guess i caved and made another tumblr blog

This year, you and Craig decided to get an apartment off-campus, instead of getting a dorm together. It was cheaper in the long run and girls liked that Craig actually lived in town and a full sized bed, instead of the cramped, loud dorms they’d met in.

You weren’t as popular with the ladies as Craig was, but that’s alright. Both of you are single for Valentine’s Day. That’s all that really mattered in your eyes.

Craig and Ashley got into a pretty intense fight. You weren’t home when it was over, passing Ashley slam your front door shut as you passed her by in the main hallway. Craig immediately opened the door and instead of running after her, he locked eyes with you. He doesn’t chase her, instead helping his best bud bring in the groceries and tries to keep your joint dog Carl from running out as well.

You wanted to comment something about the fight with Ashley during the moment, but it never felt right. Ashley was a decent lady, a little older than Craig with an actual job, but she doesn’t mind Craig’s more party-focused attitude and college mindset.

You’d mind less, but you’re in the thick of it with him.

Days passed. Schoolwork piled up and both of you had jobs to work through. If Craig made any attempt to contact her, you didn’t know. His breakups weren’t as solitary as they seem to be now. 

His relationship with Ashley was serious. When did it get there? How did you not know that Craig felt so intensely about Ashley that he wasn’t immediately trying to get over it?

You’re taking a break from a very pressing essay when Craig comes into the living room. You two have a small, shitty table to eat at, pressed against the wall with the window. It’s mostly used for schoolwork, if you’re honest.

Craig shakes the car keys from the doorway to his bedroom, smiling at you. It’s been days since he’s even remotely felt comfortable enough to do so and you’re staring at him so long that you miss the question.

“What?” It’s not silence that breaks, but your concentration on Craig and all he’s going through.

Craig laughs at your absentmindedness. While you feel your skin get hot with all too familiar bashfulness, he repeats himself with a laugh, “You wanna go for a drive? It’s not like we got anything better to do?”

Your schoolwork would disagree with you, but when have you not put Craig and his happiness above yourself?

“Yeah, sure.” You shuffle your schoolwork away so that Carl can’t eat it even if he wanted to, and slip on your shoes and jacket, following Craig out of your all’s apartment.

Craig and you pulled through some drive-thru a while back and you know that the Craig you care for doesn’t do that, but break ups change you, or so you suppose. It’s not like you have had too much experience with caring about them. Nobody in your mind has cared enough to you, more so than Craig Cahn does, but that’s probably why you’re single on Valentine’s Day.

Craig turns the music down in the car as he drives. He usually drives, being the more focused and diligent of the two of you.

He’s heading out of town, to the same woodsy spot the two of you could probably get ax-murdered at and he’s probably taken Ashley or some other girl to, for a nice, outdoorsy date.

He’s taken you here before. Though, it’s not the same. What you two have is never the same.

The sun sets and it’s a pretty amalgamation of purple, orange, and pink, but as you glance into the rearview mirror, you catch a bit of Craig as well, and you know that he’s prettier than any sunset will ever be. 

Craig finally pulls into a stop and you two sit in silence for a moment before opening the door and getting out. You bring your drink and he rummages in the back seat for the plasticy outdoor blanket the two of you usually share.

He lays it out a few meters over, where the trees are sparse and the ground is relatively even. The first time Craig ever took you here, he said that he’s been going here ever since he was a child. Craig’s fairly local, growing up just out of driving distance for everyday commuting to class and all of the other sports things he has going on.

He’d also admitted that he’s used this spot for dates several times. Girls were impressed when he was able to put together something more than dinner and a movie. The bar was low, but you’d let it be lower if that meant being on a date with Craig.

But this isn’t a date. This is just two guys, who both happen to be single on Valentine’s day, for one reason or another.

It’s pretty clear why you’re alone, but you’ve tried dating others and they all knew that your heart wasn’t into it.  After a while, most would drop you for someone who gave more attention to them than your brain was capable of doing.

You know you wouldn’t have that issue with Craig. He’s who your brian can’t pull you away from.

“It’s nice out today.” Craig speaks first, leaning back onto his palms as he stares into the setting sun, “It’s better out here than in some stuffy restaurant.”

You nod. Craig was going to take Ashley on some normal, nice date. They weren’t a year strong, but were past the six-month mark. They were serious and Ashley was probably expecting flowers and a swift apology.

You wish you could say you’re sorry for agreeing to come here with Craig. You feel bad, sure, but her loss is your gain. 

“Definitely.” You’re not lying, but the thought of a typical date with Craig has been your dream for years.

Silence passes between you. Once you’ve finished your drink, you lie back completely. Craig does the same.

The sunset turns to dusk and then to nightfall entirely. Stars come out and the moon is on full view now.

Craig actually breaks the silence this time, “Why are you alone on Valentine’s day?”

You turn your head to face Craig. You only see his side-profile, as he’s still facing the sky above, but you’re used to facing him at this angle.

“I didn’t try to ask anyone out.”

“That’s a shame.” Craig comments, “You’re such a catch.”

“Tell that to other people.” 

“You want me to wingman you?” Craig asks, “I’ll do it. Best bro duties and whatnot.”

“I’m… fine.” You shift to look at the stars above, “I got work and school and whatnot. I don’t need the distraction.”

“Fair.” Craig lets silence come back for a moment, before continuing, “Ashley thought that we hung out far too much. She thinks you’re a bad influence.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. You’re the reason why they’ve broken up. Ashley gave him an ultimatum—implied probably, but it was still there—and he chose you.

Craig chose you.

Your laughter is weak, but you push through it so that Craig can’t hear the desperation in your voice, “I’m the bad influence?”

“I know, right?” Craig sits up, actual laughter wracking his chest, “You’re such a better person than I am!”

Tears come to your face as you sit up and laugh with Craig. He never lies, but you know that that statement isn’t true. He’s such a good person and you’re the one who’s putting everything and everyone underneath your desire to be with a guy who’s never going to see you more than a best friend.

