mulciber

[justmulciber]

bottle episode • day 3

[justmulciber]

mary-whoisleft‌:

For a moment, there was only stillness and the sound of Mary’s heavy breathing between them. She was almost afraid to talk, like the moment she distracted herself with words he would pounce and she would have been caught off guard again. But the seconds quickly slipped by and Nic was still looking shocked and a little upset. It was a difficult image for her to process, such a far cry from the cold, sneering demeanor that had become a staple of her nightmares. Her angry expression broke just enough to allow her eyebrows to furrow.

“The door won’t open. Not even with magic,” she said carefully, letting the spoken reality of the situation settle between them. How long would it be before someone noticed their absences and came looking for them? Could she hold this defensive position the whole time until then? Her muscle were already starting to protest the tension, but she didn’t dare relax for a second. Nic might have been playing the part well – really, it was a very convincing performance – but Mary wasn’t ready to give him one ounce of trust. Not yet.

Even if most of her stayed unmoving, though, her eyes couldn’t help but flicker up to stream of red that was flowing from his forehead. “You’re bleeding,” she said when it seemed he was making no move to fix it. She didn’t offer up any solutions herself, but it still felt right that he at least know. Her caring instincts did not typically extend to the twisted, villainous type, but her brain was being thrown into a tizzy because between the injury and the voice break and the mess at his feet, he was looking so very human.

“How am I supposed to believe you’re not going to try anything? If I even believe that you didn’t set this up in the first place.”

Nic squinted at the offending door in question, assessing it carefully from where he stood as if he didn’t quite believe her. Of course, there was no way she was lying thanks to his (if he did say so himself) genius machinations. But he wasn’t going to look like he was handing her his trust when she was leering at him in that pathetic faux-fiery way of hers.

“Any magic, or just yours?” Nic asked, head cocked to the side. So much for playing nice. It was much less cruel than other things he could have said, however. Other things that he held up as fact and truth. Anyway, nothing organic would come from him suddenly kissing up to her and being sweet. That transition would be too jarring for anyone that had ever met him and, beyond that, too sickening for him to stick with. His didn’t let it show on his face that he knew his question was offensive. It was a fair one, as far as he was concerned. If he was going to give up all his fun and games, he was going to lean into some truth. 

“Hm?” he asked. Like he didn’t know he was bleeding. Like he wasn’t relishing in the metallic, copper scent of it as it filled his nostrils. Like he wasn’t pretending it smelled so much better than hers had because of the concentrated, unspoiled magic that infused every drop as it ran down the length of his nose, pooling and drying wherever it landed. He touched a hand to his forehead and pulled it away to look, blinking his bewilderment. 

“Oh,” he said, swallowing hard and sounding disoriented by it. Nic wiped at the wound with his sleeve, not caring an ounce about cleanliness or scarring. At least if it scarred he’d have a good memory out of all this legwork. “I feel it now. Merlin. Maybe one of the boxes or...” He trailed off, a hard-won victory for the boy always determined to whine the last word. 

“Why the bleeding fuck would I––?” Nic asked, turning toward Mary. He had to lean into the stinging feeling in his forehead to try and mimic the expression into one of an emotional, rather than physical, reaction. Looking at her, seemingly ready to fight or pounce or protect herself, Nic wanted to laugh. Something about the readiness of it all, when she had no idea what was going on in his head, was comforting and allowed him to push through to the next phase: letting the tension melt out of his shoulders and jaw, and seeming to soften at her hysteria. 

“Here,” he said quietly. The moment of hesitation before he spoke had been genuine, not part of the setup. He knew what he had to do, had planned on it and everything, but it still felt too personal, too unholy. Nic held his wand out and pointed in Mary’s direction – but with the hilt facing her, not the tip. When she didn’t immediately take it, he mimed a soft underhand toss of it. 

I can probably do more magic without my wand than she can with one, was his grounding mantra today. 

“Take it. If that’ll get you to stop interrogating me long enough for me to get out of this mess.” 

[whistler-king]

[amycus-wil]

| open

[justmulciber]

amycus-wil‌:

Amycus rolled his eyes at Nicholas’ childish behaviour, but didn’t say anything about it. Mostly because he matched it by removing his tie completely and flicking it in the general direction of his friend. Usually, Amycus still put some elegance to his everyday facade, something that was easy to drop when Mulciber was at his side. The carefree nature rubbed off on him, and it was appreciated, even if Amycus would never voice such a thing. Their shared interest in harassing Muggleborns probably eased along their companionship quite nicely.

“Don’t be so vague.” Amycus told him, although his voice was light – hoping to be entertained by whatever Nicholas had been up to. He halted in the corridor by the door of a classroom, opening it just the smallest amount to gaze inside. When he clarified to himself it was empty, he opened the door wide enough to walk in, expecting Nic to follow. After a moment, he aimed his wand at the door and muttered a silencing charm. It was better that way – he did so like speaking freely.

At his question, Amycus smiled at him – the look that the Carrow seemed to have perfected. To come across as innocent, but have something far more sinister behind his eyes. “I have already dealt with my annoyance. Well, the best I could without killing him. Cornered him at the protest. It was sensational.”

