you opened the bathroom door, Alicia was still stood with her hands clasped. All the girls were standing in their elegant gowns, hair and makeup done absolutely perfectly.

“Oh no,” Katie gasped, looking at you in horror.

The three of them all steered your shoulders back into the bathroom, and you looked at yourself next to them. You looked like a clown! The pink powder was in little circles on the sides of your faces, and nothing about your makeup looked as nice as the other girls.

Katie saw your face lowering with sadness and brought your eyes to her’s.

“We can fix this,” she smiled reassuringly at you, “easy.”

She held her wand to your face, and you flinched as you felt a refreshing wind gust over it. Your face felt clean, and you moved your hands to touch it. You felt no pink powder or any goos.

Katie turned you to face Alicia, who had her wand ready.

“It really is a beautiful dress,” she said, her wand twirling as you felt little tickles on your face.

You turned to look in the mirror and felt your stomach spin.

You looked amazing, everything about the makeup was flattering, but not over the top. They had known exactly what you wanted.

You pulled them all into you, your arms stretching to wrap around them all. You all joyously walked down to the great hall, each of you clutching the sides of your dresses as you walked down the stairs.

By the time you had made it to where you were meeting the boys, just in front of the Great Hall, you had fallen behind the girls, not used to walking in heals. They were all looking up at you as you came down.

Lee and Fred looked like they were seeing you for the first time, their mouths hung open in childish smiles, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia looked like proud stage mother’s.

When your eyes met George, there was an intensity you had never felt before. Standing in front of him, still on the steps so you were eye level, it was like he was the only person there. His black and white dress robes fit him perfectly, and his red hair blazed as it hung in his face. His lips were pink and he kept licking them nervously. He offered you his elbow and you accepted, following your friends into the Ball.

“You look stunning,” he whispered int your ear.

The music was loud and your dress was awkward to dance in. George leaned in close to your face whenever he had a sarcastic remark to make, and half the time you couldn’t make out what he was saying. Your brain was scrambled from the heat and the proximity of his face to yours.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” you yelled into his ear.

Pulling away, he gripped your arms, pulling you back so he could yell something. His voice was like honey and it shot jolts down your spin.

“Want me to come with?”

You smiled and nodded your head, and he looked giddy,

He trailed after you like a puppy, careful not to step on the back of your dress.

You didn’t stop walking until you had landed on a bench in the courtyard. You held your dress close to you so George could sit without landing on it. He crossed his legs at his ankles and shoved his hands in his pockets. You picked up your hair off your hot skin, holding it as if it were a ponytail. George’s gaze fell onto the exposed and shiny skin of your back, and he gulped.

Your head tilted up at the sky, and you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of the cold breeze on your sweaty skin.

“Are you having fun?” George asked you.

“With you?”

“Yeah, with me.”

“I am,” you responded, dropping your hair and looking at him.

He was already looking at you, like he so often was, and as you watched his eyes drift down to your lips, you realized Katie was right.

You didn’t want anything to do with this ball if George wasn’t with you, hell you didn’t want anything to do with life if George wasn’t with you.

You were being a sour-sport because deep down, you knew you had wanted George to ask you to the ball.

“George?” you said, and his eyes didn’t leave your lips.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you ask me to the ball?”

At this, George’s eyes met yours and he wiped his face, as if he were in a dream and imagined you had said that.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

“I hadn’t realized,” he turned to look at his feet, “I just figured, you never seemed like you were that excited.”

“But you wanted to come with me?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly, not having to think about it.

“George,” you asked, and he turned to face you, “do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Both of your mouths turned into wicked grins, and he nodded furiously. He stood up quickly and offered you his hand.

#harry potter #hogwarts #george weasley #george #weasley #fred and george #george weasley fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #gryffindor #quidditch #weasley twins

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easily-infatuated23 · 4 years

Text

At the Ballet (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

a/n: hey! i am a dancer so this was super fun to write. i’ll link the video’s of the variations discussed both here and in the actual story incase you want to watch it ‘in the moment’ also the ending is super cliche but i wasn’t sure how to finish

Y/H/H/C= your hogwarts house color

Dying swan variation

Kirtri Variation

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Dancer!Reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: super brief mentions of blood and cancer

summary: Reader is using the Room of Requirement as a dance studio when a certain blonde finds her and watches her dance

I am probably one of the only people in the world who would be unhappy to find out they were a wizard. The day my Hogwarts letter came in I was devastated. As a muggle-born witch, I had lived the first eleven years of my life without any magic or magical knowledge. I also happened to be one of the few lucky people in the world who was born knowing what they wanted to do when they grew up. Ever since I was three years old, all I wanted to do was dance. While all the other kids were playing princess or digging in the sand box, I was twirling around the play ground. When I started my first formal dance lesson at age five, I was hooked. Everyday I diligently went to dance class after school. I would pull on my pink tights and leotard in the car, just to make sure I was ready when class started. While other kids had sleepovers and weekend playdates, I was in the studio working. When I got my first pointe shoes I was over the moon. I could finally look like those beautiful ballerina’s I’d seen on stage. I could just picture myself in the beautiful white tutu, being lifted in the air by a handsome prince. That all changed when I got my letter.

Boarding school meant no after school classes. Boarding school meant no studios. Boarding school meant crushing my career aspirations. I worked very hard once I got to Hogwarts. I threw myself into my school work to try and forget the aching feeling in my body building up from not dancing. I was too embarrassed to bring my leotard and tights to school but I couldn’t bear to leave my pointe shoes at home. The pink satin shoes called to me like a siren does to a sailor. When the common room was empty or when I could sneak into a classroom, I would dance. The cold stone floors wrecked my beautiful satin shoes, but, I couldn’t stop. Every summer I would take multiple classes a day, trying to gain any training I had lost. Even though I was a witch, I had no plans to go into a magical career. It was always dance. Always.

By my third year at Hogwarts I started to give up hope. My training was falling further and further behind my peers. At this rate, I would never be hired by a company. Then, the strangest thing happened. One day, I was walking down an empty corridor when I saw a door appear that I didn’t recognize. When I entered the room, my heart skipped a beat. Inside, I found a perfect replica of my studio from home. There were mirrors on all sides of the room, a stack of barres sitting in a corner, and a piano. How had I never seen this room before! After this discovery, I used this room (which I later learned is known as the Room of Requirement) every single day. One day when I came in, there was a white tutu sitting on the piano, just like the one I had always dreamed of. Although I had good friends at school, I never talked about my intense love for dance. I had made the mistake of telling someone I intended to go into a muggle career after school, and I was laughed at by all who heard. This caused me to keep my love a secrete.

By fourth year, I came to school with all of my leotards and a full lesson plan given to me by my ballet teacher at home. She had even given me a new challenge too. She assigned me a set of four solo variations to learn and perfect, one of which was the ‘Dying Swan’ variation from Swan Lake. Although the ‘Dying Swan’ variation was not the most technically difficult variation of the group, the emotions that needed to be portrayed made it increasingly difficult. The girl, Odette, was transformed into a swan. She was cursed to live as a swan during the day and become human at night. While in human form, she fell in love. The variation is about when she learned that the love of her life had spurned her for another and it was literally killing her. It was this variation I worked the hardest on. Repeating it over and over, sometimes until my feet would bleed.

Today’s rehearsal was different. I had gotten the bad news that my beloved teacher was diagnosed with late stage cancer and that I would probably never get to see her again. Today’s rehearsal was for her. I was no longer dancing the variation as a girl losing her lover, but as a student losing her mentor. It made the emotions of the dance feel more real and intense. I walked into the Room of Requirement and put on my pointe shoes, making sure to do plenty of relevés and warming up properly. Then, it was time.

I put on my white tutu and waved my wand at the small CD player, starting the sorrowful song. I glided across the space, waving my arms as if they were wings. No. Not good enough. I started again. No. My balance was wrong. I started again. This cycle continued until I got so frustrated I cried. Then, I felt it in my soul. I finally started to connect to the character and emotions I was trying so desperately to portray. I took a deep breath and started again. This time, it felt right. I glided across the floor, I held every balance, I truly felt like I did it perfectly. There was no separation between the music and my dancing. It felt like the violin was the dancer and I was the violinist. When the end finally came, I gracefully slid to my knee and draped my arms over my outstretched leg. Before I could congratulate myself on my execution, I heard someone begin to clap. I sat up with a start and turned to face the intruder. A boy with platinum blonde hair begin to saunter over, still clapping slowly. He saw my shocked expression and spoke. “The door was slightly open and I heard music, thought I’d check it out.” he began. “That was…” he paused, as if he was trying to decide on the appropriate word. “…heart-wrenchingly beautiful” he finished. I blushed slightly, secretly hoping it blended in with the color already present on my face from the exertion. “Thank you” I said quickly.

I turned and pressed the stop button on the CD player before the song restarted. “I’m serious, that was incredible” he said again. I gave a quick uncomfortable smile before taking my tutu off. After all, I had other variations to rehearse and I wasn’t going to let some nosy kid stop me. “Thank you for the compliment but would you please leave, I have other things I need to rehearse” I said shortly. “But please don’t tell anyone about this, I don’t need anyone giving me shit about this”. He looked at me, puzzled. “Why would people give you shit about this?” he asked, crossing his arms as a slight scowl formed on his previously awe-struck face. “Because I want to go into a muggle career” I said matter-a-factly. “Oh” he said.

I took a sip from my water bottle and checked my rehearsal notes for which variation I should do next. I looked over at the door, the boy was still standing there. “Are you gonna leave or are you just gonna stand there gawking at me?” I asked. He looked flustered for a moment. “Oh um, can I or well, would you mind if I watched? My uh, my mother took me to the ballet a few times as a kid so I guess its kinda nostalgic” he said honestly. I took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. I hadn’t had an audience in a while. “Fine but you can’t laugh if I mess up” I said. “Deal” he replied.

Next variation on the list, the act 1 finale Kitri variation from Don Quixote. Different from the ‘Dying Swan’ variation this one is filled with fire and joy. I knew I could do this one well and I figured that I should show off since my intruder had decided to stay. The music began and I was on fire. Every jump and turn I did was perfect. Then came the dreaded diagonal. I would have to complete twenty turns on pointe in a perfect diagonal, then end in a balance on one leg. I always would get nervous for this part but I nailed it. After I finished, there came another round of applause, this one more full bodied than the last. “Merlin, that was…just wow” the boy said. I turned to face him a curtsied. “Thank you! It seems like I dance better in front of an audience” I said jokingly. The blonde laughed and looked down at his feet. He pushed him self off of the wall he had been leaning on and walked closer to me.

“I’m Malfoy by the way, Draco Malfoy”. He stuck his hand out. “Well Draco it’s nice to meet you” I said, reaching for his outstretched hand and shaking it. “I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N”. I took a step back and looked at the clock that was positioned above the door. “Well, I’m done for the day, if I don’t stop now I never will and Snape’s potions essay will never get done.” I walked over to my dance bag and plopped down on the floor, beginning the relief-filled but somewhat painful process of taking off my pointe shoes. “Does it hurt?” Draco asked. “Oh yeah like hell, but the longer you do it the sooner your feet go numb to the pain” I replied, placing the shoes into my bag. Next, I stood up and peeled off my pink tights. I had seen a video of a professional ballerina wearing her tights over her leotard and I’d worn mine in just the same way ever since then. Although I wasn’t looking directly at Draco, I could of sworn I saw him blush a bit. I pulled on my skirt and button down shirt, lastly tying my Y/H/H/C tie around my neck. Draco was still standing there, just watching me as I gathered my things. “Are you just gonna keep staring at me or…?” I said, causing him to shake his head slightly as if he was bringing his brain back down to Earth. “I was actually on my way to the library when I found you, are you headed that way” Draco asked. “Yes, I was planning on going to the library to finish this essay after a quick shower” I replied. “We could study together if you want, meet in the library around 8?” he proposed. I looked at the clock, 7:30, I could make that. “Sure” I said, smiling sweetly. “Just don’t sneak up on me if I get there before you” I joked. He chuckled softly. “See you at 8” I said as I walked out of the room. He waved.

It was surprisingly fun working with Draco. We both got the work we needed to done but managed to have some fun conversations as well. He asked me all about dance and my life. I told him quite a bit about myself, more than I had told to most. He cringed when I told him I was muggle-born but I didn’t think much of it. I tried asking him some of the same questions he asked me, but he was much more reserved and closed off in his answers. I didn’t mind, we are all entitled to privacy.