“No dude,” You tell him, wiping the tears streaming down your face, “You’re such a great guy! Ashley fucking sucks!”

The laughter dies down and you know you fucked up as you sniffle, but you don’t say anything as there is a brief moment where nothing is said.

Craig breaks it with a question, “Do you really think so?” And his voice is smaller than it usually is. 

You want to lie and try to convince him that Ashley is terrible and that he could do so much better than her. But you’ve seen how he’s been the past couple of days without her. He cares about her more than he could ever do for you. The two could be happy together and you’ll be fine with that.

“No.” You admit, your voice quiet and low, matching his, “She’s… fine. You two are happy together, aren’t you?”

“I miss her so fucking much, dude.” He confesses. It hurts, how relieved he is from saying that or hearing your approval of her, but you keep it down for both of your sakes. 

“I know.”

“And it’s like, I don’t even know where she got the idea that I don’t care about her!” Craig continues to speak, about his and her argument, about how she thinks you two are too close and how it’s almost like he’s your boyfriend, with how much we’re together. 

It dawns on you that Ashley isn’t blind like Craig is. She probably knows how you feel about him and it’s caused a rift between them to. Not that you’d tell Craig that. You don’t know if he’d stayed if you were honest and him leaving is worse than him not knowing how you truly feel.

“Wait a couple of days for the flower shops to get new flowers and get her the best bouquet you can.” You tell him, “Take her on the best fucking date of her life and don’t let her forget how much you actually care about her.”

“I will.” Craig takes a moment before saying anything else, “Thanks man, for being here.”

Abraxas has been taking cues from his friend for a while now, much to the dismay of his father, Gaius Malfoy. This time, this upcoming year, would be no different. After all, Abraxas figures that this is a reasonable request from his dearest friend—stay at Hogwarts with him for their last winter holidays together.

And even if it wasn’t as reasonable of a request… he’d do it anyways.

Abraxas couldn’t say him and Tom started out on a strong foot, with Tom’s blood status being questionable at best and Abraxas being bound by the rules of the House of Malfoy. But he proved himself and his ability to lead, finding equal footing with the help of the future Lady Black. Abraxas fell in line too, seeing potential in the boy who was able to garner the respect of a woman herald as better than they all were. And as he gained more followers and very few friends, Abraxas can say he struck gold by staying by Tom’s side.

And stay by his side he would. Outside of Hogwarts and the real world weren’t as important, now that Abraxas had clear duty and purpose from his dearest friend.

But they weren’t in the real world. They weren’t outside of Hogwarts. They were sitting in a room of their own design, with comforts imagined by their wildest dreams and a fire going in the middle, keeping it warm. Tom sat in a chair pursuing a book. Abraxas lounged on a fainting couch, barely keeping his head up as he stared at his friend through the flames.

“Boring holes into my skull, are you not, Abraxas?” Tom speaks, breaking the near silence of their own private oasis.

Abraxas gives him a soft smile, “Not intentionally, Tom.”

“You will not be allowed to call me that much longer, Abraxas.”

“You’ll still always be Tom to me.”

“Watch it, Malfoy.”

“Alright, alright.” Abraxas leans up, “What are you reading about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He tells him, flipping to another page, “It is all things I already know of. The reading selection here is abysmal. Or, at least in the main library.”

“This isn’t from your secret library?” Abraxas teases.

Tom answers straight, “No.”

“Am I ever going to see it?”

“It is for Heirs of Slytherin only.” Tom answers honestly once again, “You know this.”

“I know.” Abraxas leans his head against the main arm of the couch, craning his neck, “I know.”

“Good.” Tom says, “The more you know of things like this, the better.”

Silence passes. Tom doesn’t say anything more on the matter, as if he knows that Abraxas will never truly contest anything he ever says. He’s well versed in this belief, as Abraxas would tell you the same thing himself.

Abraxas changes the subject, “Tomorrow is the end of the year.”

“Is it really tomorrow if it’s less than a quarter of an hour away?”

“If it isn’t tomorrow yet, then yes it is.” Abraxas affirms, “Tomorrow, that is. It is tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Tom doesn’t look up from his book, “Alright,” He concedes. This isn’t something he particularly cares about. Time and its useless definitions are something someone with a life so finite should worry about. But Tom has taken the first steps towards combating that. He doesn’t need to worry about something so trivial.

“It’s also your birthday tomorrow.” Abraxas notes, “Is there anything special that you’re doing for it.”

“Spending time with you.” Tom asks questions in response, even though he already knows what Abraxas will say to him in response, “Why? Did you have any other plans?”

“Oh.” Abraxas takes a moment to recollect himself, “No reason.”

Tom being frank like this wasn’t something Abraxas would bet on. He’s always been a man of few words—of mystery, of intrigue. This was new. This was unexpected.

“No reason, Abraxas?” Tom looks up from his book, folding in the page ever so slightly at its corner and setting it aside on a table beside his chair, before standing, walking past the fireplace and where he can get a clear view of Abraxas’ reddining face in the candlelight. He bends down at the waist, coming mere centimeters in front of Abraxas, “I think you have a reason to wish me good will, do you not?”

Abraxas clears his throat, “I just wish you will enjoy your eighteenth birthday, my dear friend. Isn’t that when you’re free of your muggle upbringing.”

“My muggle upbringing has never been something to be of concern.” Tom tells him, “Do not speak of it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Tom looks at Abraxas’ long, silvery hair. It and himself is illuminated by the warm candlelight, “You look ethereal, you know. Bathed in the soft yellow light of the candles. Nowhere near as harsh as Walburga or Minerva were.”

As Tom’s closest confidante, Abraxas knows how he used Walburga and Minerva. And if this conversation seems to go in the direction Abraxas is betting it will, he knows he’s quick to succumb to Tom’s needs like they did.

In all honesty, Abraxas was wondering why this took so long to transpire.

“I think I’ve been told that before.” Abraxas says softly, staring into Tom’s ever dark eyes, “Not by you, though.”

