#“You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

[olderthannetfic]

Im neither a proshipper nor an anti at this current stage in life, but at one point i was an anti i guess? And I hate it say it, but looking back, I understand why. I don't think I actually gave a fuck about Harmful Fanfic or whatever, it was just a substitute for therapy that i couldn't get at the time (because "literally neurodivergent and a minor" or whatever, but like...actually literally neurodivergent and a minor LOL).

As weird as it sounds like, no one cared about my ACTUAL PAIN, and that made me feel EVEN MORE PAIN, so i took it out on ppl who shipped "abuse", or whatever.

It's so stupid now, as an adult who is mentally better than I was then, but as ridiculous as it was, seeing someone ship an "abusive" ship or a "queer erasing ship" (like a canonically gay character with someone of the other binary gender)...it felt eerily similar to the actual abuse I was facing and the stress that everyone was putting on me to find a boyfriend or ask why my (closeted lesbian) self didn't like any boys.

But it was so much easier to keyboard warrior about how people who ship Bad things are Bad people, than it was to fix any problems in my actual life because...well, the actual problems in my life COULDN'T be fixed. That isn't a learned helplessness thing, there was genuinely nothing I could've done. So pissing off Shippers was, like, a vessel for that, and it *felt* like I was getting to lash out at the same people who were ACTUALLY hurting me, even though that obviously is not the case. Funny thing is, it wasn't actual fandom discourse that made me switch sides, it was getting to learn more about youth liberation movements and stuff, because it was then that I recognized the actual structures that were making me hurt.

I think one silver lining is it's made me more compassionate an adult. While I don't have any defense for the antis who do actual horrendous stuff like doxxing or sending death/rape threats, etc, I do have a lot of defense for the ones who were like me and would just make posts talking about how Wrong it is to ship certain things. I know that not all antis are in the same place that I was once was, and some are just genuinely immature brats, but it's like. . . I get it, you know?

The cycle of abuse/bullying is weird and it's not often a 1:1 "I had an abusive parent so now i'll be an abusive parent", sometimes it's the chronically online stuff like I did. It's also why I'm careful-careful to not engage and to just block or, even try to have a mature discussion if I can, and if the person I'm talking to is just "a little bit annoying" rather than "actual bully doing/sending illegal stuff". A lot of them just want to be heard, I think, and it really makes me sad that this is the way they choose to be heard...but also i get it, because i was that.

--

Yup. We often discuss anti tendencies in this framework.

People want control over their environment when they have none. They want the world to make sense and for there to be simple rules they can follow to Never Mess Up. This is a very common reaction to trauma and also typical of brains that like order and neat boxes and a world full of justice and logic.

The trouble is that a critical mass of "I'm just pointing this out" type posts does tend to make all the other teens with an issue around moral scrupulosity implode. (And let's be real, plenty of the antis themselves are secretly into dark content and are trying to pray the gay kink away.)

I have some sympathy, but I'm still going to tell people they're sealioning when they are and tell them they're flat out wrong about how fantasies work, not sugar coat it because they're probably a delicate teen. There's no need to be excessively mean or treat people as irredeemable, but I also don't like how we talk endlessly about compassion for teen antis and not for teens targeted by antis. It's similar to how there are all those complaints like "Hey, I work hard to manage my mental illness, but all the support seems to go to people who are letting their issues rampage..."

[badger-tales]

potion of persuasion// J.P x Reader

a/n: should i do a love potion series ???

request: Hellooo I'm usually too shy to request anything but after seeing your post and reading some of your fics I just thought; 'eeeeh why not' so here I am! (might be a lil' crackfic-y hope thats okay :3)

I'd like to request a james potter x reader fic where remus and sirius have gotten tired seeing the two awkwardly tip toe around each other so they planned to put a sort of love/confidence boost (?) potion into his drink so he'd finally be done with it! But uh oh, pads accidently bought one with really strong effects that have our prongsie standing up on tables in his socks and underwear as he professes his love to the reader. Chaos ensues basically..

hope this wasn't too long, also don't forget to take breaks and drink lots of water! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

word count: 5.2k

The Gryffindor Common Room was alive with its usual evening chatter, the glow from the fireplace casting a warm, golden light over the red-and-gold tapestries. The laughter of your friends filled the cozy space as you sat cross-legged on one of the worn-out couches, listening to Marlene's latest exaggerated tale about a Quidditch practice gone wrong. 

Across the room, James Potter sat hunched in a velvet armchair, his eyes darting from the book in his lap to you every few seconds. He had chosen a random Transfiguration text as a flimsy excuse to be near you, but it was clear he hadn’t read a single word. Every time your laughter rang out, he stiffened, pretending to adjust his glasses while sneaking another glance in your direction. 

You could feel his gaze like a warm breeze tickling the back of your neck. It sent a flutter through your stomach every time you dared to look back at him—only to find him hastily redirecting his eyes to his book, cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. The air between you both was charged, electric with unsaid words and shy, stolen glances.

Meanwhile, at a table nearby, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were deep in conversation, but their attention kept drifting toward you and James. Sirius leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin playing on his lips, arms crossed over his chest as he watched his best friend struggle. 

Sirius tilted his head toward James, letting out a low, amused chuckle.  

"Prongs is never going to get his act together, is he?" he drawled, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. 

Remus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His book lay open, but like James, he hadn't absorbed a single word.  

"Honestly, I've been watching this dance for weeks," Remus replied, voice low enough to avoid being overheard. "They’re driving me mad. He’s hopeless."

Sirius let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in mock despair.  

"You’d think the great James Potter, star Seeker and Head Boy, would have the courage to ask her out by now," Sirius mused, eyes glinting with mischief. 

James chose that moment to sneak another glance at you, only to lock eyes with you unexpectedly. Your breath hitched, and you quickly turned back to your friends, pretending to listen to Dorcas Meadowes' story. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, and you prayed no one noticed the heat creeping up your neck.

Sirius barked out a laugh as he caught James turning back to his book, looking like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't.  

"Pathetic," Sirius muttered under his breath. He glanced at Remus, eyebrows raised. "We may need to intervene, Moony. At this rate, they'll be married with three kids before he works up the nerve to say a word."

Remus chuckled softly but nodded in agreement, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  

"As much as I’d enjoy watching him suffer," Remus said with a teasing grin, "this is getting painful. For all our sakes, we might have to give them a nudge."

Sirius's grin widened as an idea began to form. He leaned in closer, voice lowered conspiratorially.  

"Alright, Moony. But if we’re going to play matchmaker, we better do it in style."

The two of them exchanged a look that could only mean trouble—the kind of look that usually preceded a night of pranks and mayhem. Remus shook his head with a fond smile, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested he was fully on board.

Unaware of the scheming happening just a few feet away, you peeked at James again, catching him glancing at you for what felt like the hundredth time. This time, he didn’t look away, his hazel eyes softening with something unspoken. The moment hung suspended in the air like a delicate charm—fragile, fleeting, and full of possibility.

But just as you opened your mouth to say something, Sirius’s voice rang out across the common room.  

"Oi, Prongs!" he called with a wicked grin. "You do realize books aren’t edible, right? You’ve been staring at that one like it’s a steak dinner."

James’s head snapped up, his face turning beet red. Your friends turned to look, giggling, and you hid your smile behind your hand, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

James shot Sirius a glare, but there was a hint of a grateful smile lurking at the corner of his lips. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the push he needed.