The next few weeks went by like a blur. Draco had started joining me for my daily rehearsals. He would sit in the back of the room and do homework. Sometimes it felt like that homework was to study me and my body but it didn’t bother me. A few times, when he would ask me how it was possible to do certain steps, I would force him to try some. “Bloody hell this is impossible!” he yelled. “How in Merlin’s name do you do this??”. “Draco its fifth position, this is what the seven year olds learn, stop fussing!” I replied, trying to fix his arms in the position. “No no, chin up, stomach in, arms up, straighten your legs, no your arms are dropping again, no don’t look down!” I giggled calling these corrections at him. “I truly don’t know how you do this” he said, laughing along with me. “It took years of hard work and dedication” I replied. “No your focus is down again” I said, reaching out and touching his cheeks. This action brought his gaze straight forward and directly into my eyes. We stayed like that for a moment before I removed my hands and took a few steps back, the tapping of my pointe shoes cutting through the silence like a knife. “There, you got it” I said finally, unconsciously biting my lip. “Run me through that last correction again” he said, taking a few steps towards me. The gap between our bodies was nearly completely closed. He reached out and cupped my cheeks. “It not this,” he said, pointing my face at the ground. “it’s like this” he finished his sentence. He titled my head up and leaned in cautiously. I swallowed hard. “Mhmm” was all that managed to escape my mouth. Just as I thought he was about to kiss me, the bell tower rang 8 o’clock. We both giggled at the tension that had suddenly been released and he lightly bumped his forehead on mine before releasing my cheeks and stepping back. “I have to go, I’m supposed to be tutoring someone at 8” he said with an air of disappointment. “Yeah of course go I’ll see you later” I replied. He picked up his bag and walked toward the door. He was halfway through it when he turned around and flashed me with one last smile before fully exiting. My hand reached up to my face and felt my cheek, as if it was trying to replicate the feeling Draco’s hand. I smiled and shook my head softly. I turned back to the mirrors and walked over to the CD player. I let out a small giggle then pressed play. Now I understood how those heroine’s in the ballet felt when their prince’s gently caressed their cheek, and I was gonna make sure to rehearse that moment again and again.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #dancer!reader #hogwarts #harry potter #ballet #slytherin #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #gryffindor #room of requirement #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter au

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jlf23tumble · 3 years

Note

Hey Jen. I think you’re superb like in a (not to quote anyone but) you can sit and kind of admire what you’re like kind of way. So thanks for being awesome and enjoyable to this internet stranger. In unrelated matter, do you have any angst filled fics? I mostly read HL but I’ll dive into whatever as long as the pain is there. (If I can give a preference, I’m not so much into magic, fantasy, wolves, and sorts.) In these unprecedented times, I think I’d still need a happy ending though after the characters suffer terribly lol. If you find time to put something together for little old moi, I’d appreciate it very much. Thanks! Keep on keeping on! You’re wonderful!

<bryan_cranston_me_question_mark.gif> !!!!!!!!!! This is so incredibly kind, I think you’re pretty wonderful, too! I feel like I’m probably going to let you down here, though, because I generally don’t go too hard for angst (for one, it usually translates into longer fics, for two, some areas of true angst are just things I don’t really want to read for pleasure, like messy cheating aftermaths, abuse, character death, etc., and for three, I get lost in the sauce if I try too hard to dissect if something actually IS major angst versus, say, intense pining), but I’ll do my best! I’m going to give my dirty dozen here--my top 12 for hl--then I’ll dive deeper under the cut, with authors I love who write so much angst it’s tough to pick just one, plus other fandoms, too, in case you want to dive deeper.

Fertile Ground, Blake, 4.4k. Okay, in truth, so much of what Blake writes has gorgeous lashings of angst, so definitely read all of their fic (every fandom), but this one?? HOLY MOLY, it deserves to be separated and celebrated, Harry’s angst about fertility, howwwwww is this 4.4k, I ask, constantly?

sensitive to pressure, momentofclarity/ @gaycousinlarry, 4.4k. Hockey players and pubes and scent kinks, and yet there’s still this current of angst that thrums underneath, man oh man, would I read everything in this universe.

Everything You Do, jishler/ @jishlerfics, 6.6k. The third part of a stunning series, this one focusing on Harry’s gender identity and the Dunkirk haircut, and if you saw those recent gifsets with him wearing the beanie during training, yeah, this fic is alllll about it

i’m a captain on a jealous sea, devilinmybrain/ @thedevilinmybrain, 15k. A lot of jealousy on Louis’s part about all things Gryles, both real and imagined, I’m loving the vibes this author brings to it all.

taking tips and getting stoned, alison, 24k. I don’t think I can sum this one up quickly, but taxi driver Louis comes across singer Harry, and a lot of things change after that? God, that’s bad, but this fic is not!

hard to confess, @hereforlou, 24k. I adore Maggie’s writing so much, and she’s another one where I could rec at least three more here, but the one where Harry hides that he’s pregnant until the very last second? It’ll forever be the scorpio of mpreg fics, and I say that with the highest praise.

Maybe I Miss You series, 13ways, 28k. THIS SERIES, ooooooooffffff, the angstometer is off the chart, and then the last installment? Harry in makeup? This after all the sexting and boxing and hate sex and finally they figure their shit out? All of it is so good, and I’m eternally sad the author moved on (but jesus, I get it).

hush., Wankerville, 41k. Easily in my top five fics of any fandom, the softness and the cruelty, the growth and the real-life feels, an American high school AU that is still stunning and must have blown doors off back in that particular day (I’d also rec this author’s other work, esp. for angst).

every universe but ours, 28finelines, 49k. Okay, so this one has a little bit of magic that might annoy you, but it’s mostly in a multiverse way, like you’re reading a ton of AUs, but the theme itself has an angsty core, fwiw!

Truly, Madly, Deeply (10 Things I Hate about You), sunsetmog, 54k. I know I talk a LOT about this author’s ongoing wip, Harry Styles Cooks... (which is phenomenal, please do yourself a favor if you haven’t already), but this one? Angst ahoy, Harry auditions for XFUK without telling his boyfriend/friends, becomes a success, then comes home.

Time Passed, coffinofachimera/ @belialsmiracles, 66k. For every fic rec list I make, I always have at least one fic where I say, if you read nothing else, read this one, AND THIS IS IT, all categories, it’s simply astounding, life-changing, world-ending, and it kills me that more people haven’t left comments, but if it keeps shitty comments away, I’m all for it, I’ll protect this author/fic with my life. I can’t even begin to describe it, but if you want to know what the songs Fine Line or She are about, here you go! AIMH, Tokyo Harry!

The World Turned Upside Down, dogslpdi/ @dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram, 71k. I’m really iffy on historical fics, but this fic! This fic nails it! The detail and the emotion, the way you can feel the effects of the strike in so many ways, but also how HIV/AIDS is not that far off on the horizon, it’s just so well done. Plus, I adore Ralph’s humor and the way she tagged this both “minor angst” and “miner angst,” and if I can’t end an angst rec on a light note, what more can I do?

Let’s start with things beyond hl...lately, I’ve been reading a LOT of Untamed fic, and I feel like I should just point you to Liv’s masterlists because they are angst city (and fun city, too), plus she’s done a really good job of labeling them accordingly (right now, my fave angst is from chunk no. 2, Fire in the Blood, which is a case fic, but oof, I can’t wait to read even more in these parts).

I’m also just now getting into Merlin and reading a lot in that fandom, but it’s a bit scattershot at this stage (I haven’t finished the show yet, and I’m still working my way through one author who wrote 100+ fics, all of which are incredible; if you’re curious for something recent from over there, Phoenix wrote a short, angsty one that’s good and ouchy, this tangled thicket).

Speaking of Phoenix, EVERYTHING she has written for Cars (Lightning/Doc) is incredibly angsty, usually with that happy ending finale--I’d rec my current fave, but it’s a wip, so no happy ending yet, wahhh. Check out this link to the rest of them, though, I rec ‘em all!

I still have to watch the source material, but everything anyone’s sent me from Cobra Kai is INCREDIBLY angsty and so, so good, so I’m gonna bet there’s a fair bit of fix-it fic in my future, but we shall see!

Now onto the hl angst, ideally things you haven’t already read a million times before. Like I said earlier, this one’s kind of tough because I’m not into intense angst (major character/close family member death, messy cheating aftermath--though @kingsofeverything’s Devil and the Deep Blue Sea is fantastic, if you’re into that [messy cheating aftermath, not death]; actually, a lot of Lauren’s longer fics have a dose of angst, so dive away!)

Speaking of authors who regularly deliver angst, I have quite a few that I would say just go check out their works because almost every single thing they’ve done has it in varying degrees, you won’t be disappointed! These authors primarily write the hl pairing, and I definitely rec ‘em all: HappyPrincess, got2ghost, mediaville, and sedfierisentio. Authors I love who write Harry/other characters and do it in a hella angsty way include vondrostes, sulkingroom, radiodurans, and wishforwishes (I swear, I still think about call me anything you like at least once a month).

#fic rec #one direction #angst #for someone who hates it i sure have a lot of it

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years

Text

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Twenty-three

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival @cass-nes @ireallyshouldsleeprn)

oh my God. here we are. chapter twenty-three.

what is there to say but thank you all so much for reading?

beware, this chapter’s monster sized. around 10k. also...relatively graphic birth scene.

thank you all. so much.

---

August 23 - Year of

In the end, it was not Cassian's fault she made the decision to leave.

Later, much later, she would wonder if he blamed himself and she almost wished she could tell him otherwise. Because even in those last months they spent together, he was good to her. Better than anyone else had ever been. Sweet and teasing and kind. Such kindness. Who had ever treated her this way? Who smiled like this when she walked into a room? No one had ever been happy to see her. And from the way he looked at her and the things he said, she knew he felt the same way.

So he probably didn't realize anything was amiss.

For Nesta answered every kiss with one of her own, tugged his hair right back, pinched him affectionately when he interrupted her reading.

It ran deep. More real than blood, more concrete than any vow. Late at night, in the bed that had become theirs, she told him of her deepest wish as a child, how she had done everything her little mind could think of to win her mother's praise and love and how it had destroyed her when she had died without truly giving it to her. He had far less family history to share, but he told her in turn what he could: how Rhsyand's mother had been the first person to show him any kindness, how the hero of that children's story, about the thief who stole the night, was all he wanted to be when he grew up because of how he built for himself what he was not given, even how cheap the first female he'd ever been with made him feel when she revealed she never wanted to acknowledge him in public because of his status.

Bit by bit, nightly, Cassian would bare his soul to her a little more, and she'd feel guilt as she didn't share all of herself in return. There were things she could not say.

He knew, though. Of course he did. He knew her better than anyone, saw right through every layer she had wrapped around herself. That was why he'd ask her, from time to time. A sweet kiss, a cup of tea, and a simple question: What's wrong, Nesta?

Answers varied. Nothing or headache or you're irritating me, won't you let me read in peace? or a myriad of other things.

She could not tell him because she could not admit it to herself.

Here is what she could not say: I cannot love you because I will inevitably lose and you and you're the best thing I've ever had so that will destroy me even more than everything else already has, and I know that I will lose you because you can never put me first above your duties to the Night Court and your High Lord and I will not settle for second to him.

In the end, she didn't have to. And that was not Cassian's fault either.

It was her sister who spared her the act when she knocked on the front door.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

It wasn't the pain that woke her up. It was the wetness between her legs. An odd, gooey sort of substance. What was that, Nesta wondered. Was she bleeding? With that thought, she kicked off her blanket, but with her sudden movement came a definite tug from deep inside her-oh.

It was happening.

Nesta took a deep breath and raised her nightgown. No blood, she saw, and her shoulders relaxed. Just the mucus, tinted pink slightly.

Nesta had read enough on her own and asked Amorette enough to know: this was early labor. It had just started at...fifteen past four in the morning. It could be anywhere from an hour to a few days before active labor started. Logically, she knew she could take a bath, go back to sleep, and wait till a reasonable hour to call for Amorette, but logic wasn't what spurred her. The faelight was in her hand before she realized it.

As she loosened her fingers around it, her heart rate picked up. She would be doing this alone. Her mother would not be here. Her sisters would not be here. How had she not considered that before? Why had she gone through with this? Why hadn't she terminated the pregnancy when she'd had the chance?

She forced herself to practice her breathing. There was no use in panicking now. Far too late for that, anyway.

On her twentieth slow exhale, she heard the door downstairs open and shut, followed by quick footsteps up the stairs.

"Nesta?" Amorette said from the hall, voice clear and strong despite the ungodly hour.

"In here," she called, in more of a wheeze.

Amorette was at her side almost instantly. "Are you in pain?" Her blue eyes ran up and down Nesta's body, hands going to feel her cheeks.

Nesta flushed. "No," she said. It was stupid to call her, wasn't it? "Just...my water. But no pain...yet."

Amorette drew her hands back in surprise. Then her face broke out in a wide smile. "Congratulations," she said, cheery. She draws a chair close to the bed. "Let's have a look, shall we?" Amorette folded the blanket up from Nesta's toes to her knees, so Nesta couldn't see what she was doing, which she greatly appreciated.

"So," she said, folding the blanket back down. "You probably know this, but you're in one of the first stages of early labor. You're just barely dilated."

"Do you know how long until..."

"Well, there's no real way for me to know for sure," Amorette said. "But seeing as you haven't felt any real pain yet, and this is your first birth, we probably have at least a few hours to go. You can take a shower or a bath now, then maybe do some light exercise with me. We'll take it as you feel it." Her eyes crinkled, genuine warmth spreading across her face. "Let's just do what we can to help you relax, Nesta! You're having some babies today!"

All the forgotten gods. If there were any sentence that would not help her relax.

---

August 23 - Year of

Nesta hadn't been expecting Emerie, but sometimes people from the camp came by to tell Cassian something. Of course, he hadn't been home in three days, but perhaps they didn't know. Maybe they had to drop something off or leave him a message.

So Nesta wasn't too concerned when she opened the door.

Her lungs seized in her chest when she did.

"Hi," Feyre said softly, inclining her head forward. A lock of hair slipped out from behind her ear and swayed in front of her face, caressing the corner of her lips. She was the slightest bit darkened by the sun, contrasting prettily with the brightened gold of her hair. "Can I come in?" she asked. Her voice was sweet, calm, laced with something that wasn't there when they were growing up.