Tom’s lip quirks ever so slightly, smirking in a way most wouldn’t notice. But Abraxas wasn’t most. He knew Tom more so than he knew himself. His whole life seemed to surround the man.

“You look prettier than most girls like this.” Tom runs his hand through Abraxas’ silvery locks, curling the ends with his fingers, “Most would kill for your beauty.”

“Is that all I bring to the table?”

“No.” Tom tells him, “But it is all I need out of you in this moment.”

Looking back, Abraxas couldn’t remember who’s lips collided into who’s. Who made the first move. Tom, in a moment of unflinching dominance? Or Abraxas himself, in quick desperation?

Abraxas is getting pulled up to his feet, then is laid out over a bed that appears when Tom wills it. He is stripped of his clothes and he’s splayed out on the silky green sheets, contrasting nicely with the rich satin. 

Abraxas’ clothes are haphazardly on the floor while Tom takes his time slipping his Slytherin tie off and wrapping it around Abraxas’ pale wrists, pinning him above his head, stretching his body all lean and taut, showing off his thin skin and the bones that protrude from them.

Abraxas watches Tom as Tom watches him. He looks into the full-black eyes of the man he’s come to follow every word and whim of and doesn’t blink away.

“You have a view to enjoy, do you not, Abraxas?”

“I’ve always indulged myself in things like this.” Abraxas admits, his moonlight-pale skin reddening from what’s become of this night, “It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures to do so.”

“You know much of pleasures and indulgences, do you not, Abraxas?”

Abraxas smiles as Tom runs his spindly fingers across his skin, “I like to think I know much about a lot of stuff.”

“I do not indulge myself often.” Tom admits to him, “Everything I do has a purpose grander than doing something just because.”

Abraxas takes advantage of the pause in Tom’s thought, slipping into speech as Tom allows himself to take a moment and take Abraxas’ bare form all in, “Aren’t you not indulging in me, right now?”

“I am.” Tom admits to him, “This is wholly indulgent and I do not know what I gain from this, other than temporary pleasure.”

“Maybe that’s all you need.” Abraxas tells him, “Maybe that’s reason enough to do something you want to do.”

Tom smiles, “Maybe so.” 

Abraxas watches and Tom loses his outer robes and then his shirt, carefully discarding his clothes upon a pile on a previously not there end table. Abraxas’ own clothes lay on the floor, gathering dirt and dust, even though they are worth more than Tom’s will ever be.

Or, would ever be, if not for Abraxas vowing to bankroll every whim or will Tom asks of him.

Tom’s smile hasn’t faltered since he gave it to Abraxas. It’s a toothless thing, showing off his skin-pink, soft lips. One side is higher than the others and most would call this a smirk, but this is genuine. Abraxas believes—no, knows it so. It has to be that way.

Tom’s belt finally unbuckles. He does so without looking, staring Abraxas down his blue-grey eyes. Tom’s own dark brown eyes stare back at them and Abraxas swears there is a bit of a red gleam to it, as if blood has seeped into its wet-soil hue.

His pants and shoes follow soon after, being strung about neatly, able to still be pristine by the end of whatever this’ll be.

“Do you have any reservations about this, Abraxas?” Abraxas is sure Tom asked this of Walburga and Minerva and the other people he’s taken this way, but Abraxas knows that this is genuine concern. He admitted it himself—there is no other motive in this.

“I don’t.”

The night stretches long into the morning. Abraxas finds himself more connected to the boy whom he originally dismissed as an interesting, but worthless oddity—a muggleborn in the pit of vipers that hated him and the kind he hailed from. But as his reputation grew, Abraxas’ admiration and interest did so too. And as that grew, something more unconditional blossomed. 

Abraxas wouldn’t call it love. Neither of them would. Tom couldn’t love, a fact he found rather comforting within himself. Abraxas wouldn’t allow himself to admit that he’s fallen to a man who could never return what he truly needs in life.

But, for one night they were connected. For one night they were together. In body, mind, soul, spirit—Abraxas and Tom were one in all the ways that really mattered.

“Happy birthday, Tom.” Abraxas says, instead of whispering sweet nothings, “May it and your new year be just as bright.”

There were special rooms assigned for the champions and other students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang that were staying at Hogwarts. Fleur Delacour, with prodding from her headmistress, was able to get her own room. A gift, for being the face of Beauxbatons.

That doesn’t mean you, as Fleur Delacour’s partner, couldn’t reap the benefits of it.

“Cherie,” She calls out to your form, “What’s so interesting out the window?”

“I just like watching the snow.” You admit, turning away from it and see your lover sitting atop her bed, “It’s a flurry out there.”

“Would you like to go out into the flurry?” Fleur asks, “I certainly wouldn’t be mad warming you up afterwards…”

You laugh as a blush spreads across your face, making it hot and slightly redder, “Oh, I think I’m plenty cold right now…”

“Sounds like you need to be warmed up now, darling.” Fleur stands and glides over to you, encircling her arms around you and the blanket she had around her own shoulders, “It is quite cold in your castle. We have heating charms at Beauxbatons…”

“There are heating charms placed around.” You defend your home school from Fleur’s gentle teasing, “but… if it was warm, I wouldn’t want to be like this with you.”

“Well, I should thank Monsieur Dumbledore at the utmost convenience, then.” Fleur quips, “because I don’t think I’d trade this for the world.”

“I’m sure he’s free now if you want to leave and thank him…” You goad her into continuing this conversation and challenge her last comment, fully knowing that she’s not going anywhere.

Not even seconds later, she tells you such, “They’d have to pry me off of you. Even if it was about the second task.”

“Have you figured it out yet?” You ask her, but you get the answer as she shakes her head in the spot where your shoulder meets your neck, “Unfortunately not. I’m thinking of just chucking it into the water.”

“If that’s the answer, then it’d be a Christmas miracle.”

“Is it Christmas already?” Fleur asks, looking up at the clock on the desk. She’d brought it from Beauxbatons and once you see the periwinkle blue device, you have your answer, “I guess so.”

“Merry Christmas, darling.” She tells you and kisses where she can reach behind your ear, “I can’t wait to see you tonight at the Yule Ball.”

