26 May 2025, 22:19
Mistakes Were Made
@Nabi Park would find a small folded bit of parchment under the common room door with her name on it in large, sweeping letters. The letter was forced under the heavy door moments before she was to open it. The penmanship was elegant, almost formal, but the paper itself was simple, meager even. The dichotomy of worlds apparent.
When she opened the folded slip, she would find a letter to her from @Matthew Campbell, a friend of hers with questionable fashion sense, but otherwise they had grown to be quite close.
A similar letter would be waiting for Matt. Slid beneath the door of the common room moments after he walked in, a single knock at the door signaling him to turn around. He would find a simple sheet of parchment, off-white and clean. His name in large letters across the face.
Inside, he would find a letter intended for him. A confession, as unexpected as it might be from Nabi.
When she opened the folded slip, she would find a letter to her from @Matthew Campbell, a friend of hers with questionable fashion sense, but otherwise they had grown to be quite close.
Well, perhaps not that close.My Dearest Nabi,
I have watched you longer than you realize.
You move through the world with such blind innocence. Like something that doesn’t understand how sharp its own reflection can be. There is a sweetness to you that calls to the most vile parts of me. It festers. It grows. I find myself wondering how far your smile would stretch if I peeled it back just so.
Do you know what obsession tastes like? It’s not sweet. It’s copper and salt and smoke. It's the exact moment between wanting and taking. And I have grown very, very tired of waiting.
I think about your throat when you speak. The line of it. The vulnerability of sound. I think about how easily I could silence it—and how beautiful the stillness would be.
You are not mine. But you should have always been. Meet me in the dungeons at 10:00 pm this Saturday.
With undying affection,
—Matthew Campbell
A similar letter would be waiting for Matt. Slid beneath the door of the common room moments after he walked in, a single knock at the door signaling him to turn around. He would find a simple sheet of parchment, off-white and clean. His name in large letters across the face.
Inside, he would find a letter intended for him. A confession, as unexpected as it might be from Nabi.
Matt,
I have a few confessions to make and you are going to like hearing them.
• I find you ridiculously attractive, especially in those crocs.
• I think that short guys are way better-looking than tall ones.
• I do not care about blood status or wealth as long as I have you.
I tried to do what was expected of me and I find it painful to even try to tolerate the likes of Aamon Athanatos. He is dumber than he looks somehow. I know this may come as a shock, but I needed to get this out in case I never had a chance to tell you how I really feel even if I fervently deny this later.
There’s something about you that gets into my skin. Something that crawls under the surface and makes it impossible to look away. You have no idea how dangerous it is, to be wanted the way I want you.
Meet me in the dungeons this Saturday at 10 pm. Some people love quietly. I don’t.
—Nabi
27 May 2025, 00:40
Mistakes Were Made
Note: Thoughts, Speech
The calligraphy did not match the type of paper used. As if coming from distinct worlds.
They did not belong together.
It was abrupt, the secret admirer named by a signed confession. The words were poetic, though a darker nature disguised itself in the black ink used. What?... I am not blinded by innocence.
But had she really missed such a thing?
She could silently admit that she found the young Campbell to be a friend, but to consider him a potential love interest was another thing. Love? Want? Need? Fragility never was something she was taught, but it was the weakest part of human nature.
Or so her mother claimed...
Mr. Athanatos was another thing, something she had yet to comprehend. Feelings were never a quality but rather a restraint, a chain. There was a fine line between possessing and obsessing. Oh, did the young heiress have much to learn before she found herself drowning in the tainting fuel that obsession could be.
Her eyes narrowed as she finished reading the tainted confession. Surely a lamb-faced boy, who saw the world through light-colored glasses, had no way of writing something so...
ruined.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
They say love can drive even the sanest of people to insanity.
Her footsteps echoed through the dungeons.
Beneath her shoes, the stone floor lay. Much unlike the heart, she had supposedly laced into the note Matthew received. The days following the note had been normal, a simple nod or glance before continuing on with her day. Nabi had not had the opportunity to talk to the young Campbell since Slytherin's Quidditch match.