The Gryffindor Common Room gradually quieted down as the evening wore on, with students either heading to bed or settling into more relaxed conversations. The fire crackled gently, casting dancing shadows on the walls. James had finally managed to bury his nose back in his book, though his eyes kept flickering up to you every few moments. You had shifted to a quieter spot by the window, pretending to read a novel but stealing glances at James just as often.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus had retreated to a secluded corner of the common room, where the firelight flickered just dimly enough to keep them hidden from prying eyes. Sirius was rummaging through his school bag, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering, pinkish liquid.

"Padfoot, what’s that?" Remus asked, arching a suspicious eyebrow.

Sirius held the vial up triumphantly, the liquid inside catching the light and swirling like liquid starlight.  

"My dear Moony, this," he declared in a hushed tone, "is the solution to our lovesick friend’s dilemma."

Remus’s eyes narrowed.  

"Please tell me you haven’t gone and brewed some ridiculous potion."

Sirius shook his head, looking positively offended.  

"I didn't brew it—picked it up from Zonko’s," he corrected with a smug grin. "It’s called the ‘Love and Confidence Elixir.’ Just a tiny sip, and our dear Prongs will have all the courage he needs to finally confess his undying love."

Remus’s expression was skeptical, as always.  

"Love and confidence, you say?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Sirius, you can’t just spike James’s drink. What if it’s not as harmless as you think?"

But Sirius was undeterred, rolling his eyes dramatically.  

"Oh, come on, Moony. It’s just a bit of fun. The bloke’s been mooning over her for months, and all it’ll do is give him a little... push." He gave Remus a cheeky grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "No harm done. Besides, you saw him tonight—he’s hopeless."

Remus hesitated, glancing over at James, who was currently pretending to listen to something Peter was saying but was clearly distracted by the sight of you by the window. Remus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair.  

"Fine," he relented, albeit reluctantly. "But if this backfires, Padfoot, it’s on your head. And you’ll be the one explaining it to McGonagall."

Sirius beamed triumphantly, already pulling a flask of Butterbeer from his bag.  

"Relax, Moony. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s just a confidence boost, nothing more."

However, what Sirius didn’t realize—and Remus didn’t catch either—was that the vial he’d grabbed wasn’t a simple “Love and Confidence Elixir” but something far stronger. In his rush to purchase the potion, Sirius had accidentally picked up a mislabeled “Passion Potion”, notorious for making the drinker act on their deepest feelings with absolutely no inhibitions.

The common room was quieter now, most students having either gone to bed or become absorbed in their own conversations. It was the perfect opportunity. With a sly glance at Remus, Sirius uncorked the vial and quickly poured a generous splash into James’s Butterbeer, the pink potion swirling and dissolving seamlessly into the amber liquid.

"Keep watch, Moony," Sirius whispered. Remus, despite his reservations, did as instructed, glancing around to ensure no one was paying attention to them. 

Satisfied with his handiwork, Sirius slid the Butterbeer back into place just as James turned back to their table.  

"There you are, Prongs," Sirius said with a disarming smile. "You look parched, mate. Have a drink."

James, unaware of the potion-infused Butterbeer, shot Sirius a grateful smile before taking a long gulp.  

"Thanks, Padfoot," he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, holding their breaths as they waited for the potion to take effect. At first, nothing seemed to happen. James continued chatting with Peter, appearing no different than before. Sirius was starting to wonder if the potion had even worked when, all of a sudden, James’s gaze snapped back to you across the room. 

The change was almost instantaneous—his hazel eyes darkened, his usual hesitant demeanor melting away, replaced with an intensity neither Remus nor Sirius had ever seen before.

"Uh oh," Remus muttered under his breath, his stomach twisting with unease as James got up from his seat, his book abandoned. Sirius, however, was too busy stifling a triumphant laugh to notice Remus’s worried expression.

"Looks like it’s working perfectly," Sirius whispered, elbowing Remus. But as James began making a beeline toward you, his confident strides more determined than usual, Remus couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously off.

The Gryffindor Common Room continued to hum softly with conversations and the occasional crackle from the fireplace, but for Sirius and Remus, everything was suspended in a tense bubble as they watched James from their corner. 

Sirius leaned back, crossing his arms and frowning.  

"Honestly, Moony, I think we got swindled," he muttered under his breath. "Should’ve known Zonko’s was selling rubbish. I told you it was a waste of time."

Remus, however, wasn’t so sure. He was keeping a careful eye on James, who had just downed the last of his potion-laced Butterbeer. For a moment, James seemed completely normal—leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Peter said. But then, Remus noticed it: a sudden, almost imperceptible change. James’s eyes snapped up, locking onto you from across the room with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

"Uh, Padfoot..." Remus began, nudging Sirius and nodding toward their friend.

James’s usual shy, hesitant demeanor was gone in an instant. His hazel eyes widened, as if he’d just had the most brilliant revelation of his life. The corners of his lips twitched upward into a wild grin, and before anyone could make sense of it, he stood up abruptly, sending his chair clattering to the floor behind him.

Sirius’s eyes went wide with surprise.  

"Merlin’s beard, it’s working!" he whispered, half in awe, half in panic.

But this was no subtle boost of confidence. James was on a mission—one driven by the potion that now coursed through his veins, amplifying his emotions to the point of reckless abandon. He began making his way toward you with a determined stride, bumping into a few scattered chairs and narrowly avoiding colliding with a group of younger students playing Exploding Snap. 

Sirius and Remus exchanged a panicked look. This was definitely not the effect they were expecting.

"Prongs, wait—", Remus started to call out, but it was too late. James was already halfway across the room, moving with a speed that had you blinking in confusion.

You’d been absorbed in a conversation with Lily and Marlene, trying to distract yourself from the warmth that had spread through your cheeks after exchanging glances with James earlier. But the moment you heard the loud clatter, you looked up to see him striding straight toward you—eyes wide, grinning like a madman, and moving with a kind of confidence that was utterly foreign to the James Potter you knew.

"James?" you asked, your brow furrowing. Something about his expression seemed... off. You tried to read the intent behind his wild gaze, but before you could even register what was happening, he was standing directly in front of you, almost uncomfortably close.

The entire common room seemed to fall into a stunned silence, all eyes now glued to the two of you.

"There you are!" James practically shouted, his grin impossibly wide. His voice carried an uncharacteristic enthusiasm that had your friends exchanging confused looks behind you.  

"I’ve been wanting to talk to you all night!"

You blinked, caught completely off guard. This was not the shy, stammering James you were used to. Your heart pounded in your chest, partly from the sheer bewilderment of it all and partly from the intensity of his gaze.  

"Oh, uh, really?" you managed, your voice wavering. "What did you want to talk about?"

But instead of answering, James leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your ear.  

"I’ve been thinking..." he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "You’re absolutely brilliant, you know that? And I... well, I just couldn’t hold it in any longer."

The sudden proximity and the fervor in his words left you momentarily speechless. James Potter, the boy who usually turned red at the mere thought of a compliment, was now standing inches away, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

Behind him, Remus was frantically mouthing something to Sirius, who was trying (and failing) to suppress his laughter.  

"Okay, maybe I gave him a bit too much," Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face. 

"Sirius, this isn’t funny," Remus hissed, watching as James practically vibrated with the need to say more. "We have to do something before he embarrasses himself... or worse."

But before they could intervene, James, still under the potion’s influence, reached out to gently cup your cheek, his eyes softening as they locked with yours.  