"Oh, you didn’t kill him?” Nic asked, his mouth pushed off to the side like a pile of dirty clothes. He wasn’t just faking his disappointment to remain in line with the expected. He knew that if there had been a death he likely would have heard about it, but the absence of a satisfying end to his friend’s lashing out was just as disappointing to Nic. Normally he hated when people bragged, but he could appreciate a good story and thought one about Benjy Fenwick finally choking to death on his own inflated tongue would be just the thing to improve the day. 

He’d followed Amycus into the room without question and was perched now at the edge of one of the desks, neither sitting nor supporting his own weight. He was uncharacteristically calm as he spoke. With the silencing charm in place, there was no attention to attract. No scene to cause. It was all very mundane, but at least it was a safe enough space to press for more details. 

“What did you do to him, then?” There was too much hunger in the inquiry for it to pass as casual. Nic’s eyes were focused, hanging on for details, begging for more. Though the rest of him was still, it was the starved eyes that gave him away. He missed hurting people. Well, not people. He missed hurting one person, and he knew he had to remain innocent for now if he ever wanted the chance to do it again. “Did the sound of his army of complainers drown out the screams? You’re being withholding.”

[evanrosier-wil]

just a passing wind || open

[justmulciber]

evanrosier-wil‌:

Evan sighed disdainfully at Mulciber’s leering. “Does it ever grow tiring, being so lecherous?” he asked. 

He almost felt sorry for the girls. If he had known Mulciber was around, he wouldn’t have done what he did. But no matter. What was done was done. There was nothing to be done about it now.

“Nic,” Evan chided, “if you’re trying to get under my skin, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Spying a prefect, Evan subtly pocketed his wand. Sometimes, being near Mulciber was worthwhile. He was always the obvious suspect. 

“I’ve always been gentleman,” he drawled, distracted. The prefect was changing the dynamic of the other students in the courtyard. Returning his attention to his dorm mate, he said, “You used to be funny. If you insist on continuing being this dull, I suggest you leave.”

“No,” Nic said at once, sighing dreamily in a way that definitely did not match up with the way he was still leering after the girls. His eyes traced the backs of their thighs as they walked away, imagination filling in the areas that had been covered back up and were disappearing around the corner. “No, it doesn’t, my friend.”

Nicholas crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the courtyard, watching Evan stow his wand with a particular gleam in his eyes. He was on the same thought wave as Evan – he knew he was everybody’s first suspect when the world tipped sideways – but the risk factor here seemed low and, in all honesty, it was something he would have done anyway, and proudly.

“It’s not your skin I’m worried about anymore,” he said. It clearly wasn’t true, his eyes tracing Evan’s face. He could tell the other Slytherin was distracted and like a petulant child, he was determined to capture his attention. For better or for worse. He really didn’t care which.

“Oh, I’m the one being dull?” Nic scoffed, standing up straight again but not looking put out by the criticism. “You’re the one that went flaccid and shy as soon as as a prefect badge showed up in the courtyard.” He wasn’t shy about raising his voice while saying it, determined to embarrass Evan if Evan wouldn’t so much as meet his eye.

[justmulciber]

locker room damage • open

[justmulciber]

gladys-wil‌:

Gladys knew what Nicholas had done to Mary, and it made her uneasy, made her not like him. Mary didn’t deserve what had happened, but Gladys wasn’t brave enough to say anything about it. It was in her nature to try and see the best in people, to try and understand what made people do the things that they did, but she didn’t know if she could do that with Nicholas. He just…there was something about him that she didn’t like, didn’t trust. And she refused to do or say anything that might antagonize him. That seemed like a horrible idea, especially alone with him away from the castle. She casually glanced around the Quidditch pitch, hoping that someone was around them, that she was just being dramatic, and overreacting. 

It wasn’t the first time that she wished that her brothers were there. She knew that if they were there, they would never let anybody say anything to her. They always took care of her, protected her when necessary. Not that she thought that Nicholas Mulciber would ever even try to do something. But still, he made her uneasy, and it would be nice to have her brothers there for backup. 

“That’s a good point!” She said, realizing that her voice was probably a bit too high. “Nobody wants to be hurt by one of those things,” she agreed with him. Figuring that that was easiest. And he did have a solid point. Gladys couldn’t imagine staying in a room with a loose bludger. She just…wondered how someone was going to stop it.

“Thanks,” she said, when he said that he didn’t think that he saw Davey in there. She shook her head. “No, of course not. He’s somewhere around here, I just…don’t know where,” she shrugged. “I probably just missed him, you know?” 

"True. Sometimes I wonder why I play at all,” Nic pointed out with a shrug. He had never been one for small talk – truly, he’d once grunted at an elderly woman at a dinner party that tried to poke and prod him about how school was going – and even worse at it with half-blooded wide-eyed girls that could do nothing for him by way of favor or entertainment. But he also knew he couldn’t afford to get into trouble right now; not because he cared about his education or the consequences, but because he had more satisfying projects shaping up on the side. So he did what he so rarely made himself do. He tried. “At least when they’re coming at you on a broom, you don’t have to worry about someone’s lucky bottle of broom polish getting smashed on the floor.” That one, admittedly, had been his doing before the ball was even set loose.