“I can’t wait to see you either, Fleur.” You tell her, “I love you.”

Effie Trinket really thought District Twelve had a chance this year.

Both tributes were older, bigger. They look like they’d actually eaten food in their lives and their manners weren’t the worst she’d seen from their peers. They trained, had decent scores in their one-on-ones and gave decent speeches, all things considered.

Once they got to the arena, they’d stuck together and didn’t even go to the Cornucopia, meaning that they didn’t die in the bloodbath. In fact, they’d made it four whole days before one of them fell.

Effie knew that the girl from twelve would probably fall before her district partner. And a pack of fiendish mutts would do it, guaranteed. She couldn’t outrun them and was devoured to death. Painful and slow, but it’s what to be expected.

Effie was just about to secure a sponsorship for the boy, who’d survived and even picked off two other tributes, but they were coming close to the final eight and one of the careers could tell that he was one to go after, considering that he was bigger with a body count and no ally to protect him.

At least it was quick, she thinks, as she pours herself a large glass of wine.

Mentors don’t have to stay once their tributes are dead. But unlike most tributes, Haymitch could barely get around himself off of the ground once both of his tributes died. He’d drink himself into a drunken stupor and it only seemed to get worse this time around, because both of them had hope.

“If not even fucking Seam kids could make it, nobody else in Twelve could.” Haymitch slurs, “We’ll have one fucking victor for all of eternity and too many dead kids to count.”

Effie doesn’t note that she could count and name every kid that they’ve sent to their death together. But she does help him on to the train, getting on with him.

Nobody else can take her home. She can walk the streets of District Twelve to get him back there. She does so every year.

Most years she doesn’t attempt to get as plastered as he does until she’s back in her apartment back in the Capitol. But when Haymitch goes for the alcohol, she grabs some as well.

“You’re finally indulging, aren’t you?” Haymitch accuses, “Two more kids dead and that’s when you can fucking let loose?”

“It’s just the two of us.” Effie reasons, “Why not?”

She downs two drinks fast, making it so that the train ride to District Twelve can be done under the guise of insobriety. Even though it’s only a couple of hours there, she’ll have to do the same trip over again, back home.

“Well, Miss Trinket,” Haymitch grabs himself a bottle and falls upon a fainting couch worth more than anything back in his entire district, “You disappointed at the outcome.”

“I had a sponsor lined up and everything.” Effie tells him, “We were just waiting for the gamemakers to give us the go ahead.”

“And then another fucking career takes his life.” Haymitch says, “I know, I saw. Those bastards in District Two are the worst of them, I swear.”

Effie doesn’t say anything to Haymitch. She can’t take his side in this, there are cameras watching them. But he doesn’t have anything to lose. And who would listen to a traumatized drunk anyways?

Plus, she remembers watching his games when she was young. She remembers going back to them, rewatching them once they had to start working together. Being the sole survivor of 47… she couldn’t imagine doing it herself.

But her family were loyal to the Capitol through the Dark Days. And that’s why she’ll never have to.

“You always come back with me.” Haymitch speaks in between gulps of whisky he’ll never have access to back him, “Why?”

“You need someone to walk you home.”

“The peacekeepers would do it.” Haymitch curls the open bottle like it’s a teddy bear, “Can’t have the only available mentor for District Twelve die because he tripped and fell on his way back to the Victor’s Village.”

“Maybe I like spending time with you.”

“You can’t stand me.”

Effie doesn’t comment on it, taking another drink of what she’s been able to grab. The train looks exactly the same as it did when she was bringing these kids to the Capitol. They probably haven’t cleaned the whole thing out yet, knowing they’d have to bring Haymitch home.

“Maybe I don’t want to be alone right now.” Effie finally says something in response, after staring off for an unknown amount of time. But, when she does, Haymitch has already curled into himself and his snoring.

Upstate New York wasn't what you imagined with your parents said that your dad was moving to New York for work. You could be forgiven if you thought that you'd be in the Big Apple, where people with some actually decent worldviews and basic fucking respect existed.

But, you couldn't have been that lucky, could you? Because the small town of Greendale needed a new doctor and your father could open up his own private practice with a whole town of new customers.

Honestly, how this town had a prominent mortuary, but not a doctor freaked you out, but you wouldn't say anything about it, because who knows what those Spellmans are up to.

But, you settled in decently. Classes weren't difficult and getting around was easy, with everything practically being within either walking or biking distance—something you'd taken up getting around your old town, as public transit was abysmal and here it's nonexistent.

Assholes were assholes and cliques were formed, but not like stereotypical high school television would proclaim. There wasn't a bitchy female at the top, ruling everything. Everything seemed to span from the ire of the misogynistic, football team and their backwards, Judeo-Christian values.

Honestly, you couldn't understand it. The fucking egos on these guys were astounding, truly.

But, you noticed something in between the constant jabs and minor pushing around from the guys bigger than you. That the kid from your English class with the curly hair kept staring at you.

You didn't think it was malicious, but it was persistent. They sat a bit behind you, next to two girls: one of which was the preacher's daughter and the other came from the mortuary family you were going to stay away from.

But, they looked harmless. Curious, in fact. Like they'd never seen someone like you, like them. Like they'd never seen someone who's undeniably trans.

You weren't certain they were trans, but if gaydar was a real thing, yours would be on full alert.

And so, when you were able to catch them staring all by their lonesome, you slipped away from the meatheads and their closemindedness towards them.

"Hey, you're in my English class, aren't you?" You appear in front of them in a blink of an eye, "With Ms. Wardwell, right?"

"Oh, uh... yeah. I am." They stammer, "You find it alright."

"It's not that difficult. Similar stuff I was doing at my old school."

"Where are you from?"

You tell them, trying to hide the disgust of this place and the fact that you really miss home.

"I can't for the life of me remember your name and I'm so sorry about that! Can you tell me?" Even if your reasoning was different, you truly couldn't remember their name, as Ms. Wardwell tends to take silent attendance.