Cheers and chants smothered their words as they observed the game, her eyes lingering on a boy who decided to eat a snack as he watched his teammates play. Unaware that there may have been a particular young man of blonde hair interested in Matthew's and her friendship.
Matthew had specified that she meet him at the dungeons on Saturday night. Being the always so punctual heiress, she arrived at exactly 10 pm.
Waiting.
The corridors were silent, cold. Darkness lingered in the corners of every passageway, oddly mirroring the way the letter hid in her mind. I am not something to possess. She possessed, claimed, and controlled. Not the other way around.
For now.
Her gray eyes looked down at her hand, the dark confession on her palm. Nabi could almost feel its words ruin the flawless skin on her bony hands her like the ink that stained her palm when she had broken a quill all those months ago.
But she was no broken quill to be discarded, no.
Nabi hummed softly, the play was still following her script. The wires were still tight, she still had control. Her mind replayed the written confession when she heard an echo down the corridor, that must be him...
She looked up, gazing toward the dark corridor as she called out in a calm blank tone,
"Matthew?.... Is that you?.... we need to talk."
━━━━━━━━━━━━
@Matthew Campbell | @Gideon Athanatos
━━━━━━━━━━━━
27 May 2025, 01:18
Mistakes Were Made
The matter was simple, either Nabi Park had lost all sense of reason and formality since they last saw each other only days ago or she had finally developed a sense of humour. Really which one was scarier was up for debate but either way Matthew practically cackled when he read the parchment that had crept up behind him. Supposedly witches and wizards were meant to do that kind of thing so perhaps all his notions of imposter syndrome were as ridiculous as his parents claimed. Only they couldn't possibly understand, and as very little of the student population could either Matthew was once again surrendered to loneliness.
Perhaps such feelings were why when he descended into the gloomy, damp dungeons Hogwarts provided the dark crept no fear over his skin, no shiver to set hairs to their end and no chill of the bones. Matthew was so at war with himself internally the external factors no longer seemed to take notice. Like scales of armour his carelessness protected him only in his mind but still he felt immortal and regardless he had no reason to suspect he would have to question that belief. No reason to fear what lurked in the shadow. To fear who lived there.
Down in the darkness and shade Matthew could barely see a thing, still he meandered through waiting for a sign, some faint glow of light or sound to fill the silence. Stepping in a shallow pool of water he heard the sudden squelch of wet croc, a sound that set his mouth wide in giggles. Mental breakdown or comedy trainee Nabi had been right about one thing, his crocs were damn handsome; typically surrendering to the hierarchial status the wizarding world provided his shoes were one of the few positions where he stood strong. After all what did a bunch of robe tossers know about style.
The truth about all of this however was something darker and Matt subconsciously knew it, really, if he was being honest, he consciously knew it too. Matthew had watched how Nabi had followed Aamon's every move in the quidditch game, how she winced and cheered. Whoever was trying to impersonate her was a poor charletan or perhaps that was what they wanted him to think. Regardless, he had his wand ready and with adrenaline as a stimuli he was ready for a fight. A boy so sick of being messed with was ready to fight back, ready to stand up for himself and stop being a punching bag. It was exactly what his father's didn't want, but teenage rebellion was a tale as old as time and down in the dungeons no professor would be any the wiser.
That's when he heard her voice and confusion set in. Was Nabi really down here? Was this trap bigger than he had anticipated? Or worse was it no trap at all? Preposterous he told himself and shouted back into the ether "Yeah I'm here, I swear to god... or Merlin or whoever, this better be a prank Nabi."
Interacting with @Gideon Athanatos & @Nabi Park
| Nikolai Volka // "Light, light: do not go | I sing you this song and I will sing another as well." // Matthew Campbell |
27 May 2025, 01:46
Mistakes Were Made
Gideon was not far from the place @Matthew Campbell and @Nabi Park would meet.