“Probably, yeah,” he agreed mildly. “Hope so, too, what with all the shi– sorry, trouble he seems to get into all the time.” He hoped he was talking about the right brother, but at this school it was a safer bet than calling someone well-behaved. “Probably good that you’re looking out for him in case he’s hurt or about to do something dangerous.” 

Nic tilted his head to the side, putting on a smile that felt slimy because it was so mild. “Want me to help you look?”

[meiselr]

Kavinsky and the Dreampack for @josephkavinskyy

[justmulciber]

bottle episode • day 3

[justmulciber]

mary-whoisleft‌:

Much later down the road, when Mary would look back on that exact moment – and unfortunately she would more times then she could count – she would fill with a certain type of dread at the realization that Nicholas Mulciber knew her too well. Not in the way her friends knew her, seeing the good things and bad things about her and loving her because of and despite it all. No, he knew her the way a predator knew its prey. He knew her weaknesses, he knew when the right moment was to strike and how. It was worse than just being a random target he took his anger out on. It meant he hated her, specifically, enough to do this to her.

And she would know all this because he was right. When she heard the commotion going on in the cabin, she didn’t even hesitate before running in to make sure everything was okay.

The image she was greeted with took her a minute to process. She registered a mess of boxes that looked like they fell down in an avalanche. She registered a hint of blood shining on a forehead. She registered Mulciber standing in front of her in this too small room. And before she could fully process that information, she heard the door close behind her, followed immediately by a snap.

Turning on her heel, she saw the door, her only means of escaping, missing the handle. Immediately she started pawing at the empty space where the handle used to be, like the ghost of it would magically materialize in her hands and make the door functional again. That turned into pushing on the door, which turned into banging on the door. Then, like she suddenly remember the fact that she was witch, she pulled out her wand, casting any and every spell she could think of in rapid secession as they popped into her head in an attempt, any attempt to get it open. To get free.

Nothing.

She was stuck in here with him.

She whipped back around to Mulciber, wand still out and pointed defensively at him. She was already shaking, and the wand made the movements all too clear. “What the fuck is this, Mulciber? What the fuck are you trying to do?”

Because of course, this had to be some plan of his. That’s who he was. Sneaky, calculating, laying traps and just waiting for her to walk into them. It was the only way she was capable of seeing him: as the villain. Always the villain. It was easier to believe that only truly terrible people were capable of truly terrible acts.

“You better open this door before I hex the shit out of you. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it’s not happening here. Not today.”

Nic’s expression of surprise as Mary whipped around to face him was genuine, which fortunately kept him on a roll for the next few minutes. He, like her, was also only capable of seeing himself as the villain - which was exactly how he liked it. Even though he’d set up a careful plan and even though he knew the payoff of the groundwork he was laying now would be sweet, it was still so fucking tempting. Tempting to put a crooked grin on his face and disarm her before she got another word in edgewise. Tempting to soundproof the supply cabin and remind himself what she sounded like when she shouted herself hoarse. 

But that would not be his undoing today, and he arranged his face just so. Mouth open in shock, eyes rapidly zooming around the room, his head shaking several times before he could even pretend to force out some flustered protestations. 

“What–– I don’t––” he said, holding his hands up in front of him, palms out toward her and empty. It was a convincing picture, he had to assume. Even if he didn’t have a mirror to admire his handiwork in, he had to look different than normal just based on the way his bones were protesting the awkward, unsure way he was holding his limbs. “The only thing I was trying to do was get that box down off the shelf for Emma,” he said, voice a bit too loud, a bit too high. “I had nothing, nothing to do with–– did you try the door?”

Nic craned his neck to look at the stuck slab of wood, as if he hadn’t removed the handle himself, seemingly sink further into distress when he realized it missing. He was standing shin-deep in spilled boxes and still bleeding steadily from his head. The copper-sharp smell in the air was a calming, soothing thing. “I was getting a fucking box,” he said again, allowing his voice to crack. “I didn’t know you were going to come charging in here.” 

[dorcas-whoisleft]

it's not about control || dorcas & nicholas

[justmulciber]

dorcas-whoisleft‌:

“I should be careful about using the correct word to describe the only thing you’ve ever asked me for?” Dorcas asked. It was out of character for her to be so dry, not to mention so bold. However, it was also out of character for Mulciber to approach her and to take a seat uninvited at her table, talking circles around the bare-bones pleasantries she’d provided and looking less a boy and more a vulture the longer he lingered. 

Dorcas kept her eyes steadily down on her parchment, looking a few letters onto the end of the cursive sentence she’d been scrawling out. She’d like to have met his eye, held his gaze with an unimpressed look – but that version of herself only existed in her head, and barely there. She was not that bold nor brash. The burst of insolence (a minor one, but major compared to her usual demeanor) was the most she could muster up, and even then it was only because projecting something, anything, was preferable to being paralyzed with nervousness. At the moment, it felt like those were her only two options. 