But Nesta could say nothing in reply. All she could do was stare at her sister. She wasn't even trying to say anything, or grasp at her thoughts, or make sense of this. She was...dumbstruck.

"Nesta," Feyre said, concern tightening her brow as she took a step closer and reached out a hand. "Are you all right?"

It was Feyre's touch that spurred her back into herself and let her jerk backwards and say, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," she replied. "Can I come in?"

Nesta only stared in disbelief. "Can you come in?"

"All right," Feyre said, smoothing her hands over her legs. "Let's get you something to drink."

And with a measured, leisurely step, Feyre backed Nesta into the house.

How did that happen?

"Some water," Feyre said, making her way to the kitchen sink.

Had she been here before? Had she...had Cassian...told her to come?

Feyre turned, bringing the glass into the living room. "Sit with me," she said.

Nesta did not sit. "What are you doing here?"

Feyre set the glass down on the table, next to Nesta's face down book. "It's been nearly a year," she said.

Since they exiled her out of Velaris. Yes, she was aware.

"I know that you're...doing better," Feyre said, and Nesta's heart stuttered. What had Cassian told her? Had he-had he shared what was theirs? "And I thought, maybe now...we could talk."

Her sister gazed up at her, earnest and patient. How regal she looked, there on the couch. Ugly, she'd always thought, with its faded blue pattern. Nesta recalled leaving her tiny apartment in Velaris back in September and wishing she could pick out furniture of her own someday.

But there were no throw pillows or rosewood bookshelves or pianos dancing in Nesta's mind today. There was really only one thing she could think of.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Feyre raised an eyebrow-Nesta didn't think she had ever swore in either of her sisters' presences before. She didn't like to, as a rule, but, well. Desperate times. Insane, radical, maniacal times.

"I'm not," she said. "But I understand-"

"You clearly do not," Nesta cut in, "if you think that there's any chance that I want to talk to you."

"Please just listen, Nesta-"

"Or what? You'll kick me out of Illyria, too? Send me off to the Hewn City, perhaps? Do I only get to live my own life if it's out of your court, is that it?"

"No, Nesta, please," she said, standing up too. "Look, I think-you needed space, all right? You know you did, and now that you're-that you've got it, now-"

"Don't you dare," Nesta said, raising a finger and making Feyre flinch. "Don't you dare take credit for any good space has done me. It's only because anything would have been better than-" Nesta bit her tongue to stop herself from finishing the sentence, but it didn’t matter.

But Feyre clearly didn't plan on leaving until she'd said her part. She blinked the hurt out of her eyes and said, "I don't care about the reasons. I'm happy you're doing better, but it's not enough. I know you still haven't taken control of your magic. Amren can help-"

Nesta laughed, cold and mirthless. So different than how she'd laughed just a few days ago with Cassian. "You are out of your mind." Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "If you think I'm ever going back there, you are completely out of your mind."

Feyre sighed. Folded her arms over her chest. "Well. We still have to do something. What do you propose we do?"

Nesta's eyes narrowed. She drew herself straighter. "There isn't a we," she said, voice like ice. "You made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with me when you banished me from your city of love."

"Nesta, you know that isn't true-"

"I'm going to ask you again. Can I stay here in Illyria without being further accosted by you and yours, whenever you decide it appropriate to meddle?"

Feyre clenched her jaw. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Nesta."

She didn't hesitate. "Then leave."

Both sisters stared at each other. How odd was it, to look into her own eyes in Feyre's face. Nesta still remembered the night she was born, how she had marveled at them. Little Elain had had brown eyes like their father, and she had blue-grey like their mother, and she had wondered how the baby was going to look. She thought she might have one blue and one brown, but then she had come, and secretly, Nesta had been so pleased. Another pair of eyes just like hers.

How far they had both gone.

Feyre broke away first, as Nesta knew she would. "You don't have to worry about me coming here to accost you," she said as she turned to leave.

Nesta said nothing as she opened the door and closed it behind her.

But she didn't believe her. Not for a moment.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

Amorette had arranged to stay with Nesta till noon if her state did not progress at all, and if it did to then make a decision on how they should proceed. Nesta told her she'd do whatever she thought was best, but she wanted to keep her visitors to a minimum. So of course, promptly at seven, the door downstairs swung open again.

"Breakfast, Nesta!" Zeyn announced. "Oh, hello Amorette-oh! Nesta!"

Zeyn's deerlike ears shivered in excitement as he took in the view before him. While Nesta had been in the bath, Amorette had transformed the room to a midwifery. Nesta's bed had been pushed closer to the wall to make room for a massive pool, with four steps up, filled with water slightly warmer than the air in the room. A table on the far side held a number of bowls, towels, and more scary-looking supplies like scalpels. Far more terrifying than that was the small pile of pale blue blankets, hats, and pacifiers, all dotted with tiny maroon sugarberries.

"You-you're in labor?" Zeyn grinned broadly at her.

"Not quite yet," she said.

"Early stages."

"But that's wonderful! Oh, Nesta, congratulations! I'll tell Miri and-"

"Be sure to have everyone send their well wishes and drop jam by the door," Amorette said, "but I insist that the only people who have entrance to this house as soon as active labor begins are myself and my staff."

Nesta shrugged at Zeyn and shot Amorette a grateful look when he turned.

"I'll make sure there's always someone here on standby," he said. "Just in case."

"It might be as long as a few days, Zeyn," Nesta reminded him.

"I don't mind," he said. "I can wait all night."

Nesta softened. He was sweet. She'd give him that much.

"I'm right in assuming you don't want anyone else here?" Amorette asked, checking with her after Zeyn left.

"Definitely." Sugar Valley was full of welcoming people, but...Nesta wasn't one of them.

Amorette nodded, keeping her mouth firmly shut.

"What is it?" Nesta asked, wary.

"I know you don't like to talk about it," Amorette said apologetically, "but are you sure there's no family you'd like me to contact now?"

Nesta locked her jaw. "Positive."

"All right," Amorette said, nodding. "Please don't hesitate to let me know if you change your mind."

Nesta didn't answer. She had nothing to say.

---

August 24 - year of

Nesta was seated on the couch waiting for Cassian when he arrived. The glass Feyre had poured was still on the table where she had left it, next to the book Nesta had not touched.

"Hi," he said, heavy. He sat down across from her.

Across from her. Not next to her. There would be no mindless touches, no distracted kisses for this conversation.

"Did you know?" she said eventually.

He swallowed. "I knew...that she wanted to. I knew she was going to eventually. I only knew specifically when I arrived in Velaris. And I didn't know what she wanted to say."

Nesta stared at a spot on her skirt, brushing away lint that wasn't there.

"What did she say?"

Nesta ignored him. "What did you tell her about me?"

"Nothing..."

"What did you tell her about us?"

"I didn't. Nesta. I didn't."

"But she knew."

"You shine off me," he said boldly. She looked at him. "Anyone who sees me knows."

That much was true. They had made their marks on each other. Permanent and stark as the battle tattoos he had up and down his arms all over his chest.

"So you never talked about me?" she pressed.

He hesitated. "I used to. In the beginning. When we...when we first came here together."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing real. Just that you got a job. I didn't even tell her you and Emerie were friends."

She fell silent again. How much of Cassian was really hers, she wondered. She knew she wouldn't be allowed to have him all the time-he'd always go back to Velaris for Solstice and Starfall and whenever their Circle willed it. But when he was there, was he hers? Or was he a version she wouldn't recognize?

She'd never know. And it wasn't fair because-look at her. Every part of Nesta was so clearly Cassian's now. Her heart beat after his. "There are things I have to do, Nesta, you know that," he said, begging still.

"You're nearly six hundred years old," she snapped, so different from the joking manner she normally said that in. "You make your own decisions."

He winced. Didn't argue. Because he agreed with her or because he didn't? "Nesta, we both know how we feel about each other. So if we just stay here...can't that be enough?"

She met his eyes, pleading and caring. She knew that even though his soul was tied to this land and this Court, tonight his body would be hers. And he would be receiving of all she agreed to give him, now and forever.

And no. It was not enough.

Because Feyre was right. She was better now. Time and space had a certain persistent kind of magic, reliable and true. She was not broken and scared.

So in the end, it was not even Feyre that made the decision for her.

It was her own choice.

"Yes," she lied, not even regretting it. She stood and crossed the room to sit by him.

He was gentle and anticipating when he brought her face close to his and kissed her, but she could no longer marvel at how someone could know her so well and stay with her. Instead she mourned what she could no longer hide from: she was not enough for him. He was never going to choose her over this Court.

And just like that, while she kissed him back, the choice was made.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

The morning's progression was slow and almost imperceptible until seven minutes past nine, when Nesta cried out in pain for the first time.

Worse than her cycle. Worse than the practice contractions. A sharp twist starting low and getting lower, matched with movement, with one the-babies-jerking downwards.

"Nesta," Amorette said, holding both of her hands. "Look at me. Match my breathing...there you go..."

Nesta gasped and tasted salt. Was she crying? This was pathetic. It had barely started and she was already crying! "I can't do this. Amorette, you have to-"

"Shh, just breathe with me. There you go."

Breathing was easier said than done. Her lungs were being held in chokehold. Surely this wasn't right-surely this wasn't supposed to happen-

And then it faded. Nesta exhaled.

"All right," Amorette said. "That was good. You did very well, Nesta."

With her head slack against her headboard, Nesta managed to focus her eyes on the clock.

Eight minute past nine.

Less than sixty seconds of a contraction, her first real one, and she was already sweating and crying.

"I can't do this," she said again, miserable.

"Yes, you can. You already did, see?"

"I can't. Is this-is this active labor? It wasn't supposed to happen yet. I was supposed to have at least another day."

Amorette smiled warmly at her. "No one promised you that. You're fine. You're well-prepared."

Nesta's pulse quickened. Amorette didn't understand. She was not. She had no one, nothing, and she couldn't do this. She knew her limits, and hers was a very short distance from where she was now.

"Nesta," Amoretta said kindly. "Remember everything you've read. You're smart and strong and capable. Remember I'm here with you, and my team will be here soon, too. People less-equipped than you have given birth before and survived. You're going to be more than fine. I promise."

Nesta's eyes welled up with tears again. Amorette didn't understand. She couldn't understand. Nesta would not survive this. There was too much wrong with her. She was going to die in labor or right afterwards or live to fail these children that she didn't ask for.

No one understood, no one would ever understand. Nesta wasn't herself. There was a part of her that wasn't her own. There was the Cauldron, and it was inside of her and it was going to kill her one way or another. Probably the babies, too.

And she would die alone and unloved.

Amorette squeezed her hands. "Close your eyes," she said, "and let it out."

"Let what out?" Certainly not-the babies?

"Whatever you're feeling."

Nesta let out a strangled laugh. "I doubt you want that."

"I assure you, Nesta, I am familiar with birthing rituals. Let it out."

"Let what out?"

"A scream. A sob. Sing, if that's what you want. So long as it comes from inside you."

Nesta opens her eyes. "It's not very motherly of me."

Amorette smiled. "Whatever you've got, I've seen worse."

Nesta pursed her lips. Gave a small shrug, almost subconsciously. And burst into hysterical tears.

She had made up her mind, on her birthday, to put her past behind her, but today she cried for all that she had been through. For her mother's cold distance and death and her father's failures and her own and the loss of the relationships with her sisters, again, and even for Cassian.

And for the three little creatures, struggling inside her, to make their way into the world.

And for herself.

And sometimes for the pain, too, as it grew worse and more frequent as the hours went on.

It was nearly ten before Nesta calmed down, and by then Amorette's team had arrived. Two young female healers, who, Nesta had to give them credit, did not so much as blink at Nesta's sobs.

"How-how far apart are the contractions?" Nesta managed when she had calmed down.

"A little over three minutes," one of Amorette's assistants answered smoothly. "Would you like some tea?"

"Thank you," she said, taking her proffered mug. The sweet strawberry taste did her good. "Are...am I still all right for a water birth?"

"You are," she answered. "Everything's going just fine."

Nesta looked to Amorette, who smiled at her.

"Really, Nesta," she said, nodding. "All is as it should be."

Nesta wiped at her eyes. The other assistant handed her a towel. "Should I...should I get in the pool now?"

"If you'd like," Amorette said encouragingly.

"Are you going to get in with me?"

"Not just yet. Only for the births."

Nesta shivered. Births. And they were soon.

The second assistant held Nesta's hand as she helped her up and walked her in. Amorette had told her, when she had first expressed interest in a water birth, that many females liked to experience it naked. She was, obviously, not going to do that, and wore a night dress that had a tie for the skirt at her waist.

"Water's warm, right, Nesta?"

"Yes."

"We're keeping it at this temperature so the babies have an easier transition."

Transition out of her body and into the world. "All right."

"Hungry? Want anything in particular?"

"No..."

"Jam?"

"No."

"All right."

They kept talking to her like that, calm and collected, asking her if she'd like food or music or to get out of the pool or if she wanted to go over the birth procedure again. For another two hours.

And then the minutes between her contractions disappeared, along with her life as she knew it.

---

October 16 - Year of

There was nothing particularly dramatic about it. Nesta spent the next few weeks with Cassian and Emerie as she normally would, if perhaps a little quieter.

Nearly a year ago, she had decided to work to book passage on a ship to Gilameyva. That dream had altered slightly: she would book passage away from Prythian the fourth day after Cassian left her. Three days without him, and she would be gone.