The dungeons stretched out like the arteries of something long dead. Cold, hollow, dark and damp. There was this sort of aged smell, not like old books or wet stone and earth, but something untouchable and unsettling. In this labyrinth of stone and shadow, was the perfect cradle for secrets too shameful or strange to be spoken aloud. It was here, in the deepest, most rotten parts of the castle, that students slithered off to feed their appetites, however terrible, under the illusion of privacy.
It was here that Gideon lingered, not as a participant, but as something far worse: a watcher. Better, a predator. The Hufflepuff moved without haste, his presence bleeding into the darkness like ink spilled in water, silent and inevitable. Gideon did not belong here in the way they did. Boys like Campbell, with their half-hatched courage, easily bruised hearts and shallow senses of fidelity. Girls like Park, sharp-eyes, tense and cold, drawn to shadows because they recognized something of themselves in the void. They were creatures who didn’t admit what they wanted but they also couldn’t stop seeking it out.
But Gideon saw it all. The twitch of a shoulder when a certain name was spoken. The flicker of hesitation that meant more than the carefully crafted words that followed. The way desire and danger danced in people who thought no one noticed. But Gideon noticed. He always noticed.
Today Gideon was not here for closure. He was not here for drama. He was here for proof and then retribution. The dark ladies would be pleased when they shattered him, the fragile and weak avatar of the next generation of Seers, his little brother. So pure... so dull... so weak.
But not for long, because she came. Because he came.
That was all Gideon needed. They could wrap it in whatever noble excuse they liked, curiosity, closure, misunderstanding. But the truth sat in the act. She came. He answered. It was not affection. It wasn’t even about betrayal. It was about gravity, about which darkness pulled the hardest.
Neither letter had been sweet. Neither invitation soft.
They were barbed, manipulative little things, dressed as longing and passed between clawed hands with the implication of demand, of hubris, of blood and lust. And yet, they came anyway.
That was the proof.
They were not innocent. They were made of the same twisted materials, Park and Campbell alike. Their natures bent toward ruin. Toward hunger. Toward hurt.
They were never meant for Aamon. He would turn to the darkest part of the dungeon beyond him and raise a single finger to his lips as he smiled into the blackness beyond.
Shhh...
The dungeons stretched out like the arteries of something long dead. Cold, hollow, dark and damp. There was this sort of aged smell, not like old books or wet stone and earth, but something untouchable and unsettling. In this labyrinth of stone and shadow, was the perfect cradle for secrets too shameful or strange to be spoken aloud. It was here, in the deepest, most rotten parts of the castle, that students slithered off to feed their appetites, however terrible, under the illusion of privacy.
It was here that Gideon lingered, not as a participant, but as something far worse: a watcher. Better, a predator. The Hufflepuff moved without haste, his presence bleeding into the darkness like ink spilled in water, silent and inevitable. Gideon did not belong here in the way they did. Boys like Campbell, with their half-hatched courage, easily bruised hearts and shallow senses of fidelity. Girls like Park, sharp-eyes, tense and cold, drawn to shadows because they recognized something of themselves in the void. They were creatures who didn’t admit what they wanted but they also couldn’t stop seeking it out.
But Gideon saw it all. The twitch of a shoulder when a certain name was spoken. The flicker of hesitation that meant more than the carefully crafted words that followed. The way desire and danger danced in people who thought no one noticed. But Gideon noticed. He always noticed.
Today Gideon was not here for closure. He was not here for drama. He was here for proof and then retribution. The dark ladies would be pleased when they shattered him, the fragile and weak avatar of the next generation of Seers, his little brother. So pure... so dull... so weak.
But not for long, because she came. Because he came.
That was all Gideon needed. They could wrap it in whatever noble excuse they liked, curiosity, closure, misunderstanding. But the truth sat in the act. She came. He answered. It was not affection. It wasn’t even about betrayal. It was about gravity, about which darkness pulled the hardest.
Neither letter had been sweet. Neither invitation soft.
They were barbed, manipulative little things, dressed as longing and passed between clawed hands with the implication of demand, of hubris, of blood and lust. And yet, they came anyway.
That was the proof.
They were not innocent. They were made of the same twisted materials, Park and Campbell alike. Their natures bent toward ruin. Toward hunger. Toward hurt.