They sigh, "Susie. Susie Putnam."

"You sure about that?" They choke on the air caught in their throat and you continue, "I mean, Y/N wasn't always my name. My parents helped it get it changed. So... are you sure that's your name."

"I don't know what I want to change it to." They admit, "but Susie hurts to hear."

"I get it." You put a hand on their shoulder, "Sometimes you gotta grin and bare it, but hey, when you pick one out, tell me."

"You get it?" They said, "You understand what I'm going through?"

"Oh yeah." You offer a laugh to break the tension, "These people are assholes, but your friends seem to be decent enough. And if they fucking suck like these dickheads, then you can hang with me, alright."

"And if my friends don't suck?" They ask, "Can I still hand out with you?"

Pollux Black

There was no denying it. Pollux was drunk out of his mind.

He'd always carried himself with guilt. A twin who's brother died in the womb. The firstborn son of his father, thus complicit in whatever he wanted, in order to keep his place in the family. He was man who's back was so spineless that it should've curled in on himself already. A disappointment, not proving himself better than Arcturus and not securing the switch in power between his branch of the family and Arcturus'.

But he was you husband, and you had to stick by his side.

"Baby," He crooned in you ear, "You know I love you. You know your the only one for me."

"I am aware."

"Oh, darling I need you, there's no one else for me." He continues, "Love is just what keeps me going. And love is just you in that dress."

"Is that some song?"

"Loving you is just what I do best..."

You take the cup from his hand and slip him out of his formal robes. The reception is over. Cassiopeia got out of this family and is married to someone who loves her. You wish you could say the same.

"It's how I feel, darling." Pollux continues, "I can't stand to see people around you."

"I'm all yours, Pollux." You tell him, "I'm all yours."

"When are you going to act like it then." He whines as more layers get removed between the two of you. You've holed up in the main manor, in one of the side rooms. Pollux is too drunk to apparate or use the floo network. And nobody in the Black Family would dare be seen riding the Knight Bus.

"I do act like it." You tell yourself, "I'm yours, Pollux."

"You don't say I love you. You recoil from my touch. You refuse to call me anything other than my first name." Pollux's tone gets serious, "You don't act like you love me."

"I love you." You tell him.

He grabs your shoulders and throws you onto the bed with him, "Then start acting like it."

"Pollux—" You tried to put some distance between the two of you, "Pollux, wait."

"No." His tone was much more sober, even if he was still slurring his words, "No. You are mine. Quit acting like you're not."

"Please—" You start but he interrupts you, "No! No. You are my wife. You shall act like it."

"I do!" You try to get back onto your feet, "I do!"

"I am your husband and you are my wife." He says, "We shall be one. We shall grow ourselves—our family."

What he means dawns on you and you know that this was always a part of your marriage contract, but you believed that by the time it happened, you'd be in love with him.

You tried and your tried but the light are off and the curtain is closing. This performance is over and act two's about to begin. This time, with a proper pureblood family from the two of you.

Cygnus Black

Cygnus was raised as a righteous man. He has a duty to the family—to live long and prosper. And he wanted to do that with you. Second-born son of the second-born line, he wasn't close to leading the family, even in his wildest dreams.

But he could lead his own family. And he wanted to create that family and that legacy with you and you alone.

"Spin." Your dress robes shimmered with the brightness of the stars themselves, the glimmer bouncing off of them in the waves of your turns, shining as bright as you do.

You don't say anything to him as he takes in your figure. You need to be perfect for him. It is your wedding day, after all.

"Muggles wait to see what they're partner is wearing until they are right in front of them." Cygnus notes, "What fools they are."

"How do you know what muggles do at weddings?" You try to laugh, tease him so that this moment isn't as daunting for you.

"Because I do." Cygnus growls, "Don't question your husband."

"You're not my husband yet." You laugh weakly for your own sake. Cygnus has always been quick to anger, quick to contempt. Hopefully you're quicker—especially than he is at action.

"Look at me." He grabs your arm and squeezes until all of the blood rushes from the hold, "You do not question me. I am your husband. It would behoove you to learn that quickly."

"Alright." You rub your wrist, comforting yourself, "I understand."

"I'll train you up. Don't worry." He says, "You'll learn before our children are born. You'll be an optimal parent. You'll be the perfect spouse. I'll make sure of it."

Somehow, you silently note, that you know that you'll never be as perfect as he needs, no matter how much he teaches and you endure.

Orion Black

Orion Black looked at you with a gaze so sharp it could pierce your body and soul. His straight black hair was combed neatly. His eyes were concrete grey and he kept his face just with the hints of what his beard could be if he didn't shave it regularly. His suit was crisp and clean and his shoes shined like motor oil.

He was well dressed and angry at something. And he was looking at you to fix it.

You took the initiative, silently accio-ing a bottle and a glass, pouring him a drink and then handing it to him. "Rough day?"

He takes the glass you offer, "News you won't like."

"What is it?" You ask, "I can handle it."

"I know, darling. You're so strong for me." Orion takes a sip of the drink and bridges the gap between the two of you, taking your hands into his, "They know the gender of Druella's baby."

The realization dawns on you, "Another girl."

"Yes," He offers you a sympathetic smile, "You've always been bright."

"I don't think coming to that conclusion took much brain power."

"I talked with my grandfather. He's expecting us to pick up the slack."

"Have the heir." You fill in.

Orion nods.

"No." You put your foot down, "That was the deal. I was to stay with you, play the perfect Black Family Wife and I would remain financed, protected, and untouched."

"That was if Cygnus was able to have a male heir." Orion says, "Do you think that I want to go back on that arrangement?"

"Then don't!"

"And have Bellatrix be the next Head of the Black Family?" Orion asks, "I'm already set up to be heir. It was always expected of me."

"It's not going to be expected of me."

"Yes it was." Orion's grip tightens, "We are already wed. You are mine. You cannot leave. Now you can do this the easy way, or I'll imperio you."

"You wouldn't."