"I’ve liked you for ages," he confessed, the words tumbling out of his mouth like he couldn’t stop them even if he tried. "You’re brilliant, and beautiful, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I haven’t told you sooner."

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. Part of you wanted to laugh, thinking this had to be some elaborate prank. But the look in his eyes was so earnest, so raw, that it made your breath catch.

Suddenly, the room erupted in gasps and stifled giggles as Sirius and Remus finally sprang into action, darting forward to grab James by the shoulders and pull him back before he could blurt out anything else.

"Alright, Prongs, I think that’s enough honesty for one night," Sirius said, half-laughing as he tried to steer James away.

But James, still grinning like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, waved them off with an exaggerated flourish.  

"No, no, I’m not done! I need to tell her—"

"Yes, you are," Remus insisted, giving Sirius a panicked look. "Come on, mate, let’s get you some fresh air."

As the two of them practically dragged a protesting James out of the common room, you were left standing there, cheeks flushed, heart racing, and mind whirling with what had just transpired. Around you, your friends erupted into laughter and teasing whispers, but all you could do was stare after James’s retreating form, wondering what on earth had just happened—and if, maybe, there was a hint of truth behind his unexpected confession.

The chaos that ensued after James’s sudden declaration hadn’t even begun to settle when he suddenly broke free from Sirius and Remus’s grasp, stumbling back toward the center of the Gryffindor Common Room. A wild grin still plastered on his face, he leapt onto one of the tables, nearly knocking over a stack of textbooks.

"Prongs, no—!" Sirius hissed, his voice urgent as he scrambled after him. But it was too late.

James threw his arms wide, eyes glinting with mischief, the potion clearly pushing him to act on every impulse without a shred of hesitation. He stood there like a performer taking center stage, chest heaving as if preparing for the grandest of confessions.

"Alright, fine, you lot want a show?!" he shouted to the room, which had now gone completely silent except for a few barely stifled giggles. His eyes found you once more, his gaze so intense it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

Remus, who had momentarily been caught in the whirlwind of it all, finally snapped into action.  

"Sirius, do something!" he urged, voice tight with panic as he flipped open the Potions textbook he’d snatched from the nearby table. His fingers flew over the pages, trying to find something—anything—that would reverse whatever chaos Sirius had unleashed.

But Sirius was having his own struggles.  

"Alright, Prongs, let’s just... quiet you down a bit, yeah?" he muttered to himself, wand already in hand. He aimed it at James, intent on casting a silencing spell. 

Unfortunately, the spell backfired spectacularly. Instead of quieting James, it seemed to amplify his voice, and before anyone could stop him, he launched into a passionate serenade:

"Oh, the way you smile, it lights up the night,  

Brighter than a thousand stars so bright—"

James’s voice echoed through the common room, shockingly clear and shockingly loud. He had one hand over his heart and the other dramatically extended toward you, as if you were the only one in the room. 

You couldn’t help but bury your face in your hands, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and—admittedly—a bit of flattery. The whole room was roaring with laughter now, students doubled over, tears streaming down their faces. Even Lily Evans, who had been quietly reading by the fire, was shaking with laughter.

"Merlin’s beard, this is a disaster!" Remus muttered, frantically flipping through the Potions textbook. "Why did you have to give him the whole bloody vial, Sirius?"

"I didn’t know it would turn him into a bloody Shakespeare!" Sirius retorted, wincing as James hit an impressively high note. "This is Zonko’s fault, not mine!"

Meanwhile, James, entirely lost in the throes of the potion, began to loosen his tie with one hand while continuing his off-key serenade.  

"For you, my love, I’d dance through fire!  

Your beauty, your wit—I’ll never tire!"

"Oh no, no, no, no," Sirius groaned as James began unbuttoning his shirt. "Prongs, stop it! You’re going to scar these poor children for life!" He leapt forward, grabbing James by the waistband and trying to wrestle him back down to earth.

But James was surprisingly strong under the influence of the potion. He twisted out of Sirius’s grasp, managing to lose a couple more buttons in the process, revealing the faint outline of his Quidditch-toned abs. A few younger Gryffindors shrieked in shock, while others cheered him on, treating this like the best entertainment they’d had all term.

Remus’s frustration grew more palpable by the second as he scanned the Potions book, muttering curses under his breath. His eyes finally landed on a section that seemed promising.  

"Aha! The antidote—it’s a mix of powdered moonstone and syrup of hellebore," he said, turning to Sirius with a desperate look. "But we need to get him to calm down first, or it won’t work."

"Calm him down?!" Sirius shouted, dodging James’s flailing arm as he tried to pull the boy’s shirt back over his shoulders. "We can’t even get him off the bloody table!"

James, now with half his shirt hanging off one shoulder, raised his arms for a grand finale.  

"Oh, my darling, my heart is yours!  

Now and forever, through any wars!"

You were torn between wanting to laugh and wishing you could simply vanish into thin air. But despite the mortification of being the target of James’s wild serenade, a tiny, fluttering part of you couldn’t help but feel... touched? The way he was looking at you, even if it was because of a potion, held a sincerity that made your heart stutter.

"That’s it," Remus said through gritted teeth, closing the book with a snap. "We’re doing this the hard way." He pulled out his wand, ready to attempt a counter-spell to at least calm James down enough to administer the antidote.

But before Remus could cast anything, Sirius finally managed to grab James around the middle, yanking him off the table. The two of them crashed to the floor in a heap, tangled limbs and laughter echoing through the room. 

"Remus, now!" Sirius yelled, struggling to keep James pinned. "Before he breaks into an encore!"

Amidst the chaos, all you could do was watch, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite untangle. Part of you wanted to run over and help them—another part just wanted to keep watching James make a fool of himself, because somehow, in the midst of all this madness, he looked impossibly, endearingly charming.

The Gryffindor Common Room had turned into absolute pandemonium, with students shouting encouragements, laughing, and clapping along as James continued his wild serenade. Remus and Sirius were still struggling to contain him, and every failed attempt only seemed to fuel James’s increasingly unhinged performance.

But then, just when it seemed like there was no end in sight, Remus’s eyes lit up as he finally found the counter-spell.  

"This better work," he muttered under his breath, raising his wand with determination. He sent a quick incantation into the air, releasing a stream of calming blue sparks that cascaded like gentle raindrops over James.

The effect was almost instantaneous. James froze mid-verse, one arm still outstretched dramatically toward you, his voice dying in his throat as the potion’s influence melted away. For a heartbeat, the entire room seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Then, clarity returned to James’s hazel eyes. He blinked several times, looking around the room as if waking from a dream, only to realize that he was standing on a table... wearing nothing but his underwear and an unbuttoned shirt. 

The color drained from his face as the full weight of what he’d just done hit him.  

"Bloody hell," he whispered, his voice cracking. He stumbled down from the table, desperately trying to pull his shirt closed, cheeks flaming so brightly they almost matched the Gryffindor colors.

"I—uh—", he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood awkwardly in front of you. The entire common room was still buzzing with laughter and whispers, but James only had eyes for you. "I... I’m so sorry. I don’t know what—"

Before he could finish his apology, you surprised everyone by bursting into laughter. You tried to cover your mouth with your hands, but the giggles kept spilling out, your eyes shining with genuine amusement. 

"Oh, James," you managed between laughs, "I think that was the most... creative confession I’ve ever seen."