When she finally lifted her eyes, it was to see that he’d constructed a small pyramid of books. She’d been about to exhale in relief that he wasn’t looking her way, but the moment was cut short when his eyes flitted back to hers. Dorcas’s posture was never perfect to begin with, but she felt her shoulders tense up instantly. “I’m not unhappy, I’m just busy,” she said, and even as she tried to conjure up a smile – usually second nature to her, especially when on the spot and nervous and scrambling to be polite, as was her way – and fell flat. “Do you have a question about coursework? If not, I’m happy to give you the table and find somewhere quieter to work.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes at Dorcas when it became evident that her patience was wearing thin, but he didn’t comment. After all, he was no stranger himself to a last nerve rubbed raw and Dorcas, famous for being too nice and too eager and too embarrassing to look directly at on occasion, clearly had a longer fuse than he himself. It was a victory for him, then, that he was able to wear on her so quickly. And if it was something else entirely - the luck of catching her in a bad mood or at a busy moment when she had so many other important things that he was no longer going to allow her to concentrate on? Even better. He was comfortable with that, too.

“You know what they say about being busy,” Nic offered up, flashing an ugly, sharp smile in her direction as if the match the one she was doing a wobbly job of convincing onto her face. “One should never be so busy as not to think of others. That’s what I’ve heard about you, actually. That you’re the one to go to when someone is in a bind. That’s why I thought to come to you first.”

It was not, strictly speaking, true. Nic had tried to do it on his own first, read the books, scanned the journals. He was his only trusted resource, and if the relationship between his blind, hungry ambition and his completely adrift impulse control was to be referenced, he was even placing too much trust there. He also hadn’t come to Dorcas because she had a reputation for being helpful, but because she had a reputation for being talented at magic. Embarrassing as it was to seek the counsel of a half-breed, it didn’t chafe as much when Nic reminded himself that in their world, magic was power and she’d made valiant strides to catch up to the pack despite the muddied water of her veins. If the wateriness of her eyes when stressed was any indication, she wouldn’t be hard to strike down if needed, either.

“I have a question about this,” he said after a beat, producing a piece of parchment from the inside pocket of his robes. It was a page he’d recklessly pulled from one of the many library books he’d thrown into his bag a few weeks ago, old and yellowed and adorned with a diagram of the inner workings of a wand. The core and wood were easy enough to place - he wasn’t an idiot - but other intangibilities about how it operated were lost on him. It was enough, in day to day life, to just say ‘magic!’ and one needed to fully understand something if one wanted to control it. Nicholas understood a lot about people, and had never used that knowledge for good. But while on his brief hiatus, he needed a way to keep himself occupied. “It’s not quite coursework, but what do you know about external forces on a wand? Changing masters. The Trace. Priori Incantatem.”

[meiselr]

100 Palette Challenge | Rovinsky in #45

I wish you’d understand, you’d love it, I know you would (x)

[amycus-wil]

| open

[justmulciber]

amycus-wil‌:

The familiar voice – and irritating face – suddenly registered with Amycus as he glanced down and saw Nicholas Mulciber. There was no animosity there. In fact, extraordinarily, he actually considered the fellow Slytherin a friend. And not the type he used to gain an advantage either. So his threatening posture dropped immediately, as did his fake smile. And he tilted his head to the side at the profanity. Clearly, bumping into him had been intentional on Nic’s side, but Amycus said nothing.

He didn’t even flinch as Nic reached up to grab his tie. He was used to his fellow Slytherins antics, so he just watched him with reluctant amusement. “I don’t need to try to impress you.” Amycus stated, matter-of-factly, a small smirk slowly working it’s way back onto his face. “Already have you right where I want you.”

Amycus paused, before shoving past him by knocking into his shoulder and continuing on with his journey. He expected Nic to follow, and talked as such. “Where the hell have you been? You know how bored I’ve been?”

"You flatter me,” Nic said with an eye roll, dropping the tie - but not before batting it off to the side like a cat, with a Cheshire grin to match. Sometimes he wondered if he and Amycus were just friends because it was the easier alternative than trying to get under his fellow Slytherin’s skin. But then he saw the glint in Amycus’s eye whenever talk of something violent was mentioned, or the specific stare he used to track down Benjy Fenwick in the halls, and he was reminded that it wasn’t that at all, but a darker string that tied them together. 

Nicholas flashed a wide, real smile as Amycus shoved against his shoulder, and wasted no time before following suit, bag bouncing against his leg as he stepped double-time to catch up. “I’ve been laying the groundwork on some side projects,” he said vaguely, voice bitter. “All this pesky ‘under the radar’ shite has me cagey. If you think you’re bored...” Nic trailed off, not one to mince words. “I think we both know the cure for lingering boredom, though. We should pay one of our old favorites a visit. Anyone rub you the wrong way recently?”