He looks you in the eye and reaches for his wand. He doesn't say the words outright, but you made a deal with the devil so he wouldn't hurt you further. And maybe you will have to slide back on that deal a bit. But if you didn't, he'd take it painfully. And he would feel as if he could take more and more out of you.

You can keep some semblance of control this way. And what's one kid in the grand scheme of things?

Alphard Black

Alphard Black loved you to the moon and back. He was Hephaestus and you were Aphrodite, but like the mythical husband and wife, you were not loyal.

No, you'd found your Ares.

A muggleborn, in fact. Some man in the French Ministry of Magic who's been in Britain working on a project. Alphard didn't care who he was or what he done, except for when it was with you.

He used muggle means of subduing him. He's always been fascinated in the magicless. After all, he took you as his wife, even after his family threatened him.

It took all of his convincing to prove that you'd be a good partner, despite being a squib. You can still produce magical children after all. And he's not of the main line anyways.

But you had to go and fuck it up, didn't you?

He has your man tied up in a chair in the parlor, stripped of his wand and his clothing. He was still out cold and you came running when your darling husband told you oh, so sweetly that he had a surprise for you.

He stands over and behind your passed out lover. He's able to see your face when you notice what's gone on. And he can see the horror on your face as you see his manic smile.

"Alphie... what did you do?" You take a step closer, kneeling in front of your lover, "Alphie! What are you doing!"

"Don't Alphie me, sweetheart." He replies, "I saved you from a horrid life in the muggle world and this is how you repay me? By fucking some muggleborn swine!"

"Alphie, it's not what you think..."

"No, baby, it is what I think." He says, "I've been working and you've had a bit too much free time. So you took a man who would give you that attention. I'm sorry, darling. But I'll give you the attention you deserve."

"Alphie, please!" You try to reason with him, but he grabs a knife, "You can't do this!"

"Oh but I can. Knife to the head, incendio for the corpse, and aguamenti to put out the flames. It's simple, really."

You try to run to your lover, standing with him so that if Alphard was to light him ablaze, he'd have to do so to you as well. But Alphard casts a spell you don't recognize and you fall to the floor as you loose consiousness.

You come too as the fire dies down. Your lover no more than ashes. Alphard has himself pressed against your back, arms around your waist. He's singing the song at your wedding and it dawns on you:

You can never escape. You will never escape. The world that you admired so much and was desperate to be a part of you had a chokehold on you so strong that you were unable to leave it, even if you wanted to.

Severus Snape

You were in this marriage for your own personal protection.

The Snape name wasn't known as a Wizarding name just yet, but Severus was a halfblood. He could trace his lineage.

You could not, on account of being a muggleborn.

Honestly, with how Severus acted, you'd wished a death eater would take you out already. It wasn't nearly as torturous as being the wife to such an insufferable man.

"Darling," His slow manner of speaking irritated you, as if you couldn't handle him speaking any faster than this, "You mustn't linger about like that. You seem unhappy."

"And what if I am unhappy?"

"With the favor I have provided you?" He asks, "It would be foolish of you."

"Then call me a fool."

In all honesty, he was right. Staring out the window in the muggle home the two of you shared wasn't healthy for you. It only served to remind you of the home and happiness that you have since lost.

You change the subject, "How is your lord faring?"

"Better, now that he's decided on whomst his biggest threat is."

"Not Albus Dumbledore?"

"No, not Albus Dumbledore." Severus won't tell you more than that and you do not push the matter.

"Anything interesting in the potions you've been making?"

"No." He replies, "It is all the basics for getting a potions mastery. I will have to show it to the Potions Mastery Committee, down at the Ministry."

"You're heading into London?"

"I was planning on flooing, actually."

"Pick me up a new book." You turn to look at him, seeing him flip through the pages of his own book, "I've finished the last in that series and I want something of a similar author."

"Alright." He replies, not looking up at you. You look at his face, still ever-present in his book.

You suppose that he could be worse. He could be active in this situation, not just complacent in your slow torment under this roof. He could lay an unjust hand on you. He could treat you like the other wives of Death Eaters.

There is a mercy in how he acts. There is love in his distance.

You could reciprocate it, you could let it grow and blossom. But for now, you let the waves splash softly against the sand that is the foundation of your relationship with the man.

Gellert Grindelwald

Gellert Grindelwald doesn't love you.

The truth of the matter is that he's never loved anyone, only having obsessions. And, for all of his life, he's only been obsessed with two individuals: Albus Dumbledore—and you.

The fact that you have something in common with Albus Dumbledore makes you laugh. Him, one of the greatest wizards of all time, and you, a witch with so much self-loathing you almost formed an obscurus.

Almost, being the key word. For Gellert Grindelwald made it certain that you would not succumb to this deadly affliction, that you would find love within yourself and the world and its magic, so that you would keep on living.

And, it was all so he can keep you funneled away, hidden from the rest of the world in a small flat near Godric's Hollow.

It's embarrassing really, how quickly you fell for him. And yet, he does not love you, even after all that he did to make you love him.

You just stare off into the fireplace, awaiting his arrival. Because he's the only thing that keeps you from slipping into that state again. He's the only thing that brings you joy.

Aberforth Dumbledore

Aberforth wasn't the gloriest of husbands you could of had.

In all honesty, you befriended him to get closer to Albus. That was the real catch, your mother told you. Handsome, intelligent, hardworking—the world was falling at his feet and you could've been the woman smiling by his side, perfectly cared for and content while he tool the Wizarding World by storm.

But Aberforth had to actually take a liking to you, one he took violently, one that tarnished your reputation afterwards.

One thing lead to another and there was a child between the two of you. Aberforth made you an honest woman and you got yourself stuck with a child you didn't want, a job you hated, and a husband you hated even more.

At least nobody cares about what you did, out of wedlock. It's been decades now. You and Aberforth are over a century old. So is Albus.

And even if you can't call Albus Dumbledore yours, you still get to be near him and bask in his intellect. You two are friends, even if you always wanted to be something more.

Albus Dumbledore

He was an odd man. Never violent, even if you wished he would be.