James’s eyes widened in disbelief. He’d expected you to be furious, embarrassed, or even disgusted, but instead, you were laughing—really laughing. The tension that had wound tight in his chest began to loosen, and though his face was still beet red, he couldn’t help the small, relieved smile that tugged at his lips.

"Y-You’re not... angry?" he asked, still bewildered, glancing down at his disheveled state. 

You shook your head, stepping closer and lowering your voice so only he could hear, the laughter in your eyes softening into something warmer.  

"Honestly, I’ve never been serenaded before," you teased, "especially not by someone standing on a table in their underwear." You couldn’t resist adding with a playful grin, "I think I might even be flattered."

James let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his shoulders finally relaxing.  

"Well... that’s good," he said with a crooked smile, his confidence slowly creeping back now that he knew you weren’t mortified. "Because I think I just set a record for the world’s most embarrassing declaration of feelings."

You laughed again, your cheeks tinged pink as you replied,  

"Definitely unforgettable, Potter."

Behind you, Sirius and Remus exchanged relieved grins, both of them panting slightly from their efforts. Sirius punched Remus lightly on the shoulder.  

"See, Moony? Told you it would all work out," he said with a wink. 

Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile.  

"Yes, but next time, maybe we use our words instead of potions?"

As the laughter in the common room slowly died down and students began to drift away, content with the evening’s unexpected entertainment, James took a tentative step closer to you.  

"I, uh... I meant what I said, you know," he murmured, his voice low and earnest now that the chaos had settled. "Even if it came out in the most ridiculous way possible."

You felt your heart flutter at the sincerity in his eyes. The bravado, the showmanship—all of that had faded, leaving just James standing there, looking at you with that earnest, slightly sheepish expression that had always made your heart skip a beat.

"I know," you said softly, smiling up at him. "And... for what it’s worth, I’m glad you finally told me."

James’s eyes lit up, a boyish grin spreading across his face.  

"Well, maybe next time, I’ll do it without the theatrics," he teased, scratching the back of his head.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head.  

"Oh, please, Potter. Like you could ever resist making a scene."

And with that, the tension between you two seemed to melt away entirely, replaced with a newfound ease. As the common room emptied out, Sirius threw an arm around James’s shoulders, winking at you.  

"Come on, Prongs. Let’s get you some proper clothes before you catch a cold."

As they walked away, James turned back to look at you one last time, his eyes filled with a soft, unspoken promise. And for the first time, you found yourself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring—now that the air was finally clear.

The common room had finally quieted down, the raucous laughter and excited whispers fading as students slowly trickled out, heading to their dormitories with wide grins and lingering glances back at James. The fire had burned lower, casting a warm, flickering glow that painted the room in soft, amber tones.

By now, most of the chaos had settled, but James Potter remained by the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames with a look that was uncharacteristically solemn. He was now fully dressed, though his shirt was still slightly askew, and his hair—if possible—looked even messier than usual. 

You approached quietly, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick rug underfoot. As you drew closer, you could see the slight furrow in his brow, the way he absently chewed on his lower lip, clearly lost in thought. The bravado and wild confidence that the potion had given him had evaporated, leaving him looking... vulnerable.

"Hey, Potter," you said softly, stopping just a few feet away.

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, turning to face you with wide eyes.  

"Oh, hey," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze. "I... uh... didn’t think you’d want to talk to me after that whole... spectacle."

You couldn’t help but smile at how shy he suddenly seemed, so different from the overly confident boy who had just serenaded you in front of half of Gryffindor House. Taking a seat beside him on the couch, you nudged him playfully with your shoulder.

"You know," you began, your voice soft, "you didn’t need a potion to win me over."

James’s head snapped up, his eyes searching yours, hope flickering in them like the flames in the hearth.  

"Wait... what?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat under his intense gaze.  

"Yeah," you said with a small, shy smile. "I’ve... liked you for a while too. You’ve just never seemed to notice."

A mix of relief and disbelief washed over James’s face. He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.  

"Merlin, I’ve been such an idiot, haven’t I?" he muttered. "All this time, I thought you were out of my league."

You laughed softly, shaking your head.  

"James, you didn’t need to drink some ridiculous potion to tell me how you felt," you said, your voice turning a bit gentler. "I would’ve said yes if you’d just asked me... without all the theatrics."

He let out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing, and a genuine, heartfelt smile spread across his lips—a stark contrast to the wild, potion-induced grin from earlier.  

"In that case," he said, leaning in slightly, his voice low and sincere, "would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? No potions, no serenades—just us?"

Your heart fluttered at the warmth in his eyes, and you nodded, returning his smile.  

"I’d love that, James," you said softly.

James’s smile grew even brighter, his hazel eyes shining with a happiness that was entirely unguarded. Without the potion, without the chaos, he was just James—sweet, earnest, and charmingly awkward. 

As the two of you shared a quiet, lingering moment, the sound of muffled laughter drifted over from the other side of the room. Turning your heads, you spotted Sirius and Remus lounging casually at a nearby table, watching the two of you with smug grins.

Sirius gave Remus an exaggerated clap on the back.  

"See, Moony? What did I tell you? Our plan worked perfectly!" he declared, his voice low enough not to disturb your conversation but loud enough for you both to hear.

Remus shook his head, though he was smiling.  

"You mean your accidental plan," he corrected, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the effect you were aiming for."

But Sirius just shrugged, flashing a triumphant grin.  

"Details, details. The point is, it worked," he insisted. "Now Prongs has a date, and we’ve provided the entertainment of the year. I’d call that a success."

James groaned but couldn’t quite hide his smile as he turned back to you.  

"I suppose I owe them a thank you," he said, his tone begrudging but playful. 

"Or a very, very stern lecture," you teased, giggling softly.

He laughed, his eyes twinkling as he reached for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring.  

"I think I’ll settle for just focusing on next weekend," he said, squeezing your hand gently. "No potions this time. Just you and me."

And as you sat there, the warmth of the fire enveloping you both, it felt like the start of something new—something that had been brewing for a long time, even if it had taken a wild potion-induced serenade to bring it to the surface.

In the background, Remus and Sirius watched with satisfied grins, Remus leaning back in his chair with a soft sigh.  

"Alright, Padfoot, you were right... this time," Remus admitted.

"Of course I was!" Sirius crowed, throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulders. "Now, what do you say we get some Butterbeer to celebrate my brilliance?"

As they made their way toward the portrait hole, the two of you shared a look, both shaking your heads fondly at your friends' antics. But as James’s hand tightened around yours, you realized you wouldn’t change a single thing about how this night had unfolded.

It had been chaotic, ridiculous, and more than a little embarrassing, but it had also brought you closer than you’d ever thought possible. And that, you decided, was entirely worth it.

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 5

Sabo x Reader

TW: Home invasion

[y/c] = your city

"Weakness." You punched Sabo into the lava and watched him burn to death.

"[Y/n] I was in the middle of collecting quartz," Sabo whined and respawned back at his base.

"Karma's a bitch," you laughed.

You were playing Minecraft with your online friend Sabo, who you've been playing online games with for the past 10 years. Started ever since you got Minecraft as a kid and played on servers, after playing a few mini-games you friended him, and eventually, you exchanged Discord users (when it became a thing). Yeah, yeah, the internet is a dangerous place, blah blah blah, Sabo was cool though, you trusted him, you've already done video calls with him, and honestly he's been there for you more than anyone else.