[justmulciber]

a bit of night reading •

[justmulciber]

.remus-whoisleft‌:

“No hold up at all.” Remus said, his voice getting cheerier the more Nic’s seemed to hold fast in direct opposition. He was a Gryffindor, he was a Marauder, who was going to blame him for having a bit of fun when it came to dealing with stubborn, notably sadistic Slytherins? Remus’s head cocked to the side slightly, blinking first at Mulciber’s face then over to the books he was so carefully perusing. He’d never seen such wonderfully crafted intent, and sure - he was biased against the bloke, but he had a nose for bullshit. You couldn’t be friends with the people he was friends with, get away with the shit they did without it.

“Wandlore?” Remus asked, skepticism tingeing each syllable. His eyebrow was still quirked, even if Nicholas seemed happy to ignore it. Remus certainly didn’t mind that, either. “Fascinating. Sounds a bit, y’know, extracurricular, though, so maybe it’s about time to start heading to the dungeons.” He paused a moment, eyes still focused on the shelf. “Hate to be such a hard-arse, you know, especially in seventh year - but they’ve gotten rather strict about past-curfew wandering. Worried about student safety and all that.” Perhaps it was a bit obvious, and frankly hypocritical, throwing it in Nicholas Mulciber’s face, but he could couch it in prefect-sanctioned concern for the well being of the student body and cap it all off with a casual shrug. “Nothing that can’t wait ‘til the sun’s up, I’m sure.”

Nic tensed up at the skepticism in Remus’s tone. Not because he was offended by it, but because he was readying (itching, honestly) for the potential pushback that might result from pushing a little harder. He hadn’t set out to get in trouble tonight and, truthfully, he’d rather not deal with any. But consequences had always come secondary to the immediate actions his brain called out at whim, which was why he didn’t think twice before adding, “Yeah, wandlore. The study of wand ownership and power. Sorry, mate, should I speak up so you can hear me up there or is forgetfulness just one of the side-effects of having a muggle mum?”

He cocked his head to the side as he said it but kept his face neutral. Not because he was pretending to not know it had been a shitty thing to say, but because he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Sure, absolutely,” he said with a nod, head bobbing up and down like he appreciated his classmate’s dedication to upholding the law of the land. “I found what I needed anyway,” he said, pulling one of the books off the shelf and tucking it into his bag. In a perfect world, it would force Lupin to pick his battle: Nic agreeing to leave before he got too wound up, or proper library check-out regulations. But in the imperfect world they were living in, it at least bought a little time. 

“Hey, man. I completely understand your position, having to monitor for curfew and all.” True to his words, however full of shit they were, he began moving toward the door. “I don’t want to make life any harder on you. I’ll do my best not to get caught next time. Probably just swing by Gryffindor Tower on my way back or something, since the rules clearly don’t apply up there.”

[justmulciber]

petergrew-whoisleft‌:

Peter let an exasperated sigh get out through his nose, eyes closing just long enough to collect his patience and shove both his annoyance and anxiety away. It was as simple as breathing deeply for a minute or two, letting his muscles relax slightly more against the comfortable chair behind him. He didn’t have to let Mulciber get to him, he didn’t have to listen to the little voice in the back of his head agreeing with every negative thing Peter was imagining in the other boy’s neutral statement. He just had to remind himself that there were people who cared, people who liked him, people better than Nicholas Mulciber to base his self-esteem on.

It wasn’t an easy feat, but somehow, he managed to get himself in check before he looked at the other boy again. He even let a smile slip onto his face, eyebrow lifting just slightly. “Well, if you’re that determined, I guess I’ll have to pencil you in. Hope you’re not hoping for much. I don’t kiss on the first date.” A pause, and his smirk twitched a little, just a little higher at the corners of his lips. “Or ever, if you believe everything you read.”

Before he could stop himself, Peter let out an undignified snort, eyes rolling as he twisted in his chair, making himself face the other boy more, almost testing his limits. There was something extremely gratifying about the idea of getting under the skin of the guy who seemed determined to get under everyone else’s. He shouldn’t be so bold, he knew that Nic could, very likely, destroy him, physically, mentally, even emotionally. It didn’t take much, he had a few buttons that were quite easy to push. But something, something in Nic just brought out that defiant, stubborn side of Peter. It made him nervous, made his heart rate pick up, knowing he was playing with fire. Asking to get burned badly.

But he still pushed.

“Do you ever get bored with pretending to be the most edgy person in the world? What kind of statement even was that?” Rolling his eyes again, Peter shifted, crossed one leg over the other. “Maybe you should get a tattoo on your forehead that reads ‘Ask me how edgy I am’.” And without thinking too much about it (though Peter knew himself well enough to know that he would end up thinking too much about it later) he threw the other boy an over the top wink before he looked away again, off deeper into the room.

“Mostly the latter, but if you’re going to invade my personal time and space, may as well be a bit of the former. After all, my parents raised me to be polite, and that means asking questions and being engaged in the conversation even if you could care less about the answer.” Peter glanced his way again for just a moment before looking off again, glancing down at his book before he finally gave up on it completely, tossed it on the table beside him. “So, let’s try this again. What. Do. You. Want?”