They were never meant for Aamon. He would turn to the darkest part of the dungeon beyond him and raise a single finger to his lips as he smiled into the blackness beyond.
Shhh...
27 May 2025, 01:59
Mistakes Were Made
Aamon shouldn’t have come. He knew it the moment his foot left the final stair and touched stone floor. No, he knew well before that moment, he knew from the moment he was told to attend that he would regret it. He was used to the smell, there was a clamminess that never seemed to fully relent in the undebelly of the castle. The slight aroma of water, of mildew and earth and iron. It no longer bothered him, even if he sometimes wondered why such a depressing place had become so familiar to him.
Still, he followed his elder brother knowing he would regret the outing. Because Gideon didn’t ask. He never asked. He just looked at you with those blue eyes like knives made of ice and you went, like a good brother. Like a trained dog.
The place Gideon had taken him was dark. The torchlight didn’t reach here. It was as if the light just gave up. Aamon’s wand stayed at his side, unlit, because Gideon had said “No light.” Like the dark was a test.
So now here the Slytherin was hidden in the guts of the castle, shoulder pressed to cold stone, and his heart doing the cha-cha against his ribs. Gideon moved about the shadows like he’d been born in the dark. Maybe he had. Maybe Aamon was just… visiting.
Aamon would see @Nabi Park arrive. She was pretty. That was nothing new. Then he would see @Matthew Campbell arrive shortly thereafter, he erm... existed. Ammon's voice caught in his throat, he didn't speak, because Gideon’s finger had lifted like a blade to lips. Aamon was many things: awkward, soft-spoken, a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t stupid. Well, not that stupid. Something serious was happening. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
Why were they meeting in the dungeons so late at night, after curfew in fact. They could have done whatever this was in the common room. If it was something savory at least. He shook his head side to side. What was this? Two figures in the dark, like a painting drawn in secrets sharp and fractured. Nabi and Matthew. Talking. Too close. Too late.
And something broke a little in Aamon.
He didn’t say anything. His breath was quiet, tight in his throat like it didn’t want to be let out. He just… watched. As Gideon knew he would.
Shhh…
Innocence is a burden and Gideon was helping him drop it. One shadow at a time.
Still, he followed his elder brother knowing he would regret the outing. Because Gideon didn’t ask. He never asked. He just looked at you with those blue eyes like knives made of ice and you went, like a good brother. Like a trained dog.
The place Gideon had taken him was dark. The torchlight didn’t reach here. It was as if the light just gave up. Aamon’s wand stayed at his side, unlit, because Gideon had said “No light.” Like the dark was a test.
So now here the Slytherin was hidden in the guts of the castle, shoulder pressed to cold stone, and his heart doing the cha-cha against his ribs. Gideon moved about the shadows like he’d been born in the dark. Maybe he had. Maybe Aamon was just… visiting.
Aamon would see @Nabi Park arrive. She was pretty. That was nothing new. Then he would see @Matthew Campbell arrive shortly thereafter, he erm... existed. Ammon's voice caught in his throat, he didn't speak, because Gideon’s finger had lifted like a blade to lips. Aamon was many things: awkward, soft-spoken, a little ridiculous, but he wasn’t stupid. Well, not that stupid. Something serious was happening. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
Why were they meeting in the dungeons so late at night, after curfew in fact. They could have done whatever this was in the common room. If it was something savory at least. He shook his head side to side. What was this? Two figures in the dark, like a painting drawn in secrets sharp and fractured. Nabi and Matthew. Talking. Too close. Too late.
And something broke a little in Aamon.
He didn’t say anything. His breath was quiet, tight in his throat like it didn’t want to be let out. He just… watched. As Gideon knew he would.
Shhh…
Innocence is a burden and Gideon was helping him drop it. One shadow at a time.
iNPC: Taylor Athanatos
27 May 2025, 02:27
Mistakes Were Made
Note: Thoughts, Speech
What is that pestering noise?