It was like a deal she made with him. Tell me you can't bear to be apart from me and I'll stay.

But of course, he didn't know.

Cassian left the morning of the twelfth. "I'll see you soon, Nesta," he whispered against her lips.

"I'll miss you," she said, heart breaking a little.

He didn't come home.

Again.

And again.

But she already knew that was what would happen.

So when she left Emerie's shop that night, it was just as she always did.

And in the morning when she awoke, and emptied her bank account and made her way to the docks, bag of meager belongings in hand, it wasn't hard. It was easy. It was right. It was finally someone putting herself first. Even if it was only her. Even if no one else had.

By noon Prythian slipped below the horizon. There was no trace of her left on that island, save for a note and a pair of grey-blue eyes in someone else's face.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

Nesta was hyperventilating.

Somewhere, someone was holding her hand. "Breathe," she said. "Breathe."

It all came rushing back to her. The room stilled around her. That was Amorette there, in front of her, in the pool with her. And-all the forgotten gods-it was time. It was happening.

"I can't do this!"

"Follow Lyra's breathing," Amorette said, voice smooth and calm. "There you go...Nesta, don't you see? You're already doing this...and you're doing a wonderful job..."

"No," she said, sobbing, "no, no, no no no no no-oh!"

"That's it, Nesta, just like that...you're going to do this, right? For your babies?"

Nesta gasped. Nodded once.

"Excellent. Just follow Lyra's breathing...Ama, you have the towel ready...yes...all right. Just keep breathing Nesta. Just like that. Perfect."

Nesta most certainly did not feel perfect. Her breathing was more strangled gasps. And she was being split in two.

"Something's wrong," she said.

"I promise you, Nesta," Amorette answered, patient as all goodness. "Everything is fine. You're doing wonderfully. And in just a few moments...you're going to push."

"No-no-no-"

"Shh, Nesta," Amorette said, holding her head. She smiled warmly even as Nesta sobbed. "You're doing a fantastic job. And it's almost over. You're almost done. And you're going to have your children."

"No-"

"Keep breathing for me, Nesta. I promise. Do you trust me?"

"Amorette-I can't-"

"Listen to me, Nesta," her voice only getting quieter with every octave Nesta's rose. "You have been through worse. You're going to do this. It will hurt, but in just a few minutes, you'll understand. But you have to trust me. All right?"

Nesta's breathing quickened, but she forced herself to match the young healer-Lyra's-patterns. She had made this decision herself. She had to do this. In a few minutes, she could tell the females to take away the babies and give them to someone else, someone better-and then it would be over.

But she had to do this first.

"All right," Nesta said, in between breaths.

"Good," Amorette said. "Keep that breathing pattern...keep up with Lyra...all right. Perfect. Now...push."

How Nesta's body knew exactly what to do when Amorette gave her order, she would never understand. But it did, and she pushed, even though she wanted to stop every second she was doing it.

In all her life, Nesta had never felt something like this. It was like the worst of her cramps multiplied by a thousand plus being ripped in two.

She let out a strangled cry.

"Excellent. Excellent, Nesta. Now...push."

Nesta cried out, but again, even though it killed her, she pushed. And pushed. And one last time, one last horrible, miserable, blinding time, and it was the absolute worst pain there had ever been in all the world, and she was going to die, and there was a massive influx of blood in the pool from inside of her, and there was something small and black-a baby.

Amorette caught the thing as it came out of her. Why was it...she was bringing it up slowly...the cord still attached to it-what would happen? Would it tear?

And then Amorette brought the thing up out of the water, and it screamed, and she held it before Nesta-and the black--the wings-unfolded--and it was her daughter.

The pain disappeared out of Nesta's mind. Everything disappeared. Everything was gone, stripped, nothing had ever been there at all. There was only her. And then Nesta's arms stretching out to hold her.

Nesta let out a small noise as she brought her close to her chest.

"Archeron daughter, eldest of triplets, high noon," Amorette said, somewhere far, far away. Distantly, she was doing magic, cleaning the pool.

But all Nesta knew was the soft pink skin of her little girl. Tiny fingers...on both hands...and a small nose...and eyes she could barely open...and black wings...and a shock of dark hair...and just-the most-perfect-thing-

Nesta was not giving her to anyone else, ever. She would be-she would do everything, she would split the seas and take down the moon. She would do everything.

"I swear it, Avery," she whispered to her.

"Avery Archeron," Amorette said. "All right, Nesta, dear."

Nesta looked up at the hand on her shoulder.

"There, there...a handkerchief, Lyra...yes...didn't I tell you? You see? Now...we're going to give her to Lyra-she's going to be right over there, see? And you're going to deliver her placenta...and then we're going to do this again. All right?"

"Yes," Nesta said firmly, even as she shook. She could do this. And she would. For her...for her sons.

It was utter rubbish that she had to deliver a placenta in between babies, but no matter. She vowed to do everything and that vow would start now.

Later Nesta would not be able to recall if that part of labor had caused any pain. She assumed it had, but all she could remember was bliss and anxiety and love as she looked over at Avery-Avery! A real person with a nose and shoulders and eyelashes! To say nothing of everything inside of her body and mind!-and impatience as she waited for Amorette to finally let her push...for her son.

The pain was not nearly so bad the second time around. Nesta took care to clamp her mouth shut-she didn't want to scare Avery with any screams. And besides, what was pain to this? To the girl over there, wrapped up in a blanket, opening her eyes to her first day on the planet?

The sooner Nesta could finish this, the sooner she would enjoy it with her.

For the second time-finally-like someone pulled a plug out of Nesta and blood came pouring out into the pool...and then her son.

It took everything in her not to rip him right out of Amorette's arms, and it was only not to disturb the other boy still relying on her that she did not.

It was just like last time. Amorette raised him out of the water. Black wings cocooning him into the ball she pushed him out as unfolded to reveal...her son.

She was not prepared. It didn't even matter that it happened with Avery mere moments ago. It was happening again. It hit her, again. And she realized it would be that way when she saw the other boy, too, which only further spurred her tears.

And then she was holding him. He did a better job of opening his eyes than his older sister-Avery was an older sister! He was a younger brother! And soon he would be an older one, too!-and his eyes were hers. The same eyes...her own. Right there, in his perfect face.

Surely it couldn't be. Surely...but this must be it. She had been through hell and back, and for this. She had to pay to experience this, and she had, and now, he was hers. She had him. His little eyes...her eyes...but his. And the way his lashes flutter up at her as he cried-the same way Cassian's lashes did.

And she knew his name. The little boy who would want for nothing. Nicholas. Any night stealing for this one would be purely recreational.

"Hello, Nicholas," she whispered.

Was this her life now? This-this joy? Forever? Every single day of forever? It couldn't be. There had to be some sort of catch. Surely no one got a life like this.

"Nicholas Archeron, second of triplets, eight minutes after noon," Amorette said. "All right, Nesta. You see how wonderfully you're doing?"

Well, she must be. If she had gotten Avery first and now Nicholas.

"So you're going to give little Nicholas over to Lyra...and she's going to take good care of him right next to Avery...and we're going to do this, Nesta. Your third baby. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready." She didn't know it, but she had been born ready for this.

"All right. Kiss goodbye to Nicholas...here we go, Nesta. Placenta and then your third baby."

Once again, Nesta was extremely irritated with the function of her body. Who the hell cared about this part? Her babies were over there on that table. And she wanted her third.

Finally, like an angel singing out from the heavens, Amorette said, "Now...push."

It was different this time. Sharper. But Nesta didn't care. All the pain in the world couldn't stop her from this. She was addicted to that feeling, and she was going to have it once more. She was going to see him, hold him, once more...now!

Even more blood this time, but she figured that was to be expected. Because everything would come out now, right? Perhaps the placenta had come out with him this time-and she wouldn't even have to wait, she could just get out of the tub and be with them.

Amorette caught him through all the gore...brought him up...broke him out from under the surface of the tub...and handed him to Ama.

And stepped out.

Nesta blinked.

"Scalpel, now. Lyra, stay with them, we're all right."

"Amorette?" she said, not understanding. What was...what was...why did she take him? "Amorette, you didn't let me hold him."

But Amorette didn't answer. No one spoke. Even her babies had stopped crying.

Then it hit her.

Her son had not cried.

"No," she said, desperate. "No--no--no--"

Had she really thought the pain of labor was worth crying about? Had that been her, mere minutes ago?

This couldn't be happening.

Couldn't.

A horrible thought occurred to her-was this the price she had to pay? To have two perfect babies, did she have to lose this one?

"No, no, no, no no no no please please--"

Who was she begging?

"Please please PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE--"

"Nesta--please--"

Avery and Nicholas cried as she shrieked. Could they feel it? Could they feel what was happening-to their brother?

She would do anything. She would--could she die instead? Surely, this Mother they all worshipped, surely She would let--was she not a mother? Did she not understand? She would do it, she would die a thousand deaths, a million, if someone would just let her--

And just as Nesta drew breath to scream-scream louder than she ever had before--there it was.

A third cry.

Tinny. Weak. Gasping.

But it was there.

"You see, it's all right," Lyra whispered in her ear.

"Here we go, here we go, here he is," Amorette said, bringing him to her. Too slow--far too slow--

But then he was there, small--so small, and weak, and a wing that did not look like the others', but alive, and right there in her arms--and--and--

"You're strong, Ollie," she said to him, as she met his eyes for the first time. "I promise. I promise you, you are. You're so strong."

"Ollie Archeron," Amorette said. "Third of triplets, thirteen after noon."

"Ollison," Nesta sobbed. "His name is Ollison Bailey."

For the strength her father had shown at the end of his life--for human strength. The most enduring kind.

And now it was her turn. She would do it. She would be strong, for all of them, forever.

"We had to cut the umbilical cord a little early with him," Amorette said gently, running a hand over Nesta's ducked head, "so Lyra has to take him now...you're just going to deliver the placenta-"

"Please, please, can't I-"

"It's a few minutes, Nesta, I swear to you, and then you have the rest of your lives together. All right? Can you give me these few minutes?"

Nesta took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. She squeezed Ollie close to her as she kissed his forehead and gave him to Lyra.

This one was the worst. They were all there, on the table, small and in need of their mother, and there wasn't even a good reason for her to still be in this pool.

"Oh, Nesta, cheer up!" Amorette laughed, right in the middle of the afterbirth. "You're almost done, just a minute longer...and then you'll be on the bed and holding the babies! And I promise you, Nesta, they're fine."

Finally, finally, finally, she could climb out.

Except she couldn't, because she could not bear her own weight out of water.

"Amorette-"

"Hush, dear, give your body a minute. Here...we'll bring them around..."

And they did. Each healer holding one, presenting them to her. Nesta couldn't decide what to look at, her eyes just darting wildly around. There were Avery's ears and Nicky's fingers-he closed them around hers!-and Ollie-Ollie-

"I promise you, Nesta, if I saw reason to take him to the hospital, I would have immediately," Amorette said gently. "He's fine. He's going to be fine."

Nesta nodded, but she said, "I don't believe you."

Amorette laughed. "Well. That's your job."

After a few more minutes, Nesta gained enough power in her legs to climb out of the pool and collapse on her bed.

The healers sat with her.

"Did you want to breastfeed?" Ama asked her.

Nesta looked at Amorette. She had initially told her to bring the stuff for the bottle. "Can I try?"

Amorette grinned. "Of course you can."

Hands shaking, Nesta brought little Avery closer to her. Ama and Lyra suddenly found the boys very fascinating as Amorette helped her take her top off.

The sensation was...not magical.

"All right," Amorette said. "You'll both get the hang of it eventually...or not. It's really all right, Nesta. You can try with the boys later or decide not to."

"I want to try."

"All right. We'll keep trying. But we can stop whenever you'd like."

Nesta nodded. Perhaps she would stop. Or...perhaps Avery would never like nursing this way. It didn't matter.

A laugh escaped Nesta as she realized it-it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing except for these three. Avery, Nicky, and Ollie. She would feed them one way or another. Whichever way they liked best.

And as the the beautiful sunshine of the year's longest and most perfect day faded out her window and moonlight spilled in...as neighbor after neighbor and new friend after new friend came to visit Sugar Valley's newest residents...Nesta knew what she had to do to protect them.

They had not answered her letters. They had rejected her.

That was fine.

But she would not let anyone--anyone--reject her children.

And the only way to ensure that was to ensure that they never knew them at all.

So Nesta did the only thing she knew was right: she reached to grasp onto her magic, deep inside of her...and after a day of pushing, pulled. Right over her head. To cover her like a shield.

There. No one would find her now.

And if no one could find her...no one could hurt them,

And that was all that would ever matter again.

---

October 18 - Year of

Once, Cassian had come home and Nesta had not been there and his heart had fallen right out of the sky. Now it was normal, even comforting. Nesta was not at home because she was at work where she was enjoying the day with her friend.

So he didn't think anything was amiss when he arrived and knew she wasn't there. Almost didn't notice that her scent was too faint to have marked her presence there that morning.

Almost.

But he was just a little too tuned to Nesta's being to miss something like that.

"Nesta," he called, even though he knew there was no point. No books in the living room, no dishes on the sink. No cardigan strewn around. And when he opened the door to their room, the bed was cold and untouched.

Save for the the letter on his side, with his name written on it in beautiful script.

His hands shook as he reached for it. Had anyone ever written his name with such care? He doubted it. But she had, he knew. He knew.

Cassian, she wrote,

I've gone. I won't come back. Leave me be.