There were countless late nights where you two stayed up, gaming while discussing some deep topics. Sometimes they were philosophical nonsense, other times they were about struggles going on in life, you both cried over call during those kinds of nights. Safe to say you and Sabo's friendship was real, you just wished he lived near you so he could visit-

"Oh now I'm not going to share the surprise I was going to tell you," Sabo said when he teleported back to the nether.

"Surprise? What surprise?" You crouched your Minecraft character in front of him.

"Nooooo, I'm not going to say." Sabo walked around you and begun mining quartz once again.

"Come onnnnn, Sabo."

"Surprises are for nice spouses."

Ah, that's right, I forgot to mention your married Sabo in Minecraft, for "XP benefits" of course.

"I'll give you golden apples."

"Mhmmmmm."

"And... a three stacks of cookies."

"Well why didn't you just say so!" Sabo spun around and picked up the items you dropped for him before going on his merry way.

"Okay, now tell me," you said following after him.

"So you remember how I said my brothers and I planning to go on a trip over Christmas?" Sabo asked as he started to build a bridge over lava.

"Yeah, kinda sucks since that means you won't be able to play online," you grumble as you slowly crept behind him as he placed blocks. Playing with Sabo was all you looked forward to these days so him reminding you that you wouldn't be able to play with him during that time, you felt your mood deflate.

"Well guess where we're going."

"Uhhhh Tim Buck Two."

"No, we're going to [y/c]."

"Really!?" Your demeanour spun a 180, your excitement pulled a shiny smile across your face.

"I knew you'd be happy but I didn't think you'd get the same energy when you see your favourite blorbos on screen," Sabo laughed as the two of you were now bridging over a group of piglins on the ground.

"Because you are one of my little blorbo husbandos," you cooed knowing it'd fluster him.

"...I'd like to see you say that to me in person."

"You say that like I won't."

"[Y/n], you can barely ask an employee for help at the grocery store."

"Shush." You hit Sabo off the bridge and watched him fall to his doom, or so you thought. He placed a water block on the ground, in the nether. "Are you using your hacks again!?"

"You better move before I get back up and knock you off," Sabo warned.

"You won't dare."

"Or I would-" Sabo cut himself off when he heard something loud thud over on your end. "What was that?"

"Hm?" You were playing music in the background, talking to Sabo, and listening to Minecraft sounds with your noise-cancelling headphones so you didn't hear it.

"Something heavy fell over on your end."

"You're not messing with me are you?"

"Ace does that trick, not me."

"I wouldn't put it past you to use one of your brother's tricks."

"Okay, I'll stop building up-" Sabo ceased stacking blocks and looked up at your character. "You pause your game and check what fell over."

"Fine." You pause your game and start to take your headphones off.

"Wait!"

"Whaaaat?"

"Turn your camera on."

"Why?"

"It's... I just got a bad feeling."

"Okay..." You shrugged off Sabo's uneasiness and turned on your camera before taking off your headphones and started looking around your room to see what fell.

"Must've fell outside," you muttered heading toward your bedroom door and opening it.

Sabo couldn't see what was outside your door, whatever stood out there made you slam your shut and scramble to push your dresser in front of the door. Goosebumps crawled over his skin as realization hit him that shit is hitting the fan. He fumbled on his end to grab his phone and rapidly tapped buttons.

"Sabo..." You were now back in front of the computer, the dresser completely blocking the door. "Call the cops."

"Way ahead of you," Sabo said as the phone began ringing. "What's going on?"

"There's...there's a guy in...in my house." You could hardly pull your words together since your brain is currently spinning around to find the way for you to survive. "He...he's throwing things around... I think...I think he saw me." You started typing your address to Sabo so he could tell the cops where to go, you sent it before but it'd take too long for him to scroll up to find it. 

Sabo muted himself, probably so he wouldn't be heard talking to the cops. You backed away from the computer again, this time grabbing your bookshelf full of manga and pushing it in front of your door. Once that also blocked the door, you glanced around for more things to push in front of the door but the only heavy stuff left was your bed and desk which could be hiding places that the intruder could look around, and any few seconds he wasn't finding you was a second more of survival.

You picked up your headset and put it back on, Sabo was still muted. You clicked on the Minecraft tab so it'd cover your screen and he- if the invader came into your room- wouldn't know your camera was on with a witness. You took your phone just in case, making sure it was on silent and hid in the closet, making sure no sound came when you closed the door. You climbed into your laundry basket, burying yourself under your dirty clothes, for once grateful you forgot to do laundry.

"Okay, the cops are on their way- [Y/N]?? Where are you [Y/n]???" Sabo felt his heart drop.

"i'm in the closet," you whispered.

"Why didn't you climb out your window?"

"don't you remember that i told you the lock is broken? i live on the 10th, that's suicide," you whisper-shouted.

"Just stay on call, okay, police will be there soon."

"...okay."

Your meek voice squeezed Sabo's heart, his wish he was there to deal with the guy himself, or at this to be there to reassure you everything is going to be okay. Alas, all he could do was sit there on the other end of the screen, helpless as you both listened to something banging on your door.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[celira]

5/5+1

Everything had gone to hell remarkably quickly. 

Or maybe it was more remarkable that everything hadn’t gone meaningfully worse until then.

Camilla and Coronabeth stood at the one-way viewport of their shuttle, watching the advancing line grimly. All the ships she’d recognized from their months at the previous planet – and a few more she’d never seen, to boot – had been mustered and now ringed what was quickly becoming a battlefield. The two of them weren’t part of the primary defense; Camilla was still barely better than a captive. Carrying around bones that caused Blood of Eden passersby to hiss and make signs to ward off evil, she supposed that she still warranted suspicion in their eyes. 

Skeletal phalanges curled in the pouch around her neck, now, tapping out code to her in furtive moments – far from the confinement of her early days, she rarely found herself alone as of late. 

But she hadn’t known about the troop movements until Corona – the recently-anointed Crown, in all her sudden but inevitable betrayal – showed up and announced that they’d found themselves en route to intercepting a swarm of advancing Cohort ships. Cooperation was the lesser evil for the time being.

She glanced back at the canvas that covered Gideon Nav’s uncannily intact body. Perhaps it was a mercy. The dissonance of ringing metal and crossfire in the distance was slowly growing louder, and Camilla fingered the hilts of one of the knives she’d been given in spite of the general distaste she was subject to. A study in contradictions. 

There was no sense standing there, waiting for a break in the line or the outcome of the fight, but there was seemingly no sense to the movements of their attackers at all.

Suddenly she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye, startlingly close, and spun around. Two sets of Cohort pairs – how had she missed the telltale red of a Second necromancer and cavalier? –  so far from the main force didn't bode well. She looked at Corona, whose violet gaze was slanted in thought. Camilla jerked her head toward the shuttle entry and unsheathed both knives with a resonant slide. Corona unholstered the gun at her hip. Their eyes met again; a brisk nod one, hand hovering over the door release, another nod two, and–

Three things happened in quick succession. The shuttle door slammed open; Camilla darted out, Corona peering around behind the entry to provide cover fire; a deafening screech drew the attention of everyone in the area. 

Camilla saw the side of the ship in front of theirs distort impossibly, shimmering like air over heat, then burst, sending a shower of rivets and debris spraying across the space between the two craft. 

She hit the ground, rolling behind their shuttle’s landing gear and narrowly dodging superheated metal. The Cohort pair closest to the explosion was less fortunate – an agonized scream; the necromancer went down, gruesomely burned. Their cavalier, pinned by a panel, was out of commission for now. 