“Well how many dates does it take, then?” Mulciber asked with feigned innocence, his eyebrows raised in an impression of the other boy. Most of his expressions, save rage or uncomfortable intense, were impressions of other people, even in situations less tense (and amusing) than this. Nic wasn’t even sure what his resting expression looked like. Either he was too unbothered to care, never one to cater to making an impression. Or he was playing one of his little games, flipping through his mental catalogue of faces he’s seen and deciding which to play up a cruel mockery of. Innocence, surprise, sympathy. He didn’t feel any of those things intensely enough to allow them to sculpt his features. 

“Ha. That’s funny,” Nic added, rolling his eyes and easing back into his seat. Not quite a truce, but a signal that he was here to stay, that his amusement was more generalized than pointed at Peter now. “You date but don’t kiss, and I kiss but don’t date.” In reality, it’d been a long while since he’d done either, which was find by him; neither phenomenon sprung to mind unless he was actively reminded of them, and held equal court with things like troublemaking, school and getting his hands on the next bottle of vodka.

“All that gossip is bullshit anyway,” Nic said, though he hadn’t really been asked. He could have let the comment go, float away into the rafters of the room and the back of his mind. But that didn’t seem like as much fun. He didn’t always know the endpoint of the paths he took, only that he often felt compelled to suddenly take a certain fork in the road, to act based on a pure gut instinct he’d never bothered to name or tame. "It’s going to cause more trouble than it’s fucking worth. Never seen the point in those bloody society mind games, myself.”

Technically, he wasn’t lying. The rumors about him had cast him in a positive light (or, at least, doubt that he was as terrible as many people said), and he hated it. All that time wasted building up clout... It was true, too, about the society mind games. Nicholas had always preferred mind games that were more primal. Actually life or death, not the meltdowns that happened whenever some elderly socialite found out her daughter may have (holy merlin forbid!) got caught necking with someone behind the Greengrasses’ barns.

“They raised you to be polite?” Nic asked, once again trying to blink in wide-eyed surprise. It was a step closer to genuine this time, mingled with the amusement of Pettigrew trying to contort his face into a wink. “What the hell happened? They’d be so disappointed.”

When Peter dropped the act, Nic mercifully felt that he could, too. It was a relief, similar to when he came home from those stuffy Society parties and was free to pad around the house in his boxers and undershirt, drinking from the bottle and letting himself just fucking be instead of having to be something. It wasn’t even ‘human’ that he aimed to feel like, since Nic doubted highly he ever had. He just wanted to be raw and unconfined and as ugly as he pleased, and perhaps it was the fact that his dynamic with the Annoying Pettigrew Boy drew that out of him that kept their paths colliding.

“Just to see how far you could be pushed before you snapped,” he answered, his voice unapologetic. Eerily calm. “Suppose I got my answer.”

[whoisleft-rumors]

Nicholas Mulciber has a soft spot for muggleborns, someone else (let's just say I have good reason to believe someone a bit higher up on the hierarchy was involved, rhymes with Tamycus Narrow) attacked Mary Macdonald and he took the fall for it.

[justmulciber]

amycus-wil‌:

My friend, this entire rumor is an insult. I haven’t touched your Mudblood, and if I felt inclined to bother your plaything, I’d have the common decency to ask you first. The fact that someone sees you as anything other than the beautifully selfish creature you are is entertaining.

That being said, if you are incapable of controlling your urges and I end up taking the blame, my reluctant kindness towards you will come to a quick end. At least I didn’t get caught when I tortured my one. Tsk, slacking.

You didn’t get caught because you had my example to use as a blueprint, obviously. I didn’t see fit to wait the extra year-and-then-some. And besides, I believe it turned out suitably well for me, given I’m writing you this from the splendor of the Great Hall (I kid. We both know it’s covered in owl shit from the late morning mail rush and that the food has never been more than sub-par, but I’ll take what I can get.)

Speaking of slacking - it’s been far too long since we’ve joined forces. All this talk about one of us getting caught when we could be getting away with something together. Has anyone caught your eye lately?

[evanrosier-wil]

just a passing wind || open

[justmulciber]

evanrosier-wil‌:

Evan surveyed the students in the courtyard much like a cat might survey a colony of mice. It was a good day. The rumor mill had stirred up quite a bit of trouble, and that trouble combined with the heightened emotions of the quidditch tournament - well, it was am absolutely delicious mix. The atmosphere in the castle was simply perfect. 

Evan leaned back against the wall, a particularly pretty fifth year catching his eye as she made her way in for lunch. He grabbed his wand and – oops, a gust of wind just came out of nowhere, lifting the girl’s skirts.  He averted his gaze - it was only polite, after all - but not before getting an eyeful. 

“Oh, don’t tell me that rumour mill has still gotten your panties in a bunch,” he said, turning towards the newcomer. 

"The what mill?” Nic asked, entirely distracted and not paying attention to the question being asked, much less his own answer. His eyes had not averted politely, and he was currently engaged in what could only be called leering as the flustered girls patted their skirts down wildly and smoothed their upper thighs out of view. Only when there was no longer a show to see did Nic turn his attention back to his housemate. 