I'm sorry.

Cassian flipped it over. Nothing.

She didn't even sign it.

That was all he could think as his soul folded in on itself.

She didn't even sign it.

---

June 21 - 1 year after

Elain knew her disinterest in learning about her power irritated Amren, but she didn't mind. It didn't bother her that Feyre was disappointed in her, either, so why should this?

She knew they thought it was a waste of her potential. She just didn't care. Trying to See...it felt unnatural. Invasive. She didn't like it. It made her feel like some of the old women on the edge of human towns like the one she had lived in, practicing all manner of dark, forbidden things.

Azriel had cautiously tried to bring it up. He told her how his shadows had frightened him, at first, but with patience and time, he had learned to wield them however he wanted.

And that was lovely for Azriel. Really. She was happy for him, proud of what he had overcome. But this...didn't appeal to her in the least. It didn't even matter to her.

Until the Summer Solstice, when she awoke in a guest bed in the Summer Court, a scream in her mouth and cold sweat on her face.

Feyre and Rhys burst in her room--Az was there, Cassian, someone was running down the halls, but she couldn't see-she couldn't See.

"What is it?"

"She's crying. Feyre, is she--"

"Elain, dear, let me see. Are you bleeding?"

"What is it? Who screamed?"

"Did someone break in? Why is Lady Elain...I'll get some tea."

"Elain, look at me. What's wrong?"

"Which way did they go?"

"No one saw anything. There wasn't anyone here."

"Elain," Feyre whispered to her again, squeezing her tightly. "Elain, what is it?"

"Everyone out," Rhys ordered.

"It's-gone," she sobbed. For even though she had not used it, it had always been there. A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Through her tears, she saw Feyre and Rhys exchange bewildered looks. Azriel sat down next to her, covering her shoulders with something soft and blue.

"What's gone, Elain?" Azriel asked her quietly. "Is it Lucien?"

"No," she sobbed, in between gasping breaths. "It's--it's--Feyre--she's--gone."

Across the room, she could feel Cassian tense. He understood, even if no one else did.

"What?" Rhys asked him.

Cassian's voice was low, blank. "It's Nesta. She can't See her anymore."

Feyre dropped in front of her, squeezing her knees. "Elain. Look at me. Please. What do you mean? What did you See?"

"Where was the last place you Saw her?"

"Was she-"

"Enough," Azriel said, calm and cold, as he always sounded when he talked to anyone but her. "Let her catch her breath."

He sat next to her, hand firmly on her back. Someone handed her a cup of tea. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough to drink it. Shortly after that, she managed to speak.

"I never...really Saw her. I wasn't looking--you all know I don't like to." Elain paused to take a shaky breath. Azriel's fingers moved up and down on her back. "But I always...felt her. And now. Just now. She's--gone."

This time, when Elain sobbed, there was no accompanying concerned chatter. It was her alone.

And that's how it always would be. Because her sister...

"Elain," someone said at her side. Not Feyre. Not Az. "Elain, look at me."

Elain picked her head up and looked into Cassian's eyes, reflecting the same pain she felt.

"We're going to find her," he said, voice low like it was before but decidedly un-blank. "I promise you."

She could only cry in response. Because how could they find her? Her sister's being cut off from her sight like this could only mean one thing.

But Nesta would do anything-had done everything for her. So this, surely, was the least she could do in return was...everything.

"All right," Elain said, swallowing her cries. "We'll find her." She clenched her fists tightly.

I swear to you, Nesta, she vowed silently. I will do everything I can.

---

4 years after - February 21

Not two hours after Zeyn brings the children back, they are in Velaris.

They're thrilled to be back. There's a celebratory meal at Feyre's riverfront mansion. Pictures of her children now decorate the walls more than anything. They are gazed at, passed around, adored. Nesta can hardly blame them. Still, she doesn't have to enjoy it.

Cassian is at her side through all of it. And he holds her hand on the way down to the carriage. Right there, in front of everyone. He had never done that before. She catches a look he exchanges with Rhys, but she can't tell what it means.

As usual, he offers to bathe the children while she unwinds, but she chooses to join him. Is this not the point of this...endeavor? Co-parenting together?

"I want the blue bubbles!"

"I want green!"

"It's my turn!"

"Then I want my own baths!"

Nesta blinks. Can it really be time for their own baths? Are they...going to be bathing themselves soon? That can't be. She remembers the day they were born still, like yesterday.

But...somehow, they are nearly four.

Four...children learn the alphabet at that age. Will they be...reading soon?

It's all she can think of while Cassian tells them the bedtime story they choose. When had he learned them all? Just by watching her?

"Goodnight, ladybug," she whispers to Avery.

Across the room, Cassian says to Ollie, "Good night, little lieutenant."

Her heart leaps as she kisses Nicky and Ollie both. He has nicknames for them. They have a relationship with him. Each of them individually. And from each sleepy Goodnight, Appa, she hears...it only confirms it: these children know they have a father and they know who he is and what he is to them.

He takes her hand again as they shut the door behind them. She wonders if he's going to lead her to the bedroom. It wouldn't be the first time Cassian has mistaken her intentions for the evening.

Not that she--well. She's tired. Tonight. But--she doesn't know.

He takes her downstairs, instead. To the living room.

Considerably more decorated than it had been when she had first arrived for Solstice three months ago, but not quite a home yet. Getting there, certainly.

"Let's talk, Nesta," he says, pulling her next to him.

Nesta takes a deep breath. "Let's," she agrees.

"Who first?"

"I'll go," she says, because she's still too scared to hear what he has to say. "What...you want to know why I kept them from you?"

"I want to know why you hid yourself from me."

Semantics, she thinks, but no matter. They're adults. They're capable of having this conversation.

She takes another deep breath. "You didn't write back. You rejected me." Her voice catches slightly, but she powers on. "I didn't know if you were going to do the same to them. And I couldn't let...couldn't let the happen to them. So I hid us. To keep us safe...from losing you." She had started off strong, but she ends in a whisper, eyes sinking down to her skirt. It is a while before she looks back up to see him staring at her.

They don't say anything, and she isn't sure how much time has passed before he breaks away, standing up and turning around.

He runs his fingers through his hair, but the gesture isn't slick or arrogant: he's frustrated. Angry. He fists his hands in front of him and kicks at the ground.

"Dammit," he says, the word half a growl under his breath. "Dammit, Nesta."

He turns around to face her again. Still, she does not change her cool expression. She doesn't care if he was worked up. She isn't. She has worked hard to move past her anger, her hurt. Built up her indifference like a carefully constructed barricade, after he had destroyed the first one she had spent her whole life crafting painstakingly, nearly five years ago. She cannot let herself feel that again...even though she knows she has to. Knows it's coming.

She doesn't know what she expects him to say. Probably something like I'm sorry or What will it take or It's just not fair, I didn't know, Why can't I, Why won't you, but he doesn't. He surprises her.

"If you honestly thought you could tell me to my face you were pregnant, and that I wouldn't immediately drop everything and take care of you, I failed...miserably in loving you. I did a horrible job."

She tries not to let anything through, on either side: she does not want to let herself feel what his words mean and she certainly does not want him to see the impact upon her. But she can feel her apathy slip from her face as her heart beats faster and blood rises to her cheeks.

He has never told her... he has never said...

"And you'll never know how much I hate myself for letting this happen, Nesta. I've become everything I hate and everything I worked against. I left you pregnant and alone." He is looking at her, but as his eyes narrow, Nesta knows he isn't seeing her. Like there's a screen separating them, like he is seeing someone else.

"I know I just..." he sighs, wringing his hands. "And you're just," he says, now waving them at her. His wings tighten and flare out.

She has never seen him so out of his element-she has never seen him out of his element, out of control, uncomfortable. Cassian acts like everywhere he stands is exactly where he's meant to be.

Except now, with her, apparently. She drops her gaze, staring at the floor. She's rarely comfortable, anywhere, but once she had been...so at peace, with him. That's gone.

"I know I keep fucking up with you," he says finally.

She looks at him. She feels the heat that had risen to her cheeks drain out and then come back in again. She still doesn't say anything. She doesn't trust herself to open her mouth.

"I let them send you to Illyria. But even before that... I promised you time. I told you we would have our time and I didn't keep that promise. I should have fought harder. And then I should have shot them down when they suggested Illyria. And then I should have stayed with you every day. I should have helped you wean yourself off drinking. And then I should I have followed you to Gilameyva. And then I should've rubbed your feet. Or your back. Or whatever it is you needed when you were pregnant. And then I should've held your hand for the births. And then woken up with you when Nicky had infections, or Ava had a fever, or Ollie with his coughing. And then I should've listened to you. And-and given you everything all the while. Everything you needed. Everything you wanted." He moves towards her, suddenly, faster than he did when he wasn't on the battlefield. He's a few feet away from her, and then he's clutching her shoulders, pulling her to her feet, closer to him.

"Nesta," he says desperately. "Say something."

She traces the lines of his face with her eyes. Her hands are clasped in front of her, so close to him now, but she does not touch him. She breaks them apart to hover her fingers over the siphon in the middle of his chest, just barely grazing the tip. He clenches his jaw and scrapes his nails against her arms.

"You..." she says, looking into his eyes. Her daughter's, her son's. The most beautiful eyes she has ever seen. The most beautiful eyes in the world, now with a glimmer of hope.

"You locked me up," she whispers. And there are tears on her face and in her voice.

His hope vanishes. "I know," he chokes out, tears in his voice, too. "I know, sweetheart."

"I didn't want to go."

"I know."

"You let them..."

"I know."

"I had nothing--I was scared--"

"I know. I know."

"And you left me."

"Yes."

And then she says it-what she's been waiting for. "Why didn't you ever write back?" She holds her breath tightly, half wishing she could take back the words, still too afraid to hear his answer.

He doesn't look away and he doesn't let her go. "Because you hurt me and I was angry and I wanted to hurt you back."

She sobs little, trying to keep it inside but failing.

She knows that. She's known all along. And it might not have mattered, might have been understandable, forgivable...were it not for the circumstances. Three tiny circumstances.

"Nesta. You'll never know. You cannot-you have been a perfect mother. The whole time. You'll never know how sorry I am."

Nesta coaches herself on her breathing. That's the best she can do right now.

"Listen," she says, after a few minutes of this. "I think we both know...we can't pretend to start over." She reaches up to touch his cheek and her angles his head closer to her hand, closing his eyes. "But we can...work with what we have."

His eyes fly open. "What do you..."

"I'm going to be splitting my time," she says, "between Sugar Valley and Velaris. We're opening a location for Sugar Books here...I'm going to be Head Archivist."

"Nesta, that's wonderful--congratulations-"

"And in the meantime...for now...I'm going to spend some time on myself...and I think you should too."

He blinks. Clenches his jaw.

He's a warrior, her Cassian. He never lets anyone see his pain.

But she can see it. She's always been able to see it.

"For now," she repeats. "I think...it would be...prudent."

"Prudent."

"It means sage."

"Yes, thank you," he says, making her laugh slightly. Even through it all, he's still making her laugh.

"I don't have a timeline," she says. There are things she wants to do. Work on her magic with Ameren--maybe repair what she had with her. Accept who she is as a female so she can help Avery do the same with herself, when that day comes. And the shop. She'll be Head Archivist. She can make it out to be whatever she wants. "I can't tell you when...but I want you in our lives. And they want you in their lives." Because the best thing for children is to have both of their parents. Not having their parents together...not if that takes away from one of them, makes them less in some way. Only if it makes them more.

He nods. "I know...this isn't your home. And I know that Sugar Valley gave you what I failed to. But...you know...you know I love you?" His voice cracks at the end.

She nods, holding back her own tears. It's not forever, she wants to say. It's just to start. And it's for them. It might change. We might change.

But she doesn't have to, because he knows. He always knows what she's thinking.

He sinks to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his and bringing them to his lips: slowly, gently, trembling.

She swallows hard. "Come on," she says, tugging him up, voice firm. "Let's go to bed."

---

A few hours later

Cassian stands in the doorway of his bedroom-Nesta's bedroom? Their bedroom?

The bedroom where Nesta is sleeping, at any rate. Where he is invited to sleep, too.

He's not sure if he will yet. He knows she wants him there, but it might be too hard for him. To spend the whole night by her side, and yet...not be with her.

He'll take it day by day, he supposes. That's all he can do. That's what Nesta wants.

She's asleep. Everytime he sees her like this, he's struck by how truly young she is. He forgets, sometimes. He's nearly six hundred years old, as she always liked to say, and she's his better in every way that matters, so.

He walks down the hall to crack open the door to his children's room. Nesta caught their argument in the bathtub, too, he knows. Tonight they sleep peacefully together, but it won't be long before they want their own rooms, their own space.

He wanders back to the other room. Nesta stirs slightly as the floorboards creak under him, but she doesn't wake.

Reaching down into his pocket, he pulls out a small box and opens it.

It hadn't been a full hour, the Solstice years ago, that he dove down into the icy Sidra, cursing his own rashness. Stupid to throw it out like that. Obviously, she wasn't going to want anything to do with him then. And it was selfish of him, he knows. He knew that then, too. He didn't want her to have it, he wanted to be the one to give it to her.

And, he thinks with a rueful grin, that's still the case.

Nesta's mother's ring had not been easy to track down, but one look at an absentminded sketch of Feyre's had been all it took to keep it lodged in his mind until the day he finally held it.