He was kind, wise, put love as the forefront of everything, even though you didn't love him.

You didn't even like him. No, you were filled with pure, unadulterated hatred for your husband.

He's a gentle man. Smart, intelligent, caring. He keeps to himself on most occasions and lets you roam the walls of Hogwarts freely, just like you did, when the two of you were students.

You remember him well, you suppose. Back then, he wasn't like this. Back then, he was easier to endure. Back then, your dislike of him was validated.

Now, he's the war hero and headmaster of the greatest wizarding school in the world. He's saved countless of lives and mentored everyone who's walked through the walls of Hogwarts for the past century or so.

And it's exhausting, staying by his side. You're expected to be a proud person, prideful in your husband's work and all he has done, joyful in how the Dumbledore name has flourished and grateful for the man you've married.

But you are not here willingly. You would not have joined his side by choice.

You honestly hope Minister Fudge finds a way to oust him. Maybe his crimes in the wars will be released. Maybe he'll keel over and die already.

She's a woman who gets what she wants. In her mind, she's entitled to it. After all, she puts herself in harms way for the world's sake. What's a little indulgence every now and then?

And right now, her craving is little ol' you.

Right now she has you tied up, hands and feet connected to the bedpost, splaying you out like a starfish. Your breath is slow, but not shallow. You're just in deep sleep. And it was all too easy to do so.

This whole thing was just too easy. Her quirk incapacitated you and with her hero's license, she could flash that at anyone who gave her trouble. But no one did, as no one else noticed her grab you. Honestly, she would've preferred a bit more of a chase, a bit more thrill, but now she has you in here and you could provide that for her.

You start to stir. Slowly, your breathing lets up. The self-made perfume's cleared the air already. You're letting up.

Nemuri takes a step towards you, dressed in her best. And as you open your eyes, she swears that you're just a beautiful.

You groan and attempt to move your hand to block the light, but after a few short tugs, you realize that you can't.

"Oh don't worry darling." She says, "I can close the curtains if the sun is bothering you."

Your eyes snap open and then squint. As they adjust, you see a woman you haven't spoken to in years.

"Nemuri?"

"It's me, baby." She smiles, "You remember our promise, don't you?"

You attempt to move, but can't. You take a look around. Your limbs are caught in fabric and you can tell just by the feel of the bedspread alone that this isn't your place. She's taken you.

"This isn't funny, Nemuri."

"No, what's not funny was your engagement to that bastard. He wouldn't love you like I could."

"Nemuri, please. Just let me go."

"It was supposed to be us at the altar!"

"That was a joke if neither of us found anyone." You try to reason with her, "Everyone makes those kind of promises with their friends. Nobody actually acts on them."

"I wasn't joking then. I'm not joking now." She leans over you, casting a shadow, "But, I do plan on marrying you one day. I just had to get rid of the stain on your life."

"What did you do to them?"

It was Narcissa who latched onto you first. A fellow first year Slytherin who was a pureblood, but not familiar to the British Wizarding World before this, for whatever reason.

As a Black, her word was law for any Slytherins her year of the years under. At the start of first year, that wasn't many people except for their peers. Though, that was enough power to be able to make everyone else avoid you, so you would be running to her for everything.

Narcissa hated sharing with others she deemed as unworthy. And even other Sacred 28 purebloods were not worth your attention like she was.

Her sisters however, they were fine. They were allowed to be in your presence. They were worthy.

And that's where her mistake was made. Because Andromeda and Bellatrix both became as attached as she was with you.

She only went to them because they had more status then she did. Andromeda was smart, beloved with professors and students alike. And Bellatrix was feared.

But she didn't think that they'd be attached like she is.

Andromeda thought you were so kind and out of your element, wanting to teach you the joys of power and the good parts of being here with them.

Bellatrix found you fascinating, wanting to put you through the ringer in order to help mold you into a strong member of the House of Black.

Because sweet you were going to be a member no matter what. No matter what deal with the devil (their parents) they had to make, they'd get you as a sibling.

They brought you home for winter holidays. Cygnus was interesting. Very rarely his three daughters ever asked for the same thing. Very rarely they all accepted one person to this degree. Druella was concerned, knowing how fixated they were. After all, they are their father's daughters.

But it didn't take long for them to get attached to you too.

Cygnus is the first to crack, seeing you like a daughter as well. Like you were the last piece of the puzzle. It didn't matter that he didn't have a male heir. You were who they needed to round out the family.

Druella's concern only grew, but the obsessive nature of the family quickly watched over her. You were now her favorite child. Even if she didn't birth you, you were hers. She knew it. Her children knew it. That's why they brought you to her.

The Annual Black Family Yule Celebration was coming soon and you were invited, treated like the royalty they saw you as. And that's when the other half of the family finally met you.

Druella and Cygnus introduced you to Walburga and Orion. The girls had obligations to mingle with their betrothed and their families. But you were mingling with Walburga and Orion. All four of the adults knew of the intent: getting you arranged to be married to Sirius.

Sirius, their heir, was the one way to get you into the family forever. Marriage would bind you to them eternally.

It doesn't matter that your parents aren't here. They never really cared did they? Not like Cygnus and Druella do? Not like Walburga and Orion will.

Orion finds you of interest first. He holds a conversation with you, silently judging you to see what you're worth. And you've been taught well. Moldable, but he'd love to mold you into the perfect pureblood. He doesn't see you like he sees the others. It's potential he's glad to exploit.

Walburga isn't as impressed, but she likes seeing you squirm. The way you try so hard, but shy away from compliments is delicious. You're just like the girls she would lead during her school days. Though, she doesn't want to break you completely. You're like a piece of clay, able to become a prized piece of art.

They lead you to Sirius and Regulus. Regulus isn't impressed at first, but he grows as you indulge his childish instincts. And Sirius becomes jealous of that. He holds no claim to you yet, but something snaps into place in his mind. The once in sync brothers become at odds, each wanting your attention.