Her eyes narrowed as she adjusted to the dark, the silhouette of a figure formed down the corridor. It was moving closer to her when she heard the familiar voice of the young Campbell. Prank? What prank?
She tilted her head slightly, eyes sparkling in confusion. Nabi knew deep down that Matthew had not been the one who wrote the letter, and a mild paranoia formed.
The play was not following her script.
"What is a prank? I am here because the note you sent me told me to be here." Her hand extended out the note that was allegedly written by Matthew, "Was this not your doing?" Nabi narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for an answer. Was it a test?
A twisted joke?
Nabi did not want to think that perhaps the young Campbell had not changed since the childish attack he had done against the cabin back at Beauxbatons. Her eyebrow raised as she spoke sternly, "Mister Campbell, I do not know what the purpose of this... joke was, but in no way does it bring humor."
Oblivious to the two onlookers, she straightened up, her words coming out with in a harshness she had not intended to make, "I was never yours." As soon as she heard her tone, her eyes looked offside from him. I am not weak, she refused to be weak. The play was hers to write, to command at her very whim.
Yet her voice softened, still unaware that they were both tricked into their current situation, "Never will be."
Perhaps she should have waited for his explanation.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
@Matthew Campbell | @Gideon Athanatos
━━━━━━━━━━━━
27 May 2025, 04:41
Mistakes Were Made
Matthew golden flecked eyes turned dark as they shriveled to pin points narrowed in on each word, each inflection of lettering and how it matched his own letter perfectly. Nabi's rant was temporarily lost on him until she began spitting vile harshness into his face. The letter itself was so nonsensical and wildly off beat for him he couldn't help but feel indignation rise within his chest at the fact she had actually believed it. Matt had been almost entirely certain and here she was thinking he wanted to pull back her smile. Maybe she didn't think of him as a friend like he did. Maybe she was just like everyone else in this stupid school.
Although fury burnt deep in the pit of his stomach he pushed it aside, he would be better even if she could not. She deserved to be emotional for how creepy the thing she had received for even if misdirected. Thus with creased eyes painting his disbelief at her stupidity he hit back with the truth, not whatever that letter claimed to be, "You forget I'm not the pureblood type. I don't think I own anyone! Of course you only belong to yourself, you're not property Nabi, now if you would pull your head out of your arse we could work out who really did this because I don't think you're going to find their portrayal of you any more flattering."
Practically shoving the letter into her chest Matthew released a deep sight and then taking the other that was so ferociously wafted in his face he turned from her. While to the girl it would look like nothing but investigation, scanning the letter intently for clues in truth he was hiding the pain that was settling in his eyes. The pain of betrayal, not from whomever wrote these letters that was more annoying than painful but from how easily convinced she could be of it. For a moment he wondered if Park even cared about him at all or if she was just scared of him. Maybe she saw him as the poisoner they said he was. The venomous snake waiting in the grass to strike.
Maybe France had done more damage than he understood. Gideon's twisting moulding hands had turned him into something he wasn't. Or had they. It had taken so little, and he couldn't claim to have restrained. Maybe the letter was the truth and he was the delusional one. With so much confusion he could hardly think but suddenly it struck him. Like am lightbulb illuminating the dark he reads the words behind the lines and saw the author staring back at him. They wanted us to come here in the dark, so that they might remain hidden but here they most certainly were. That much was true. Whoever did this wouldn't be content in missing the show, but he had no interest in feeling exposed while they hid.
Gripping his wand Matthew started shouting "Periculum" painting the dungeons in red sparks that ignited his eyes in fiery rage.
Interacting with @Nabi Park, Searching for @Gideon Athanatos & @Aamon Athanatos
| Nikolai Volka // "Light, light: do not go | I sing you this song and I will sing another as well." // Matthew Campbell |
27 May 2025, 06:40
Mistakes Were Made
Note: Thoughts, Speech, Matthew
The pureblood type?
Nabi's eyes darted back to him. What did he mean by that? Her eyes narrowed as he spoke in such a mannerless way. Though his wording was rather uncouth, she found mild comfort in knowing he was not the one who had written the letter. Clenching her jaw, she hummed curtly.