“Fuck no,” he said, now that he was actually tuned in to the conversation. “Gossip doesn’t bother me. It’s all a load of bullshit anyway. The true shit, the fake shit. It all runs together, which is exactly what fucking happens when people don’t just say what they think.” He flashed Evan a cheeky smile, hoping it would annoy the other boy even a little. “Which is why I’m such a refreshing delight.”

“I was just wondering why you couldn’t get those skirts up higher,” he said. “Becoming a gentleman on me, or just have bad aim?”

[petergrew-whoisleft]

monster || nic & pete

[justmulciber]

petergrew-whoisleft‌:

It always amazed Peter how calculating Nic was, even if it wasn’t intentional. He would almost call himself impressed, hell, he would kill for the level of confidence that oozed off the other boy. If things had been different, they would have been dormmates. Peter sometimes wondered, in moments like these, if they would have been friends, or if they would have gotten along just as well as they did now, some kind of tepid understanding that they really didn’t like one another without being outwardly hostile (most of the time, anyway).

Still, as Peter watched him move his things to make space for Peter, he was impressed with the brazen action. He was putting the choice in Peter’s hands, just how rude he wanted to be. Would he accept the offer and take the place, clearly putting him a bit too close to danger? Or would he come off as the asshole that declined what could be taken as an olive branch?

His anxiety was practically screaming in his ear to run, but he did his best to ignore it, ignore the almost electric prickling on his skin as he moved a little too close to Nic and leaned over his shoulder to watch what he was doing. He was being brash and brazen, something he would normally never do. Maybe Nic brought out the worst in him. Maybe he felt safer knowing that Sprout was close enough that he could shout to get her attention. Maybe he was being an absolute idiot and he would regret his decision later.

Either way, he offered a soft chuckle, and shook his head a bit. “Maybe that’s the difference between a lion and a snake. Chivalry usually depends on honesty, where ambition doesn’t.” A pause, and a soft hum as though he was thinking. “Though, I must wonder, what exactly could I get by lying that I can’t get by telling the truth? You seem to be the expert, why don’t you educate me?”

Nic felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at gentle attention as Pettigrew leaned into his personal space. Not because he was uncomfortable. Hell, it was everything he could do to bite back a sharklike smile. Games of chicken (especially ones that felt as strangely important as this one) were his favorite to play. Because he hadn’t found anything else that was always guaranteed to keep his interest up and adrenaline slowly climbing. Because he never lost. 

Bastard, Nic thought to himself, with something like admiration baked in to the layers of annoyance. All Gryffindors were bastards, by definition, but the Pettigrew kid seemed a different brand of bastard. One that got under Nic’s skin the most, because it was a brand he didn’t mind. Hell, it was a brand he thought he could get along with if the world was different and the battle lines had been drawn elsewhere. Eyes darting to Peter over his shoulder, Nic leaned in just a fraction of an inch – to show he wasn’t above taking up more space than he should, to show he didn’t intend on flinching.

“Chivalry doesn’t depend on honesty,” he said with a scoff of his own, his breath forming an ugly white cloud in front of him. It was fucking cold, even in the greenhouses with their feeble warming spells set up around the edges. Bloody wonder the plants hadn’t frozen to death yet. Nic’s hands moved delicately over the plant he was pruning even as his face fell back into the sour expression that was its neutral home. “Chivalry is all about performance. Holding doors and giving your jacket to scrubbers who should have brought their own. At least ambitious people have to be honest about being ambitious to get anywhere.”

“Educate you?” Nic asked, and this time a grin did flit across his face, even if it wasn’t a pleasant one. He let his elbow roughly knock against Peter’s as he reached for a new pot, even though the other boy hadn’t strictly been in his way. “Why, Pettigrew. I thought you’d never ask. Here’s the thing.” He slapped his hand against the edge of the table for emphasis, relishing in the way Sprout looked up nervously from the other side of the room. He shot her an insolent grin before continuing, both his planting and his explanation. 

“If you tell the truth, you can only be yourself. Honesty is like that. You can only be whoever the fuck you already are.” Nic picked up a leaf from the table, some harmless nonmagical thing, and bit it between his canine teeth. He always liked to have something to chew on while he thought, even if this wasn’t great philosophizing by any stretch. “If you lie, you can be anyone or anything you fucking want. Sky’s the limit, Pete.” He looked over at the other boy, holding his gaze for as long a stretch as he thought it would take to make him uncomfortable. “Who would you rather be?"

[meiselr]

Joseph Kavinsky for @josephkavinskyy

[dromeda-whoisleft-blog]

sympathy for the devil // may 13th, 1976 // andromeda & nicholas

[justmulciber]

dromeda-whoisleft‌:

There were very few instances which Andromeda listened to gossip. It had always been discussed so closely around her— at home or at school. Both were the same, and both were equally ignored due to the fact she heard her family’s name one too many times on the tongues of which it didn’t concern. Society revolved around it too closely, and the only instance which Andromeda bothered to pay even the slightest bit of attention to it was when it would benefit her. Or in this case, concerning a person she remotely cared about when she hadn’t heard even the slightest bit on the topic by said person it concerned.

And to her, it was quite a large issue.