Camilla took this in with a glance and moved into a crouch – and corkscrewed upward, whirling to catch the downswing of the other pair’s cavalier, rapier locked against her crossed knives. She bore her weight against and sent them stumbling back a pace with an outward arc. Camilla punched forward before they could regain their footing, dodging the wild swing of their rapier. She allowed a glancing slice on her bicep from their offhand rondel, but it cost them; she ducked under their guard and opened two mirrored red lines from chest to neck. 

The cav crumpled like wet paper, and Camilla tried not to think about that, beyond wondering: where was their necro?

She heard voices to her left, and edged as quietly as possible around the side of the other ship, silently willing the gravel beneath her feet to hold.

“The Second necros I’ve known had a bad habit of getting back up and causing more trouble,” a voice said heavily.

"You better pray I don't get up this time around," came the rejoinder.

“I won’t hold my breath,” the first voice replied; Camilla peeked one eye around the open entrance. A wiry, ropy figure was pointing an ancient-looking revolver around a large bundle in their arms at the pinned, and fired. The necromancer slumped like a puppet with cut strings.

The bundle was–

“Harrowhark?” Camilla burst out, adrenaline and the circumstances of their last meeting loosening her tongue. The revolver swung around and bore down Camilla’s line of sight; she froze. Some distance behind her, where Harrow’s name had summoned her from her perch at the shuttle door, Corona did as well. 

“Who are you?” said the person holding Harrow. “How do you know her?”

“Is she alive?” Corona called.

“Not entirely sure,” they admitted. 

“I have medical training,” said Camilla. “She saved our lives once. The rest can wait.”

The revolver lowered, and the person motioned toward the interior of the ship they’d just…burst from? Shelter was shelter, and Camilla followed. They laid Harrow gently on the floor between the them. Contusions and gashes aside, she looked like she had been taken apart and reassembled by a creature working from an oral history of humans, bones in roughly the correct spots but inexpertly aligned and only somewhat connected. Her limbs lay akimbo; her chest, an uneven hollow.

Having brought up the rear, Corona pushed forward. “It can wait for you, at least. I’m Coronabeth Tridentarius–” (“are you again, now,” Camilla muttered) “–and this is Camilla Hect.”

“Third and Sixth,” mused the person. “Explains how you’re all acquainted.”

“How the hell do you–”

"I was a Lyctor," they said. And in the wake of that stunning declaration: “Sort of.”

Camilla said, “Was.”

“My necromancer was Gideon the First, who they called the Saint of Duty. I’m Pyrrha Dve, his cavalier. He’s dead. I’m still here.”

Camilla said, succinctly, hands still flying over Harrow’s body, “The fuck.”

“That’s about the reaction I got the first time I had to explain that, yeah,” said the not-Saint of Duty. “I don’t think I fancy doing it again soon. It’s getting old fast.”

Not having before met a topic she wouldn’t broach, Corona said, “So you’re a woman? In this–”

“Priorities,” Camilla interjected. “Harrow’s not breathing, her pulse is shot, she’s broken more things than I care to count out.” She touched the bag around her neck reflexively, a tic she needed to suppress, if only because it was too obvious and invited remarks like– 

“Harrowhark gave the Warden’s Hand a hand,” murmured Coronabeth. Everyone, for once, ignored her. “How can I help?”

“Third, go back to the shuttle. The body’s still in there.”

“That’s not my title any more. And she’s not going anywhere.”

“Check anyway. Pyrrha Dve, you’ll breathe for her.” Pyrrha tilted Harrow’s face up and forward. Good. He – she – knew what she was doing, it seemed.

“What are you going to do?”

“Chest compressions,” Camilla said. 

Corona stammered, “Her – it's broken –” 

“I know her sternum’s shattered; ignore it,” Camilla said flatly. Urgency and Corona’s unerring affinity for the spotlight were making her snappish. “We need that heart pumping. On my mark.”

Pyrrha positioned her face over the dark head, already birdlike and still somehow smaller and more fragile than ever. Corona backed away.

“Starting.” Camilla drove her palms down, heedless of the bone grinding beneath them. She hit her count, turned to Pyrrha: “Go. Two breaths.” She waited until the second long exhale, and started again. 

As they watched her try to shake herself apart, Camilla felt an inexplicable warmth at her eyes, then a brief answering pulse at her fingertips – unfamiliar, but not unknown. She paused, considering the circuit between the hand seeking comfort from the ever-constant bones she carried and the hand that rested on Harrow’s jerking form, and dismissed the wishful thought. 

Time dilated and contracted in a methodical cycle until the ravaged chest beneath them heaved, the movement excruciating, the act of trying to scream morphing into an aborted cough that could only have made every bone fragment in her ribcage light up in stretched-out agony, a torture wheel of a feedback loop.

Camilla moved her hands away from Harrow’s convulsing chest, one hand reaching to her own neck and the other sliding to Harrow’s side; Pyrrha pinned Harrow by the upper arms, her wrists too fractured, every jostle asking and answering a flare of compounding, relentless pain. “Come on, kid,” Pyrrha muttered. “Get that healing back online. You can handle this. You should.”

Harrow spasmed violently once, twice more, and something shifted, the amplitude of her movements settling into a jerky tremble as beneath her skin, grotesquely and surely, bone started to slot itself back into place.

Camilla blinked. “That healing” – the likes of which she hadn’t seen since Cytherea walked unveiled before them – was putting it lightly.

Pyrrha blew out a short, relieved breath, then narrowed her eyes at Camilla. “What–”

Corona crashed back into the bay in an agitated flurry of hair. “She’s gone.”

“What.”

“So is the other Cohort pair. They must have–” 

Camilla’s snappishness hadn’t abated: “You had one job.”

Corona ignored her in turn. “Where’s the Captain?”

“Still in the Gorgon–” Scarcely had the words left Camilla’s mouth that Corona took off at a run toward the converted Cohort vehicle. Pyrrha, clearly knowing any intel the other Lyctors had known, took off after her.

Camilla had kept long months of faith, for the Warden, for their collective goals, for the loyalties they’d felt honor-bound to uphold – and just as they’d found Harrow, Gideon’s body was gone. Taken. Adrenaline depleted, she leaned on the wall and let herself sink roughly to the floor. The bag around her neck bounced with the impact, and she reached in, touching a finger to their contents. The battle raged on outside, but she allowed herself a moment to feel the weight of another obstacle. Another neutron-star line item, a quietly crushing to-do. 

A drop of sweat rolled down her cheek; she brushed it off absently – then stared at the smear of dilute red across the back of her hand. She reached a hand up to the bag again, recalling the icy heat in her fingers, barely daring to believe this, too, wanting nothing more than to drop everything and hide away and methodically and exhaustively figure out what in all that was holy or unholy was going on.

An indulgence she never took and was hardly about to now.

You know what to do. She had a patient in critical care, the person around whom all their plans revolved.

As ever, she stood.

[evillittlebirdie]

Protector: Karlach/Tav

Part One Part Two

"Tav, watch out!"

But it was too late. 

Like a fool, Tav stood still and looked up. At first, he saw a collection of circles within one another. And then, Tav experienced a tremendous amount of pain. The metal chandelier hit Tav's body, forcing the sorcerer to his belly. Someone was screaming and Tav realized it was him. He was the one crying out in agony. Tav was pinned under the metal chandelier, his body weighed down. He was a slight elf with little muscle. As a magic user and formerly pampered paramour of a Matriarch, Tav didn't need to work on his physique outside of vanity. Now he wished that he was strong enough. 