His emotions were high, and hers were brewing beneath the fog.
The waters had to be tread carefully.
She felt a faint pressure on her chest, a step back was taken as her free hand moved toward the source. Her hand grazed his, and the feeling of paper made her look down before glancing at him momentarily. Nabi was not someone one should seek comfort from, like the dungeons; she was cold. Some may say broken, incapable of love.
Everything had to make sense.
She opened the crumpled letter that the young Campbell had so kindly shoved in her way. An eyebrow raised as soon as she read the first thing listed, This is most certainly a lie, not even a house elf would wear such horrendously broken shoes. The corner of her mouth tugged slightly.
None of it made sense.
The grip she had on the paper tightened slightly, realizing someone else had decided to change their play. She turned to look at him, planning on killing the misunderstanding "This-" "Periculum" his shouts broke the silence within the dungeon. Her eyes widened, has he gone mad?
Within the dark, truths and secrets remain buried.
Nabi looked at Matthew, rage contorting his face as the dark space illuminated around them. "Mister Campbell, what in Merlin's name are you doing? Do you want us to get caught after curfew?"
One should be mindful when digging.
The sudden lights made her squint as she attempted to walk toward Matthew, who walked around like a child looking for their socks. It was too bright, the sparks straining her vision that had grown accustomed to the dark. Her hand extended out in search of him, Nabi could still hear him, "Mister Campbell?"
Where was she walking?
She gently rubbed her eyes, bloody sparks, "Matth—" His name was cut short as she bumped into something. Perhaps it was one of the various stone walls, or maybe it was not.
Not all secrets are meant to be uncovered.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
@Matthew Campbell | @Gideon Athanatos | @Aamon Athanatos
Some secrets are better left untold.
Some secrets are better left untold.
━━━━━━━━━━━━
28 May 2025, 01:02
Mistakes Were Made
From the shadows beyond the crimson glow, Gideon smiled.
He did not flinch at the sudden Periculum. If anything, the blood-colored sparks illuminated him like a stage cue, his still somehow soft, slightly round and seemingly youthful features carved in gold and fire. It was almost flattering, the way Matthew’s panic painted the room.
No longer hidden, no longer unseen, he pushed at the darkness rather than flee into it. Muttering Nebulus almost carelessly behind him. He did not want or need to slink away from the duo. He had other things to hide. With a kick of his leg, the push of his palm, he let the cloud of gloom congregate behind him, obscuring the even the shadows in a deep blanket of mist.
With care, Gideon folded the moment into memory. One spark. Two shaken voices. A little conflict. More than a little doubt.
He smirked.
Gideon stepped forward casually, his footfall silent on stone, the shadows reluctant to let him go, as if they recognized the teen as one of their own.
“My, my,” Gideon said softly, conversationally even. His voice, smooth like the satins he donned, yet there was a sharpness in his words. This confident malice, beneath the luxurious depth of his voice, a keen blade. “In the dark for five minutes and already you’re setting off flares.”
Gideon emerged fully now, composed and dressed with his usual overindulgence, the starched collar of his indigo silk shirt high, his deceptively lean form accented by the vermilion vest with a gilded brocade. He strode forward with a confidence that seemed to deny the notion that he was outnumbered. His gloved fingers laced behind his back. He cast a glance between @Matthew Campbell and @Nabi Park with a touch of mock concern, his head tilting like a raven regarding two smaller birds scrapping over crumbs.
“I must say, I’m disappointed.” Gideon took a slow step forward, his gaze flicking to the letters. “Going out in the dark of night to such an isolated place to... engage in some lover's quarrel.” He made a tsking sound. "Most lovers do other things in the dark."
A pause, just long enough to let the insinuation breathe.
He did not flinch at the sudden Periculum. If anything, the blood-colored sparks illuminated him like a stage cue, his still somehow soft, slightly round and seemingly youthful features carved in gold and fire. It was almost flattering, the way Matthew’s panic painted the room.