He's not quite sure if it's Nesta's style or not. They've never browsed jewellery shops together. She has the necklace he gave her, sure, but she loves that because she loves anything to do with the children. Will she like this for the same reason? For her parents...and for him?

It's wrong to give it to her now. She's made herself clear and he'll listen this time. He'll give it to her...eventually. Later. When she's ready.

And maybe it won't be an engagement ring. Maybe it'll be a here's how much I love you, I'm willing to scour every human jeweler and pawnshop and the whole world until I find what you want ring. Either way, he can't give it to her now. She needs time. They both do.

No matter. After all, he's nearly six hundred years old. He knows how to wait.

And Nesta's worth waiting for.

#nessian #acotar #acotar au #nessian fic #AHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#brain dead! can't tag anything!

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rocknvaughn · 4 years

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New Colin Morgan Interview with Edge Media Network about Benjamin - UPDATED

I am reblogging this because, after the author was made aware of an error in the posting of his article (if anyone clicked through to read it on the site, there was a whole question and answer that was repeated), the error was corrected and another three questions and answers were added! I am correcting it here, but they were very interesting, so I suggest you read the full article again!

I shall post the link at the bottom, but I wanted to type it out so that non-English speakers could more easily translate it. (This article was listed in their “Gay News” section of the site, hence the focus on the gay roles.)

British Actor Colin Morgan: How the Queerly Idiosyncratic ‘Benjamin’ Spoke to Him

by Frank J. Avelia

In writer-director Simon Amstell’s sweet, idiosyncratic, semi-autobiographical comedy, “Benjamin,” Colin Morgan plays the titular character, an insecure filmmaker trying to resuscitate his waning career (at least it’s waning in his mind) after one major cine-indie success. Benjamin is also doing his best to navigate a new relationship with a young French musician (Phenix Brossard of “Departures”).

Thanks to the truly endearing, multifaceted talents of Morgan, Benjamin feels like an authentic creation--one that most audiences can empathize with. Sure, he’s peculiar, has a legion of self-esteem issues and an almost exasperating need for acceptance as well as an inconvenient talent to self-sabotage the good in his life. But who can’t relate to some or all of that?

“Benjamin” is one of the better queer-themed films to come out in recent years, in large part because it eschews emphasis on the queer nature of the story. Instead, the film is a fascinating character study with Morgan slowly revealing layers and unpacking Benjamin’s emotional baggage.

Morgan is a major talent who has been appearing across mediums in Britain for many years. His London theatre debut was in DBC Pierre’s satire, “Vernon God Little” (2007), followed by the stage adaptation of Pedro Almodovar’s “All About My Mother” (2007), opposite Diana Rigg. Numerous and eclectic stage work followed (right up until the Corona shutdown) including Pedro Miguel Rozo’s “Our Private Life” (2011), where he played a bipolar gay, Jez Butterworth’s dark comedy, “Mojo” (2013), Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons” opposite Sally Field (2019), and Caryl Churchill’s “A Number” (2020), to name a few.

His TV work includes, “Merlin” (playing the wizard himself), “Humans” and most recently, in a very memorable episode of “The Crown”. Onscreen he can be seen in “Testament of Youth”, “Legend” with Tom Hardy, “Snow White and the Huntsman” and Rupert Everett’s take on Oscar Wilde, “The Happy Prince.”

He’s played a host of gay roles in the past on stage, screen and TV.

EDGE recently interviewed the star of “Benjamin” about the new film and his career.

Why Benjamin?

EDGE: What drew you to this project and were you part of its development?

Colin Morgan: It’s always the strength of the script for me on any project and Simon’s script was just so well observed, he managed to combine humor and poignancy in delicate measure and when I first read it I found myself being both tickled and touched. Then reading it again and from “the actor” POV... I knew it would be a real challenge and uncharted territory for me to explore. I auditioned for Simon and we tried it in different ways and then when I was lucky enough for Simon to want me on board, we began to work through the script together, because it was clear that this was going to be a very close working relationship... it was important for the level of trust to be high.

EDGE: I appreciated that this was a queer love story where the character’s queerness wasn’t the main focus. Was that also part of the allure of the project?

CM: I think Benjamin’s sexuality is just quite naturally who he is and therefore that’s a given, we’re on his journey to find meaning and love and there’s certainly a freshness to what Simon has written in not making sexuality the main focus.

Great chemistry

EDGE: Can you speak a but about the process involved in working with Amstell on the character and his journey?

CM: Simon and me worked very closely over a period of weeks, at that time prior to shooting I was doing a theatre project not far from where he lived so I would go to him and rehearse and discuss through the whole script all afternoon before going to do the show that night, so that worked out well. It’s so personal to Simon, and to have had him as my guide and source throughout was fantastic because I could ask him all the questions and he could be the best barometer for the truth of the character; a rare opportunity for an actor and one that was so essential for building Benjamin. But ultimately Simon wanted Benjamin to emerge from somewhere inside me and he gave me so much freedom to do that also.

EDGE: You had great chemistry with Phenix Brossard. Did you get to rehearse?

CM: Phenix is fantastic, Simon and me did chemistry reads with a few different actors who were all very good but Phenix just had an extra something we felt Benjamin would be drawn to. We did a little bit of rehearsal together but because it was a relationship that was trying to find itself there was a lot of room for spontaneity and uncertainty between us, which is what the allure of a new relationship is all about, the excitement and fear.

Liberating process

EDGE: Did your process meld with Amstell’s?

CM: I’ve said this a lot before and it’s true, Simon is one of the best directors I’ve worked with. Everything he created before shooting and then maintained on set was special. We always did improvised versions of most scenes and always the scripted version too. It was such a creative and liberating process. That is exactly the way I love to work. And for a director to maintain that level of bravery, trust and experimental play throughout the whole shoot stands as one of the most rewarding shooting experiences I’ve had.

EDGE: When I spoke with Rupert Everett about “The Happy Prince,” he very proudly boasted about his ensemble. Can you speak about working with Rupert as he balanced wearing a number of creative hats?

CM: Again, this was an extremely rewarding project to work on and quite a similar relationship as with Simon in the respect that Rupert was the writer/director and Oscar Wilde is so personal to him. And then we also had many scenes together in front of the camera, so Rupert and me had a real 3D experience together. It was a long time in the making. I was on board, I think, two years before we actually got shooting so I had a lot of time to work with Rupert and rehearse. He really inspired me, watching him wear all the different creative hats, such a challenging and difficult job/jobs to achieve and he really excelled--plus we just got on very well.

Playing queer roles

EDGE: You haven’t shied away from playing queer roles. Do you think we’re moving closer to a time when a person’s sexual orientation is of little consequence to the stories being told, or should it always matter? Or perhaps we need to continue to evolve as a culture for it to matter less or not at all...

CM: That’s a hard question to answer, I think certainly the shift in people’s attitudes has changed considerably for the better compared to 40 years ago, but there will always be resistance to change and acceptance from individuals and groups whether it be sexuality, religion, race, gender--we’re seeing it every day.

Evolution is, of course, inevitable, but if we can learn from the past as we evolve that would be the ideal. Unfortunately, we rarely do learn, and history repeats itself.

EDGE: You were featured prominently in one of my favorite episodes of the “The Crown” (”Bubbikins”) as the fictional journo John Armstrong. Can you speak a bit about working on the show and with the great Jane Lapotaire?

CM: I had an exceptionally good time working on “The Crown.” Director Benjamin Caron, especially, was so prepared and creative, and made the whole experience so welcoming and inclusive. It was an incredibly happy set, with extremely talented people in every department, and I admired the ethos of the whole production and have no doubt that’s a huge ingredient to its success, along with Peter Morgan’s incredible writing.

I was also a fan of the show, and it was an honor to be part of the third season. And I can’t say enough amazing things about Jane Lapotaire. We talked a lot in between filming, and I relished every moment of that.

EDGE: You’ve done a ton of stage work. Do you have a favorite role you’ve played onstage?

CM: I’ve been so lucky with the theatre work I’ve done, to work with such special directors and work in wonderful theatres in London. I’ve worked at the Old Vic and The Young Vic twice each, and they’re always special to me. Ian Rickson is a liberating director, who I love. It’s hard to pick a favorite, because the roles have all been so different and presented different challenges, but, most recently, doing “A Number,” playing three different characters alongside Roger Allam and directed by Polly Findlay, was a really treasured experience, and I never tired of doing that show, every performance was challenging as it was.

Miss the rehearsal room

EDGE: You were doing “A Number” earlier this year. Did you finish your run before the lockdown/shutdown?

CM: Just about! We had our final performance, and then lockdown happened days later. I feel very sorry for the productions that didn’t get the sense of completion of finishing a run. I mean, finishing a full run leaves you in a kind of post-show void anyway, even though you know it’s coming, so to not know it’s coming and have it severed must be even more of a void.

Memories of performing just months ago seem like such an unattainable thing in this COVID world right now. I can’t tell you how much I’m hoping we get back to some semblance of live performance.

EDGE: What was it like to appear onstage opposite Dame Diana Rigg in “All About My Mother?”

CM: Well, I think “iconic” is an apt word for both the experience of working with Diana and the lady herself. In between scenes backstage we used to talk a lot and we got told off for talking too loudly, so Diana began to teach me sign language and we would spell out words to each other, maybe only getting a couple of sentences to each other before she was due on stage and I had to get into position for my next entrance-- we did a radio play together two years ago and she remembered, she said, “Do you remember A-E-I-O-U?” signing out the letters with her hands.

EDGE: None of us knows the future in terms of the pandemic and when we might return to making theatre. I’m a playwright myself and find it all supremely frustrating but I’m trying to remain hopeful! Where are you right now in terms of the standstill we are in and what the future might hold?

CM: Yes, I’m so worried for theatre. It’s a devastating blow. I’m sure as a playwright, you know that the creative spirit in individuals hasn’t been diminished by this virus. People are creating important art in this crisis but we need the platforms to present it and bring people to some light again out of this really scary period, but it needs to be safe and it’s a worrying time. The virtual theatre approach must be looked at I think. We need to experiment and find new paths at least for the time being. I’m involved in developing some things right now and how we can work on things in both an isolated and collaborative way. It’s entirely counterintuitive to what the family-feel and close bond of a group in a rehearsal room is like-- I miss the rehearsal room so much!-- but we can’t sit still, we must create and we must act.

What’s in a role?

EDGE: Looking back on the great success of “Merlin,” what are your takeaways from that experience?

CM: Some of the most treasured memories of my life will forever be connected to “Merlin,” the cast, crew, production, everyone! The invaluable training of being in front of a camera every day! The chance to inhabit a character and live with him for five seasons! There’s too much to list and words probably won’t do justice anyway, but I’m truly grateful for everything the show gave me.

EDGE: How do you select the roles you play?

CM: I guess they select me in a way. I can’t play a role unless it speaks to me and provokes me in some way, but ultimately it’s the characters that I have a fear about playing, not knowing how I’m going to enter into the process of living them, when I don’t have all the answers it’s a good indicator of a character I must play. If I have all the answers, there’s less scope for exploration and discovery which isn’t as interesting for me.

Link here

#colin morgan #interview #14 july 2020 #edgemedianetwork #benjamin #transcription

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tumbledfreckles · 4 years

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No more Flirting

Jilytober Day 25 Prompt: 7th Year Lily thinking James is no longer interested in her. Read it AO3 or below

Maybe Rankin

Lily tapped her chin contemplatively over her tea as she watched Thomas Rankin from across the Great Hall. The Hufflepuff was of fair build, blonde, blue-eyed, handsome enough jawline. He played Quidditch, so he’d be fit. He was in most of her NEWT classes, all heavy subjects, so he couldn’t lack for brains. Judging by the way his mates were laughing and falling about themselves, he was humorous too.

Yes, he might do nicely.

Ignoring her friends startled looks and questions, Lily stood from the table and crossed the Great Hall. Smiling widely as Thomas’ friends noticed her beeline towards them, she politely pretended not to see the elbows they gave their mate.

Thomas turned fairly quickly at their prompts, his eyebrows raising when he saw Lily standing in front of him, “Well, this is a bit of an honour. Hullo, Lily.”

“Hi Thomas,” she blushed slightly at his enthusiastic smile and warm welcome. “Mind if I sit?”

He nodded, and obligingly shoved a mate further down the bench to clear a space for her. Lily shot an apologetic look at the boy, who shrugged and grinned. Really no hard feelings amongst this bunch, she thought wryly.

“Don’t let me interrupt the conversation,” she said when she realised they had all fallen silent. “You were all laughing so much I just had to come and find out why.”

“Thomas was telling a story,” one of the boys laughed.

“No, I really wasn’t,” Thomas glared at him.

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t about him falling off his broom at Quidditch practise,” another boy muttered, only to be shoved by the first one.

Thomas laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head, “There might have been a bit of an accident last night,” he admitted to Lily with a sheepish smile.

She leaned forward, her hand brushing against his forearm, “Happens to the best of us,” she reassured him coyly, making herself feel a bit sick.

“So, what do we owe this pleasure?” Thomas asked curiously, pushing a glass of pumpkin juice towards her.

Lily took a sip, “Cheers. And nothing owed. Just thought we could catch up outside of classes for once. Complain about Runes where Venter can’t hear us.”

Thomas laughed, “We’ve been partnered together this term,” he explained to his mates. “Did you get that homework done?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad once you got through the first couple translations. Kind of knew what to expect after that. You?”