Tav could not move. He tried to turn his body but was only met with dense metal. He could not even move his arms. His head was killing him. 

The sound of battle echoed throughout the hall. Karlach, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart were fighting the bulk of the horde. Tav had lingered behind, casting his spells from a safe distance. But when the archer shot the chandelier's chain, it was the worst spot in the hall. 

This was it. He was going to die. Shadowheart's spells were depleted. She couldn't heal him. Karlach might have a health poultice in her backpack, but she needed it for herself. She  needed  it for herself. Tav could feel something wrong in his arm. Tav's eyes drifted to the left and he was almost wretched at the sight of the twisted appendage. Broken. The same feeling was in both of his legs. One of his arms and both of his legs were broken. Absolutely useless. 

They would leave him to die under that chandelier. Tav was the most vulnerable link. His childhood and early adulthood in Menzoberranzan taught him that the weak must be culled. 

The weight was pressing on Tav's back. His breathing was restricted. He would die slowly. It was a proper punishment for not getting out of the way. It was the mistake of an amateur, not a leader. 

Karlach was yelling. Tav was used to her shouting. He could differentiate her happy hollering and her raging screams. 

Tav couldn't be her leader. Who was he kidding? Karlach would be a good leader. She was a decent person who brought up morale and fought for everyone around her. Tav would be honored to hand over the responsibility to her.

Hmmm, it sounded like Karlach's roars were growing louder...growing closer.

Suddenly, Tav felt like he could take in a proper breath. He felt the chandelier's weight grow lighter. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Tav didn't realize that Karlach was merely feet from him. She was pulling up the outer ring of the chandelier. Lae'zel and Shadowheart flanked her left and right, fighting off the horde of enemies. Karlach's muscles tightened as she strained to pick up the chandelier. She was yelling as she lifted the chandelier just high enough for Tav to pull himself. Tav used his unbroken arm to pull himself. But it was in vain. He was exhausted and he wasn't strong enough to force his body forward.

"Lae'zel, cover me!" Shadowheart called out to Lae'zel before spinning around. Lae'zel successfully swung her greatsword and cleaved three enemies at once. Shadowheart ducked under the chandelier and grabbed Tav's free hand. She pulled him out from under the chandelier. Karlach let the chandelier fall with a loud clang. 

Meanwhile, Shadowheart tried to help Tav up to his feet. Tav only howled in pain as Shadowheart tried to make him stand. Karlach's eyes widened in worry at the sound of Tav's distress.

"Hells, his legs are broken," Shadowheart informed the women. 

"There are too many," Lae'zel called out, turning only for the briefest of moments. "I need help."

"Go!" Karlach told Shadowheart as she moved in to pick Tav up. Shadowheart grabbed her spear and went back to Lae'zel's side. Tav felt nearly weightless when Karlach picked him up bridal style before cradling him into her side. He was in too much discomfort to make a quip about the position. "Hang on, sweetheart. I've got you." She dashed away from the group and reached into her armor. She pulled out a health poultice.

Tav stared at it incredulously. "Karlach, no. That's yours. You need it." They had already done too much. Tav saw wounds that were not present before the chandelier fell. 

"I will not let you fucking die," Karlach cried out. She used her teeth to pull the cork out of the potion and spat the cork away. She brought the potion to Tav's mouth and begged, "You drink. You need to drink and get better." 

Tav almost choked on the wave of liquid that poured into his mouth. But he was able to swallow the healing potion. It was not a large one, but it was enough to save him from permanent damage. 

Karlach gave a watery laugh when Tav finished the potion. "There he goes. You aren't going to leave me so easily." Tears still pooled in her eyes but she was smiling now. Karlach tossed the empty potion to the side and kissed Tav fiercely on his lips. Tav returned the kiss enthusiastically even as his head swam. 

Karlach lowered Tav to the ground delicately and stood in front of him protectively. Tav watched in amazement as Karlach pulled out her crossbow and shot at the enemy. She did not leave his side. She would never leave his side. 

[sometimesraven]

Pray.

Whumptober No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Fandom: Dead by Daylight POV Character: Nea Karlsson Whumpee: Nea Karlsson & Meg Thomas

Sometimes even in the toughest of games, spite is enough to keep you going.

AO3 Link

The killer was toying with them.

Nea hissed out a frustrated breath through bloodied teeth as she sprinted for what felt like the hundredth time through the twists and turns of the Memorial Institute -- or this twisted game-board version of it that the Entity had created today. The Doctor wasn't far behind: he'd been dogging them for most of the game now, knocking one of the four players to the ground only to laugh as they writhed with his electroshocks over and over.

The pain was so absolute it was scarcely noticeable by now. Adrenaline kept her pushing forward while flickering hallucinations danced in her vision. It was just Nea and Meg, now, as it often ended up in games like this. Eventually the Doctor would get tired of tormenting one of them and actually let them die in a slow, dragging bleed-out. There was some solace in that, at least -- the Entity wouldn't be happy with him for keeping its sacrifices this way.

A cry behind her stopped Nea in her tracks. The sound of a body hitting the ground with a heavy thump. Nea span to assess the damage, only to see blinding white and stars as the Doctor's spiked stick made contact with her already bloodied, mutilated face.

Her eyes met Meg's as she met her on the ground. The girl's eyes were swimming with tears, and she didn't struggle as a pool of blood slowly grew beneath her. She looked more tired than Nea had ever seen her, and Nea knew with a squeeze in her chest that she had given up. There was a goodbye in the wobbling smile she gave that Nea knew well. See you in the next one.

As the light died from her eyes and the gong to signal another death rang out, Nea pushed herself onto her elbows, glaring at the forced grin of Herman Carter above her. If he let her wriggle from his arms again, she would drive that stick directly through his twisted ballsack.

He'd better pray she didn't get up this time.

[highcaliberstupidity]

Whumptober Day 5 In the End Rating Explicit CW's/Tags Main Character Death, Implied/Referenced MCD, Price is shot at the end, everyone in the 141 is dead and it is mentioned/brought up, it's straight angst, just all angst Characters John Price, Valdimir Makarov Summary

He’s not even sure what he’s holding out for. No one is coming for him. There’s no one left to come for him.

Jonathan Price was many things. 

But delusional was not one of them. 

Still, a tiny part of him, withered with time and gun smoke and danger, had hoped he might pass peacefully. 

Instead he’s trapped, a slab of concrete twice as wide as he is tall, pinning him from the waist down. Another’s layered over it, the corner stabbing into his shoulder, chunks of rebar digging into his chest. 

It hurts, hurts enough that he’s slipping in and out of consciousness more than he can count. 

He’s not even sure what he’s holding out for. 

No one is coming for him. 

There’s no one left to come for him. 

This had been their last stand, Sterling Lines, a once grand base, now nothing more than a shelled-out and brittle complex. It’s kind of ironic, dying where he started, where he became more than just a soldier. 

Where he became Lieutenant, where he became Captain . 

It’s where he spent the better part of his thirty-seven years on earth. It’s where he trained men like Soap, where he put men like Ghost back together, where he lifted young men like Gaz up for recognition. 

Sterling Lines had been his home. 

Sterling Lines had been their home. 

Fitting, that he would die here, amongst the rubble of a place that held nearly every happy memory he held so carefully to his chest. Where he’d laughed, where he’d fought, where he’d found family and friends. 

The sound of movement in the debris grabs his attention, and he shifts his head what little he can. 