She had heard less than ideal things about Nicholas before. Andromeda would even agree with others when they said he wasn’t the best person to be around. She had known her fellow Slytherin since she was young, and while she would never say he was the warmest of people she never had any problems with him. The cruelty some saw wasn’t seen by her due to the fact that over the years Nicholas became what could be described as a close friend. Sure, she would say he could be mean (the average person could be and she rarely heard the whole story when someone was whining about something which he did) and cold, but he wasn’t to her. So how was it Andromeda’s problem?

She was prepared to give him the benefit of doubt. In fact, all Nicholas would have to do was agree with her and Andromeda would likely listen to him with an open mind. She was convinced the story had changed between each passing of students, so it wasn’t impossible she was just mistaken. But, still…there was that lingering doubt due to the fact that perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind she believed her friend could be cruel enough. Hurt an innocent girl just because she was a muggle born. Andromeda wasn’t even remotely close to Mary MacDonald, but she knew the Gryffindor was friends with her cousin and certainly never did anything which warranted an unforgiveable. The thought made the girl shake her head because the other things which were circling were just as absurd; he almost killed her, likely not his first victim. He kills animals in his free time too— someone insists they’ve seen that one with their own eyes. It all sounded so absurd, but then why hadn’t she heard anything herself?

Andromeda was sick of wondering, so she decided to confront Nicholas herself to get some answers. It was a rarity she would ever show up without some notice because she herself was a person who valued her own privacy, but she frankly didn’t have the patience. After asking Rabastan if he knew where Nicholas was she got an answer that he was likely in the dorm due to Quidditch practice just getting out a little while ago. It didn’t take too long after that for Andromeda to make her way up to the boy’s dorm, not bothering to knock but rather just letting herself in.

“I don’t know how to go about this,” she started abruptly, dark eyes meeting her friend’s immediately. “There isn’t exactly a way to tiptoe around the subject, so I suppose I shall just ask you straight out. Why is it half the student body seems to believe you hurt an innocent girl just for fun? Not just your usual way of being an arse to just about every person, but—” Andromeda cut off, having to contain herself so she wouldn’t start angrily rambling accusations more than she already was. “I’ve heard several times you hurt someone, Nicholas. Tor—”  Tortured. But the word wouldn’t come out, so Andromeda shook her head. “Tell me it didn’t happen. Tell me why it seems to be what everyone is talking about and I haven’t heard a bloody thing.”

@justmulciber

For a moment, Nicholas almost admitted to everything. 

It wasn’t as if he were ashamed of it, after all. He had no delusions that what he’d done was some right or good or noble thing. He knew how bad it was, in his heart of hearts, and just didn’t care – had never been able to bring himself to care, had never tried that hard. Morality was more of a spinning top to play and toy with than a guidepost for him, and he’d never put much stock in it. He could do this thing, so he had. It wasn’t some grand plan that he’d spent time spinning. It was an impulse that he’d followed blindly and suddenly and with staggering success. 

He could have owned it, let the look on his face reflect the pride glowing in his chest. Blamed the heat of the moment or the adrenaline or the fact that Mary Macdonald was a parasite on this world who’d baited him into it by being here at all. And that was if he needed something to blame. He certainly didn’t feel like he didn’t. Nic’s father had made excuses, his mother had made excuses, the school governors had begun making excuses as soon as they found out how much weight he had behind him. 

But Nic himself? He wasn’t making any excuses on his own; he’d never had to, and he didn’t feel compelled to now. 

Something was holding him back, however.

Maybe it was the look in Andromeda’s eyes during her sudden confrontation. Maybe it was the look in his father’s eyes as he begged Nic to lay low, to not screw up this second chance they’d snatched for him from the belly of the beast. Maybe it was the memory of his mother looking worn out and weak and crying in her too-plush chair in the corner of the Headmaster’s office as she did what she did best (’let the men do the talking’). 

Whichever reason had crawled into his brain and wrapped a muzzle around his typically large mouth, Nic’s throat had run dry. It probably helped his case that his expression could pass for lost as he regarded his friend in all her polished glory.

Hell, maybe he just knew better on some deep-down level that pissing off a member of the House of Black was a death sentence, even if her morals did seem backwards in this situation. 

“Andromeda...” he said slowly, shaking his head. His eyes took a quick scan of the dormitory. Not because he was worried about someone overhearing her accusations, but because he didn’t want anyone overhearing his lie of innocence. Nic wasn’t blind to the gossip. He, unlike everyone else in his distressed family, was a big fan of the notoriety it was earning him. “How long have you known me? If half the students are talking about it, then it’s clearly just the wrong half, I...” 

Nic pushed a hand through his hair, heaving a heavy sigh that took more effort to conjure up than it offered by way of comfort. “This has gotten so out of hand. Honestly. I don’t know who started saying everything, but...it could really fuck up my life, you know? If people believe it?” He lifted his eyes to meet hers and was relieved when he didn’t crack a smile or otherwise give himself away. He pressed his lips together just in case, aiming for a forlorn expression. “Whatever you heard, it’s been blown completely out of proportion.”