“Ocean, it’s tradition, is it not?” Noel Gruber’s sickly, splotchy yellow-white smile reflects back to the redheaded head of the St Cassian’s Chamber Choir. He’s a head taller than her and with his combed over and gelled hair looks like evil tried to stuff himself inside of a used car salesman. Though, Ocean will admit, his perfectly pristine uniform is probably contributing to how he looks. 

She sighs. Noel’s always been an asshole. He tries to one-up her any chance he gets but everyone knows that he’s just the melodramatic, woe-is me little boy who’s still upset that the world doesn’t revolve around him.

Her best friend Constance slides her fat, greasy hand into Ocean’s. She clearly didn’t wipe it off after the disgusting fried food she ate and now it’s contaminated Ocean herself. Honestly, this place is worse than the fucking Americans. At least their fairs aren’t cold.

“C’mon Oshe, it’ll be fun!” Constance uses a nickname Ocean hates. Her name is two syllables, five letters. It doesn’t need to be shorter.

“You only live once, you know.” Mischa chimes in, “YOLO, as the rappers say.”

Ocean hides in the want to roll her eyes. Honestly, this choir is a failing effort, but the more clubs the better when colleges are concerned. Then she can get her and her family out of this dying town.

Ricky smiles at her, trying to convince her as well. She smiles at him, then morphs her face into fake concern. He’s her ticket out.

“But what about Ricky?” Ocean asks, “He obviously can’t go on the rollercoaster. I’ll stay behind with him.”

“We can at least ask if he can go on.” Noel keeps his cheshire smile pointed at her. He sees through her act, “It would be a shame if the five of us can’t do this.”

A figure whips their head to them and Ricky twitches his lip, as if he’s going to say something, but Ocean misses it as Constance starts what she calls running, dragging her friend with her.

There are several, indisputable facts of the world. But the one that rings true in between Sirius’ ears is that he always takes it too far.

It was supposed to be a fun joke, a quick scare so that Severus didn’t creep around them, destroying all the work they’ve accomplished, while somehow maintaining a sense of superiority when he cannot even keep the one friend who’s been by his side for years.

Honestly, he was doing him a favor. If he was going to be a werewolf, then he wouldn’t be able to be a Death Eater. And maybe Lily might take pity on him. She’s always liked charity cases.

Sirius haphazardly kicks the muggle ball throughout the halls of Hogwarts. Peter and Remus are in Arithmancy and James refuses to speak to him still, taking fucking Severus’ side in all of this. “I could have died! I could have been turned! This is a blatant attack and he deserves to be expelled! The two of them! All four of them!” Sirius whines in his imitation of Severus, making himself uppity and nasally in the same way he does when imitating all Slytherins. 

Honestly, the world would be better without a fair amount of him.

A couple of kids—second years, if Sirius was to guess—look at him and whisper. He’s the Black heir, somehow in Gryffindor and yet a social pariah now that he decided to have a little fun. Well sue him. Hell, he has the money. And his mother wouldn’t even be too mad, torturing a halfblood and using a halfbreed to do it.

Sirius Black turns down the quieter hall, letting the ball roll across the floor and not noticing when it bounces against the ankles of some girl in heeled Mary Janes.

“Looks like someone’s in a bad mood.” Sirius looks up to see the statuesque face of Emmeline Vance. Her straight black hair is pushed back with a headband and her face is devoid of makeup, even eyeliner, which Sirius refuses to be seen without anymore. She wears the Slytherin uniform as if it’s lucky she’s graced it with her body and she holds the ball with one hand and her books with the other.

“Give me the ball.”

“No.” Emmeline says, “What’s wrong.”

“Emmeline, come on.” Sirius isn’t really friends with her, but he knows that she’s just being a bitch right now and that the ball couldn’t have hurt, “I just want the football.”

“What’s wrong?” Emmeline holds it above her head, making it tower over Sirius. Curse tall people and his parent’s incest for making him short.

“Why do you care?”

“Call me curious.” Emmeline replies, “Severus Snape has been a pain in my ass talking to literally anyone who will listen about how you should be expelled for what you did, but he won’t say what happened, so it’s super annoying. And I saw who made Gryffindor go from first to fourth with a three hundred point drop in the house tournament last week.”

“Great, who all knows about that?”

“The teachers and prefects. And we can’t disclose that information.” Emmeline says, “So, what really happened?”

“I pulled a shitty prank.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a prank to get Severus that riled up.” Emmeline remarks, “And for your friends not to speak to you.”

“Everyone fucking knows about that.”

“Language.” Emmeline warns, “Five points to Gryffindor.”

“To?”

“Are you questioning me on that?”

“No.”

“Good.” Emmeline says, “Y’all are smart kids. It’s fun watching you all get Slytherin and whatnot. Good, healthy house rivalry is fun. And it keeps me vigilant—practice for when I become an Auror.”

“You’re becoming an Auror?” Sirius questions, “Aren’t you betrothed to the Greengrass heir?”

“I would like to see him try and stop me.” Emmeline replies, “And not all of us Slytherins care about the blood purity crap.”

“It’s not a secret where the bloody maniac’s forces are coming from.” 

“And anyone can fight it.” Emmeline says, “but back to you, what happened?”

“I used my friends to hurt Severus.” Sirius admits, “We could’ve gotten expelled. I should’ve gotten expelled. James saved Severus.”

“Now that’s something he’s been leaving out of the narrative.” Emmeline smiles, “and Dumbledore has never expelled anyone. And he taught the ‘bloody maniac’ as you called him. Ten points to Gryffindor, by the way.”

“You’re just going to give me house points every time I curse?”

“I’m leveling the points a bit.” Emmeline admits, “The Slytherins behave better when they’re competing with the Gryffindors. So tell James to beat Ravenclaw’s arse when you start speaking to him again.”

“I don’t think he will.” Sirius admits, “I fucked up. This is all my fault.”

“I think if you tell them, they will believe you.” Emmeline says, “And if you’re not fast friends after that, come to me during breakfast tomorrow. I’ll show you how to get into the kitchens.”

“Thanks, Emmeline.” Sirius grabs the ball out of her outstretched hand, “Really.”