“Unfortunately, not. I’ll be scrambling to get it all done tonight, I reckon,” Thomas grimaced.

“I’ll be in the library if you need any help. We could study together,” Lily put up her most charming smile, brushed his arm again, and batted her eyelashes a bit for good measure. In case he didn’t get her drift.

He didn’t, “Oh great, yeah, cheers. Sam and Mike might need a bit of a hand too. If that’s alright?”

Lily’s smile dimmed slightly, but with a bit of work she fought to keep it there, “Yeah, course. More the merrier.” She realised her heart rate hadn’t changed once during the interlude and decided it was time to cut her loses and run. “Well, maybe see you later. Better get back to the girls and ready class. See you, bye, bye Thomas.”

After smiling around at them all, a hand to Thomas’ shoulder just in case he decided to become less oblivious, she left the group and headed back for the girls.

“What the,”

“Fuck,”

“Was that,”

Lily looked at Dorcas, Mary and Marlene respectively as she sat back down. They were looking at her in varying stages of disbelief and concern. “What?”

“Since when do you flirt with Thomas Rankin?” Mary curled her nose up. “And since when do you flirt so obviously.”

“It was like watching a dog on heat,” Marley agreed, and ignored the scowl Lily gave her. “It was, Merlin, girl. Have some class.”

“You did come on a bit strong,” Dorcas always displayed more tact than the others. She cast her eyes further down the table, “I thought you were interested in someone else though?”

“Don’t think that’s working out,” Lily admitted with a shrug, refusing to follow her gaze. She hadn’t known he was in the Hall when she’d gone over to Thomas but wasn’t sure what she would have done differently if she had.

“You seemed pretty chumming after the match last weekend,” Mary frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Lily said hastily, packing up her things and shoving them into her bag. “I just, I don’t think he’s into me anymore.”

“Lily, I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t think you could be more wrong.”

Where the girls had spoken in coordination early, now they spoke over the top of each other. Lily smiled at them and stood from the table. “It’s fine,” she assured them, trying to sound bright and carefree. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

Another round of protests started but Lily waved them off and turned away. She walked quickly out of the Hall, keep her head down, arms crossed over her chest as she walked past the rest of the table. She had Charms next, and felt relief knowing she could chitchat with Flitwick quite happily for all the time she was early. Now there was a man who would never let her down.

Just as she reached the long corridor that led to the classroom, she was grabbed from behind and pulled behind a tapestry. A hand covered her mouth to stifle her scream. Her captor pulled at her waist and pushed her against the wall in the small, almost pitch-black alcove.

“What the fuck was that, Evans,” the voice whispered harshly in her ear. The hand lifted from her mouth so she could answer, coming to rest on the wall next to her head, caging her in.

Lily simultaneously relaxed and tensed as she recognised the voice. “What was what?”

“Don’t pretend,” James tightened his grip on her waist. “Don’t be cute.”

“I’m not being cute. And I’m not pretending anything,” Lily pushed at James’ chest indignantly, but he didn’t budge. “Oi, let me out.”

“Not until you tell me why I just watched you flirt with some thick Hufflepuff who didn’t even have the brains to know his luck had come in.”

She huffed, “He is not thick.”

“He fell off his broom, Evans! Trying to talk and fly at the same time.”

“Not everyone can be a bloody show off like you.”

“He’s a Quidditch player! He should be able to multi-task at least a little bit.”

“He’s nice,” she protested feebly, not even sure why she was bothering.

“He’s a buffoon,” James squeezed at her waist again. “And you haven’t denied flirting with him.”

“Did you want me to lie?” Lily’s eyes were finally adjusting to the dim light, and she tilted her head up to look at the Head Boy challengingly. “Because we said we wouldn’t do that.”

“I want an explanation,” James meet her stare head on. “I think I’m owed that, at least.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she jabbed at his chest with her index finger.

“No? So, it’s normal for you to kiss someone at a party, and then flirt with someone else three days later?” James tilted his head at her challengingly. “That’s appropriate behaviour to you?”

“Is it appropriate behaviour to kiss someone and then ignore them for three days?” Lily glared at him, “Because that’s what you did.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“No, what would you call it then?”

“Trying to make bloody sure that you didn’t just kiss me because you were drunk! Trying to make sure you didn’t freak out after months of playing at this bloody dance with you.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Lily blinked, leaning back when she realised she’d been leaning forward, into James. “Why did you think I was drunk?”

“You smelt like that punch Sirius spiked,” James shrugged. His hand loosened on her waist. “I only realised later that you’d probably had no idea he’d dumped all that Ogden’s into it.”

Lily shook her head, “I didn’t drink it. Mary spilt her drink on me early on, and I realised what was in it when I saw the empty bottles under the table when I got her a new one. I wasn’t drunk.”

“Oh,” James looked down, into the small, empty space between them. “Good.”

“Worried I was going to say you forced me?”

“Worried you were going to say you regretted it.”

“Well, don’t you? Regret it, I mean,” Lily hastened to continue when James looked at her in confusion. “You’ve ignored me since, so I figured it was a bad kiss and you realised you’ve been wasting all this time chasing after me.”

“Is that what you really think?” James moved somehow closer to her, and his hand slid further up until his hand spanned her ribcage.

“Or that it really was just all a game to you,” Lily kept her chin tucked, gaze fixed on James’ cloak pin. “That you’d caught me and now you were done with me.”

“Is that all you think of me,” his voice was rough again, but the hand that moved from the wall to tilt her chin up was gentle. “You really think that little of me.”

“I didn’t,” she tried to explain, “But when you didn’t say anything, avoided me in the Tower, sat down the other end of the Hall, I didn’t know what else to think.”

“You goose,” he growled. “I was trying to not freak you out. And I didn’t know if you’d told the girls, seeing no one said anything to me, and I didn’t think I could be around you without making it obvious.”

“How would you make it obvious?” Lily’s voice sounded small against his harsher tone.

“Because I didn’t think I could be near you without wanting to do this again,” James didn’t wait for Lily to digest his words before he surged forward, capturing her mouth with his. The kiss was searing, hot and demanding, pulling Lily forward into him, leaving her clutching at his shirt as she tried to keep up. His tongue sought entrance and slid along hers, his hand weaving into her hair to hold the back of her head. He used his grip to change the angle, creating a gorgeous slip and slide of their lips.

Lily’s hands travelled incessantly, across his chest, to his shoulders, to his neck, where her fingernails traced lightly along his hairline. She moaned as his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. She fought to give as good as she got, pushing up onto her toes to even out the height difference. James took pity, wrapping an arm around her and lifting, pulling her against him and holding her there. Lily took advantaged of this new angle to latch her lips to his neck, sucking at his pulse point until he groaned in much the same tenor as her own response.

Eventually they slowed and pulled back, breathing heavily. James slowly released her, but the slide of Lily’s body against his as her feet hit the floor cause a fresh sheen of sweat to break out and a shudder ran through her body.

“I could never regret that, Lily,” James whispered huskily in her ear before kissing a sensitive spot just underneath it. “And it’s not a game to me.”

“It’s not a game to me, either,” Lily responded hurriedly. “And I’m sorry, about before. I was embarrassed that you seemed to be over me and guess I wanted a bit of an ego boost.” She winced, “Not that it worked.”

“Tosser,” James kissed her again, a balm to her wounded pride. “If he can’t work out when the most gorgeous girl in school is flirting with him, he doesn’t deserve even a hello from you.”

“My heart wasn’t really in it,” Lily admitted.

“Good,” James half glared down at her, but she couldn’t tell he was trying not to smile at her admission. “No more flirting with anybody, except me. Or you won’t like what happens.”

Lily slid her hands from James’ shoulders to back up around his neck, “If it’s anything like this, I might be tempted.”

James roared and launched at her, stealing a kiss before returning his attention to her neck, nipping and sucking even as he muttered scolds at her. Lily’s giggles turned to a gasp as his hands went to her hip and her breast, taking no mercy as they glided across her body, setting it on fire.

“Alright,” she breathed shakily. “No more flirting. I swear.”

#jilytober #jilytober 2020 #james potter #lily evans #prompts #flirting #denial #ive overloaded on brownie and i have no regrets #except editing #but you guys won't care right?#its good brownie #can share recipe #freckles writes #freckles bakes

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hiimsociallyawkward · 3 years

Text

the wicked day

hey guys. i'm back with my random and annoying merlin thoughts. i should be studying for my bio quiz, but yk- i don't want to :,) love you @lady-ofmagic-andstars✨enjoy✨

literally every time i'm going watching i'm going to comment on john hurt that says young man instead of young boy

it's so subtle but wow. thanks i didn't need to be hurt so early on in the episode

i know i know i'm basically a child but this is so exciting

merlin is so cute

aw no not arthur being pouty abt his big birthday

I LOVE THE 'i heard that' thing so much. i love it i love it

off topic, but i love knife throwing. i've always thought that if i had to choose a weapon that's not a gun, i'd choose knifes. swords? maces? crossbows? sure. but knives?? that's where it's really at

i love arthur not wanting to overburden their citizens

ok uther? i hate him

but here? i love him

he's a good dad here. remembering arthur's birthday? that's so sweet. uther in season 4 is the only time i semi like him

AW ARTHUR AND UTHER AT DINNER

i love them

off topic but i like that arthur is wearing his 'every day' clothes, jacket and a tunic under his cape. that's it. the knights are all wearing his garb but arthur is just wearing his 'regular clothes'

hehe gwen being nervous about arthur being on the wheel is so sweet

idk why but i always get nervous at that last knife.

like of COURSe i know he's not going to get hit but it's scary.

the 'not wearing any trousers' thing omg. bbc really decided to do that

i wish we had more of this parental dynamic of arthur and uther

dam alright arthur. being out of it but still being in it enough to see the guy in the reflection? i stan

SKLFJASLDFJA uther fighting to protect arthur

literally me through his whole scene going 'oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez' on repeat.

so off topic but i kind of like the hairstyle they have for most of the guys in this show?? idk is that weird

oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez uther dying

like, i HATe him. i've been waiting for this since season 1 but this scene makes me sad

ok i don't remember the last episode of merlin so i forget what arthur says when he's dying in merlin's arms??

it's something like 'hold me' right? i feel like that has the same energy as 'stay with me' so while i can't exactly say this is sort of parallel, it's sort of parallel?

i mean, ok 1. dying in someone else's arms. 2. dying in the arms of someone you love? romantically, platonically, familial? doesn't matter. both uther and arthur died in the arms of someone they loved. 3. i'm just gonna say 'hold me' and 'stay with me' have the SAME energy, so if no one has called semi-parallels, i'm calling semi-parallels

bradley's single tear

stfu agarvaine. i'm serious. legit everytime he shows up i wanna pow pow pow him

legit. agaravaine needs to get away from morgana.

DO NOT GRAB HER ARM MISTER. LET GO OF HER

I DON'T CARE THAT YOU'RE SECRETLY IN LOVE WITH HER. LET GO OF HER RN

i've said it once and i'll say it again, i love gwen

not to romanticize death or anything but i like candle light vigils.

ok maybe slightly symbolic but probably not? ok actually i think it is, not to toot my own horn but this is also just really straightforward too.

arthur wearing 'street garb' and his 'knight stuff' sort of differentiates between 'arthur' and 'prince arthur'. the scene where merlin and arthur are looking over the vigil and merlin's talking about how there's nothing that can be done, and arthur mentions using magic, i may be off about this but i feel like he's speaking more from prince arthur rather than arthur, uther is my father.

like of course arthur's hurting, everyone knows he's hurting. but idk. i feel like he feels like he's not ready to be king. he needs more time, and he can't be king yet. so therefore, prince arthur is talking about needing to save their king.

gaius and merlin are both right here. idk what else to say.

wow merlin 'you can't stop me' love that

jeez 'maybe this is my chance to change that' little do you know what's happening soon merlin.

oh shoot.

arthur asking merlin if he would use magic to save his father? i'm just thinking back to merlin crying, but not crying over balinor because he couldn't tell arthur, and merlin having to mourn his father in secret. vs. arthur, asking merlin for advice. sharing all his worries and insecurities with gwen. begging gaius to do something more for his father. this just makes me so sad

arthur TRUSTING merlin. with everything. taking merlin's opinion on things and aw

this is dumb but tbh i really like merlin's outfit. like tbh i think i dress in the same sort of style, just ✨modern✨ sadly, no neckerchief for me but i do have a necklace that says 'heather' despite my name being 'ashley'. ily conan gray

ugh. arthur calling merlin a coward but also calling him brave?? you need to pick a side arthur

LMAO ARTHUR STOP THINKING ABOUT WATCHING MERLIN PEE

bruh arthur breaking the vase. it's so dumb but merlin referring to the vase over and over actually makes me chuckle

ok merlin going 'you have come to kill me?' reminds me of another show but i can't remember but i thought i'd put it out here anyways

oh shoot i just realized/remember that uther got stabbed on arthur's birthday. hell of a gift am i right 😭

hehe arthur 'sweeping' with the broom. silly goose

dragoon sounds so vulnerable asking for the right to use magic freely

i love you arthur. this scene, i'm like YES. arthur i love him

i love the saying 'my word'. like, i don't want people to promise me anything anymore. i want them to give me their word.