No longer hidden, no longer unseen, he pushed at the darkness rather than flee into it. Muttering Nebulus almost carelessly behind him. He did not want or need to slink away from the duo. He had other things to hide. With a kick of his leg, the push of his palm, he let the cloud of gloom congregate behind him, obscuring the even the shadows in a deep blanket of mist.
With care, Gideon folded the moment into memory. One spark. Two shaken voices. A little conflict. More than a little doubt.
He smirked.
Gideon stepped forward casually, his footfall silent on stone, the shadows reluctant to let him go, as if they recognized the teen as one of their own.
“My, my,” Gideon said softly, conversationally even. His voice, smooth like the satins he donned, yet there was a sharpness in his words. This confident malice, beneath the luxurious depth of his voice, a keen blade. “In the dark for five minutes and already you’re setting off flares.”
Gideon emerged fully now, composed and dressed with his usual overindulgence, the starched collar of his indigo silk shirt high, his deceptively lean form accented by the vermilion vest with a gilded brocade. He strode forward with a confidence that seemed to deny the notion that he was outnumbered. His gloved fingers laced behind his back. He cast a glance between @Matthew Campbell and @Nabi Park with a touch of mock concern, his head tilting like a raven regarding two smaller birds scrapping over crumbs.
“I must say, I’m disappointed.” Gideon took a slow step forward, his gaze flicking to the letters. “Going out in the dark of night to such an isolated place to... engage in some lover's quarrel.” He made a tsking sound. "Most lovers do other things in the dark."
A pause, just long enough to let the insinuation breathe.
28 May 2025, 01:30
Mistakes Were Made
The fog swallowed Aamon whole.
Not because the young snake meant to disappear, but because his brother Gideon made sure of it.
The push had been subtle, masked by the dramatic flourish of fog and fire. But Aamon knew the feel of his brother’s hand, the pressure of a not-quite-gentle nudge that carried too much intention. He had been kicked, literally kicked, into the dark. He landed on his ass, harder than he expected but probably as hard as Giddy had intended.
This was not done out of protection. He was not entirely sure why he was pushed out of sight. But for a moment, the Slytherin stayed there. Half-kneeling in the mist, blinking through the sudden cold.
He could hear Gideon of course, smug and smooth like a cursed lullaby. Something about a lover's quarrel. About the reality of their twisted relationship. Aamon did not take issue with muggles, just this particular mud-blood. He did not understand why Matt disliked him so much, he barely knew the second year. Yet in every interaction they have had, Matt had somehow crossed him. Lied about what he was drinking, covered his bedding in poison ivy, and traipsing about with the girls in his life. It was not right to be possessive, but he felt that his slowly growing group of familiar and reliable faces was -his-, not something to be shared with his tormentor.
He should have left, but curiosity glued him in place. Something in Gideon’s voice cracked the air like ice. And something in Aamon's chest said no.
Not because the young snake meant to disappear, but because his brother Gideon made sure of it.
The push had been subtle, masked by the dramatic flourish of fog and fire. But Aamon knew the feel of his brother’s hand, the pressure of a not-quite-gentle nudge that carried too much intention. He had been kicked, literally kicked, into the dark. He landed on his ass, harder than he expected but probably as hard as Giddy had intended.
This was not done out of protection. He was not entirely sure why he was pushed out of sight. But for a moment, the Slytherin stayed there. Half-kneeling in the mist, blinking through the sudden cold.
He could hear Gideon of course, smug and smooth like a cursed lullaby. Something about a lover's quarrel. About the reality of their twisted relationship. Aamon did not take issue with muggles, just this particular mud-blood. He did not understand why Matt disliked him so much, he barely knew the second year. Yet in every interaction they have had, Matt had somehow crossed him. Lied about what he was drinking, covered his bedding in poison ivy, and traipsing about with the girls in his life. It was not right to be possessive, but he felt that his slowly growing group of familiar and reliable faces was -his-, not something to be shared with his tormentor.
He should have left, but curiosity glued him in place. Something in Gideon’s voice cracked the air like ice. And something in Aamon's chest said no.
iNPC: Taylor Athanatos