HAHA THIS IS SO DUMB. MERLIN SAYING 'QUESTIONS. SO MANY QUESTIONS'. I LITERALLY SAY IT WITH THE SHOW EVERY TIME. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME

aw arthur just sitting there with the cup and trying not to break it HAHA he's so sweet. slightly scared after that vase yk what i mean

ok i don't like morgana and everything but that necklace? that's a stroke of genius. yes girl. make up the plan as you go along

frick you agarvaine. do not scare gwen you PERV

jeez agarvainewas SO rude putting that necklace onto uther. like yes, ik you don't like him but STILL. that's just rude

i'm going to start calling people toads now

hehe arthur closing his door and merlin being right there. it's not necessarily a trope but it totally is and i love it

ah yes. merlin and the tavern. i feel like it's been referred to before but it's still funny.

ok ik arthur carrying merlin is there for kicks for the kids but i laughed anyways

apparently i have the humor of a 10 year old

this is really dumb but the scene with arthur and the two guards. i'm just thinking 'how tall are these guards'. ofc ik that the staging/perception could be doing something that might be making arthur look shorter, but my first reaction was 'bradley is 6' just how tall are these guards??'

merlin's speech about magic makes me sad

aw 'i hope, one day, that you'll see me in a different light'

dragoon has the same effect on arthur as merlin does

uther waking up 😭

AW. UTHER'S LITTLE SIGH AND THEN 'ARTHUR' BREAK MY HEART COVEY. BREAK IT A THOUSAND TIMES.

they're both so happy. this makes me so sad now. oh jeez. oh jeez. oh jeez

oh jeez oh jeez merlin's expression. AW merlin gave arthur his word. oh jeez this is very stressful and i'm only watching this

ok obviously. merlin doesn't want to see arthur in pain. but ALSO this was merlin's chance to change things once and for all. and now uther is dead. #no liam just payne

arthur's face post crying. skf;aldjfa;ldk AW

frick you agarvaine. literally die. i can't wait for merlin to kill you

i think this scene is pretty. the light on the left and the dark on the right? ok actually, i'm going to be making an off base comparison now because that's all i do.

i'm remembering this post i saw on here and it was like, arthur uther and morgana in the throne room. in order of the way they sit in the throne room, first it's arthur, uther, and then morgana

well. the really dumb and off base comparison here is the 'light' goodness of arthur and the 'dark' evil of morgana being mirrored in the picture above.

'light', bravery, doing what's right- being on the left. 'dark', evil, power on the right- and arthur in the middle of it, king

like i said, it's a dumb off base comparison, but at least the picture is pretty

oh jeez this scene

my heart breaks for both of them

merlin not being able to form a sentence at first.

😭😭😭😭 arthur please. you're breaking everyone's heart right now

you already knew i had to include this scene

arthur walking in there all alone

oh jeez he's all alone

dumb parallel number 2. arthur walking into the throne room with uther, father and son. merlin and gaius closing the door for arthur- pseudo father and pseudo son.

'he'll never know who i really am'

i want to do a DEH post soon but jeez. the line that hits hardest for me in DEH is 'i never let them see the worst of me. cause what if everyone saw? what if everyone knew? would they like what they saw? or would they hate it too? and jeez that's all i can think about when i think about merlin and his secrets

again. no liam, just payne

asldkfja;sldkfjas dlf merlin waiting for arthur

i have so many feelings

i love the show of affections for his father. you already know that uther wasn't affectionate when arthur was growing up, but still. forehead kiss? i love it

I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO FEEL THAT YOU WERE ALONE. i hate this and love this so much. i'm not saying merlin is completely selfless, because merlin wants magic to be leagalized and arthur is the way to do that. but omg merlin not wanting for arthur to feel like he's alone breaks me

first, merlin being physically alone while waiting for arthur. arthur was technically alone too, but he was with his father

but also, merlin being alone in the sense of his magic. no one knows except for gaius. lancelot knew and then they killed him. merlin is so alone when it comes to his magic, and morgana's enchantment only pushes merlin into his 'magic shell' more. arthur thinks magic is pure evil, and merlin is made of magic. what does that mean would think of arthur. this hurts me so much i'm so sad

friend 😭

arthur asking if he's hungry and them getting breakfast together

ok this sound track

pendragon red. i actually stan

gwen wearing a purple dress?? color symbolism?? nah i'm over thinking

ASIFA;SDLFJAD HE'S KING OF CAMELOT

IT'S LIKE I WANT TO CRY BECAUSE I'M SO PROUD RIGHT NOW.

oh jeez oh jeez.

and merlin saying 'long live the king' at the end of the episode?

chills

Anyways! I’ll be back next week to rant more about aithusa so I’ll see you then! thanks I love you bye

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candicewright · 4 years

Note

Kindly requesting that analysis on wangxian being peak romance and how it compares to queerbaiting please 🙏 🙏 🙏

Hello, anon! I am very genuinely happy that my rambling thoughts interest you in any way (because I have a lot of thoughts) so here is my analysis as promised. It is veeeery long (almost 2k), sorry about that but I’ve really been looking forward to talking about this for a very long time. In the end, it isn’t so much about how Wangxian is peak romance and more about the censorship and how it compares to queerbaiting, I may have to do another post about that later on. Without much further ado, here it is!

The Untamed’s tasteful censorship vs. BBC Merlin’s queerbaiting and why I prefer one over the other.

I know most people follow this blog for Merlin and believe me when I say that I love this show more than I can say because it has quite literally changed my life. But The Untamed has opened my mind to a whole new world (insert Aladdin’s A Whole New World here) and it has given me a lot of perspective on a lot of things.

I often joke with my friends saying that my first consideration when choosing a new show to watch is saying “is it gay?” which is not far from the truth, but it’s also not the complete story. What I mean is that I ask myself “does this show have a relationship that I think is worth getting invested in?”. Yes, t usually happens that those are not heterosexual romances, but what can I say, I’m queer and I like my emotional support fictional characters to be so too. This is the exact reasoning that led me to Merlin. I saw a couple of videos about them on youtube and immediately found their dynamic compelling and their story beautifully tragic. But like with most shows these days, the writers failed (among other things) to make their relationship explicit. This has happened with every show I watched after Merlin too; The Witcher, Sherlock and Good Omens being the most notable ones.

You can argue if they are or are not queerbaiting, I at least think Good Omens isn’t, but again, it is pretty subjective.

But i had grown so accustomed to this type of media that I fully went into The Untamed expecting something similar.

And oh boy was I wrong.

Now, the case of The Untamed is a curious one because it is supposed to be a love story between two men due to being based on a BL novel, but because of censorship, it had to be very toned down. I found this out right before actually watching the show while doing some preliminary research and while it did change my thought on what I was getting into I truly thought they would just erase the entire relationship and try to hide it behind straight relationships like in most other shows I had watched.

But that was absolutely not the case, to my endless relief and joy.

But how? How did they get away with censoring all the explicit aspects of a romantic relationship while still managing to tell a wonderful love story? And how does this compare to the queerbaiting of a show like Merlin?

Warning: I will be using different parts of both shows and probably some of the MDZS novel to illustrate my point, so there will be spoilers.

The initial accidental chemistry + innuendos vs. The establishment of the very clear enemies to friends to lovers trope

I’m going to use Merlin to compare and contrast this because it’s what I know best and the other show I've given a lot of thought to.

Merthur and Wangxian are both similar and different dynamics in the way they’re written and it was one of the things that drew me into The Untamed in the first place. Both stories begin with our main duo meeting and instantly disliking each other, ending up in a fight. And while they both set the story up to lead to a more intimate bond being created between the pairs, there’s something very different from the start.

Merthur is deliberately set up to be a close friendship and all innuendos and chemistry are accidental (in my opinion and only at the start). Let me explain.

The concept for Merlin clearly started with the idea of how the story would change if Merlin was a young boy arriving in Camelot instead of an old powerful sorcerer. Then they made the main plot to be his destiny/friendship with the young and arrogant Prince Arthur. I truly believe that the first innuendos were not what they intended and that all chemistry and sexual tension between the characters comes courtesy of Colin and Bradley and how undeniably good they look on screen together. Fans then started speculating (as we always do) and then the production team decided to run with it, making it almost a recurring joke when it shouldn’t have been. Had they treated that developing relationship seriously like what they were hinting it was, the show would have been very different.

The Untamed on the other hand, is everything but accidental. What they’re doing is deliberately establishing the enemies to friends to lovers trope from the very beginning. It’s not an accident that during their first fight on the roof of the Cloud Recesses Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji that women would find his true character very disappointing and that no one would want to marry him. he says so several times in fact and this is clearly both to highlight the change in their relationship as well as to say that Lan Wangji is not at all interested in the opinion of any female (or anyone besides Wei Wuxian for that matter). This is the same stuff we see in mainstream straight romances: one of the characters saying something to the effect of “who would want to date them?” only to end up involved with the other at the end of the story.

You could argue that Merlin does something similar with the conversation between Merlin and Kilgharrah where Merlin is affronted by the idea of having to help Arthur where he says “There must be another Arthur because this one’s an idiot...If someone wants to kill him, they can go right ahead. In fact, I’ll give them a hand.” but the difference between these two is that Merlin is hiding behind the guise of destiny and friendship to make these parallels while Wangxian is deliberately and clearly in a romantic context.

The deliberate continuation of the subtext vs. The suggestion of something more

The accidental nature of the subtext doesn’t last long and in true BBC fashion, it turns into full-on queerbaiting real fast. Again, you can argue endlessly about when the deliberately suggestive comments start, but by the end of the show, we know for a fact the entire production staff and even the staff were aware of the effect and reception their show was having. This was no longer an innocent mistake on people reading too much into it, it was a very purposeful narrative that they were pushing without ever truly committing to it. This is what got fans going crazy over “poetry” or lines like “you’re the only friend I have and I couldn’t bear to lose you”. These are all very intentional choices they made to keep their devoted fanbase interested and while we’re all very thankful for this material it really keeps us wondering what it could have been if they had taken that extra step.

The Untamed can’t take that step because of the censorship laws, but it’s still much more daring than Merlin ever was. While Merlin keeps the soulmate aspect of the Merthur relationship a suggestion, The Untamed outright says it, which was baffling to me. It even does it at a pint where the first kiss happened in the novel, which you would think makes it less romantic. But that's absolutely not the case because of both the non-consensual nature of that original kiss and because of how heartbreakingly beautiful the replacement scene is. Not only that, but they also keep all the elements you could expect to see in any pre-relationship stage of a developing romance story: endless amounts of mutual pining, not-really-unrequited love, jealousy, panicking at the sight of your crush (yes I’m looking at you 15-year-old Lan Wangji) and even some fun in vino veritas moments. They even have a son together! It doesn’t get more clear than that!

This is all the way the show has of suggesting something more without outright saying (even though it’s a pretty not subtle way of suggesting it).

Merlin, on the other hand, keeps trying to deny the romantic nature of the Merthur dynamic, which brings me to my next point.

The introduction of a female love interest as an excuse vs. The awareness that the audience understands the relationship in the way it's meant to be

Now, this one really bugs me, because of all the ways they could have done this they truly chose the worst and destroyed Gwen’s character in the process.

In my opinion, the writers could have done a few different things. They could have fully developed the Merthur relationship as a romantic one while keeping Gwen’s role as a queen and creating a much more satisfying character arch for her, maybe even getting her together with Morgana or Lancelot. They could have focused on the Awen romance and therefore lowered the suggestions of romance between Merlin and Arthur, once again creating a much more enjoyable subplot for Gwen, though it could have also meant sacrificing the very powerful bond between the main characters. They could have even taken advantage of Gwen’s crush on Merlin in the first season and gone on the full-on polyamory direction! That would have been much better! Instead, they halfassed the romance between Arthur and Gwen and made it just...meh. Not that Angel and Bradley didn’t do a great job, it was more of a writing problem than a them problem.

The Untamed (despite the rumours and possibilities of a Wen Qing/Wei Wuxian relationship) decided to just run with the not really platonic relationship between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, making them the complete focus of the story while still upholding the censorship laws. What I think the biggest difference between the two shows is, is that one runs on assuming the audience is stupid while the other one assumes the audience is smart.

Let me explain once more.

The Merlin writers clearly thought that by introducing Gwen as the love interest to Arthur he would just become what? Magically straight? As if we hadn’t seen the last four seasons of sexual tension between him and Merlin? The audience was not fooled for the most part, but some people did fall for this, coming with the argument “But he’s married to Gwen so he’s straight!” as if being gay or straight are the only two possibilities but oh well.

The Untamed does quite the opposite. It relies on the fact that the audience is going to catch onto the romantic aspect of the narrative without them actively saying anything because we are Not Dumb. It also does something that I think is quite beautiful which is leaving it up for interpretation as far as whether it’s platonic or not and even more touching is the way the story has resonated with the ace community (that is according to what I’ve seen, please do correct me if I’m wrong) by focusing on their emotional and intellectual connection instead of in their physical and sexual one.

This is why, in the end, I prefer what I call The Untamed’s tasteful censorship over Merlin and other shows’ blatant queerbaiting.

I feel the need after all of this to state that Merlin is still my favorite show of all time and that this is not by any means me saying that Merlin is absolute trash or something like that. There’s also a lot more that I think can be said in this conversation, so please feel free to tell me what you think and if you’ve ever encountered something similar to this.

Also, if I made any mistakes or wrong points, please don’t be shy about telling me!

I hope this rant was at least somewhat interesting and that you found it satisfactory, anon!

#mdzs/cql meta #merlin meta #the untamed #cql #wangxian #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin bbc #ask response #i have a lot of feelings #someone stop me #long post

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