It’s dark out, stars filling the sky as fire illuminates the rubble. 

“Ah, I was hoping you were still alive.” A smiling, pale face comes into view, floating over the rubble as the dark shapes of helmeted soldiers pour around him. “The great Jonathan Price, finally brought to heel.” 

“Makarov.” It comes out guttural and wheezed, agonized . The man's smile curls ever larger, nearly splitting his face in two like some macabre creature. 

“It has been a long time coming, Captain.” He hums, stepping closer as his eyes roam, taking in the scene. He knows he has him now, caught and helpless. 

At his mercy. 

“How many years now, have we played this silly game of cat and mouse?” His head tilts, as he squats by his side, toying now with a pistol Price didn’t see him draw. He doesn’t answer, won’t give him the satisfaction. He will die with at least a touch of his dignity in tack. But he doesn’t seem to care. “Nearly ten years, I believe. Well before you forged your precious task force.” He makes a face, expression sour at the words. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for far, far too long.” 

Price only stares back, eyes cold and cutting, fingers itching for a gun, a knife, anything . 

“I must admit, it’s a shame.” Eyes filled with mocking sorrow lift to his own, and he wants to spit at him. “I truly wish your little band of miscreants could have been here to see this.” The sorrow turns to glee, lips splitting as he grins again. “A true shame, that all of it was for nothing.” 

Price begins to squirm again, wheezing and snarling as he shoves against the immovable debris holding him pinned. He’ll kill him, he has no fucking right to speak of them. 

“Well, there is one silver lining I suppose.” He chuckles when Price’s exhaustion finally forces his struggles to abate, his limbs numb and limp as he bares his teeth. “They aren’t here to see your failure.” Makarov shrugs, lips pursing in thought. “They all looked up to you, such loyal little dogs, even to the last one. What was his name, Klint, Ken, hmm, no, Kyle! Yes, that was his name. Kyle Garrick, Gaz .” 

Jonathan isn’t a man that cries, or at least, he wasn’t . 

He thinks he’s cried more tears in the past six months than he has in years . 

But here he is, hot tears mixing with blood and tracking down through the grime of his face as his strength saps farther and farther. 

“He cared so much for you, so loyal to the bitter end. I admired his strength, his tenacity .” The sick bastard almost looks fond as he speaks, fingers running absentmindedly over his pistol grip. “But oh, it was so worth the look on your face when I put a bullet in his forehead on that bridge.” And he laughs, laughs when Price turns away, teeth gritting as he sobs . 

Gaz had been a good fucking man , better than anyone Price had met. Better than himself . 

And it was Price’s fault he was gone . 

It was Price’s fault that all of them were gone. 

Farah to a sniper, Alex to a rogue piece of shrapnel, Soap to a bomb he couldn’t diffuse, Ghost to a swarm of Konni, even Laswell and Nikolai, their helo shot down. 

Gaz had been the last piece of his cobbled-together family, had been the last thing keeping him sane . 

He’d failed them all. Hadn’t protected them, had led them to their fates. 

Makarov’s still speaking, but he isn’t listening now, everything slowly slipping away as his body grows weaker and colder. 

It’s his fault they're gone, and soon… He’ll be right there with him. 

Another name lost to history. 

A tap on his cheek brings him back, finds Makarov looking down at him with an expression that almost looks… Sympathetic. 

“I believe I will choose kindness today, Jonathan.” And he wants to scream because kindness from men like him is leaving them alive and broken so that they have to live with the weight of their sins and failures. 

And he can’t . 

He can’t . 

So when he cocks the gleaming pistol in his hands, Price nearly sobs with relief. 

“May your next life be easy, Jonathan.” His expression remains the same, real , and Price needs to know why . 

“W-Why.” It’s barely audible, and for just a moment, he doesn’t think the man hears him, as he brings the pistol to bare. 

“Because you were a worthy opponent, Captain. I had fun, with this game of ours. I believe that entitles you to something, does it not? I would only hope the same for myself.” He says it softly, with weight , and Price doesn’t understand, won’t try to. 

There isn’t enough time for him to decipher it anyway. 

“Thank you.” He manages to grate out, his words small and broken, sounding more like a breath than speech. 

“Goodbye, Jonathan.” Theres a click, audible, as Price lets his eyes slip shut one last time. 

And then blissful nothing.

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 5 || "You better pray I don't get up this time around"

[sheppardsmckay]

Whumptober2023

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

[whumpsday]

K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #5

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, defiant whumpee, broken bones, torture, captivity

@whumptober Day 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.” / Pinned Down / “It's broken.”

this one's early captivity kane, when he still has fight in him :)

-

“Fuck you!” Kane shouted, tears in his eyes and voice alike. He hated it. He’d always been an angry crier, and it didn’t help that he was terrified out of his mind, now, too.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“That’s not very nice,” the hunter pinning him with a boot to the chest mocked.

Kane should have been able to crush him. He would have been able to, the pressure on his chest not even the mildest of inconveniences, but he hadn’t fed in over a month. His body was running on fumes. He hated how good the hunter smelled.

The thought snowballed, became inescapable, and he found himself weakly snapping at the hunter’s ankle. Pinned like this, it was just barely out of reach.

“Hey.” The hunter suddenly stomped down, a couple of Kane’s brittle ribs. He gasped, yanked out of his blood-crazed fervor.

“I’ll kill you,” he wheezed, any force he tried to put behind the threat dying. It was too hard to breathe, and the hunter’s boot still dug into his broken bones– it only made him cry more, until his view of his tormenter became too blurred with tears to make out.

The hunter laughed and pressed down harder. Kane would have screamed if he were able, shards of bone pressing into his lungs. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

[serickswrites]

"You Better Pray"

Warnings: captivity, torture, sadistic whumper, broken bones, beating, physical violence, blood, restraints

Whumper cackled with glee as they struck Whumpee once more. Whumpee couldn't contain their muffled squeal of pain as they lost their balance in the standing cuffs and began to swing again, their shoulders aflame once more with unbearable pain.

"PLEASE!" They shrieked.

"Oh, you want more?" Whumper smirked. "You asked so kindly, I must oblige you." And they punched Whumpee in the ribs once more.

Whumpee could feel the skin split around Whumper's brass knuckles. Could feel blood run down their side. It had been like this for the last few hours. Whumper pummeling them to a pulp. And Whumpee suffering all through it.

Initially, they had tried to be stoic. Had tried to not give Whumper that satisfaction of their cries. They knew they would be bruised, but they could handle it. Until Whumper began to beat them in earnest.

Whumper, it seemed, had only been warming up. They had struck Whumpee in the face hard, breaking Whumpee's nose in the process. That was the first time Whumpee had cried out. Cried out around the blood that dripped down their face. Cried out around how difficult it was to breathe. And cried out because that was when their pain began.

So as Whumper raised their hand once more and Whumpee desperately tried to grip the ground with their toes to keep from swaying, Whumpee began to beg and plead. "PLEASE! ANYTHING! I WILL DO ANYTHING! JUST STOP! PLEASE!"

Whumper paused their motion, a wicked smile filling their face. "Oh look, it's broken. How precious." Whumper circled Whumpee with predatory grace. "And now all the fun can really begin." And they jumped onto Whumpee's back and pulled with all their might.

[oxideblack]

[medusapelagia]

Eddie's Month Day 5 + Whumptober Day 5

written for @eddiemonth and @whumptober-archive 

Prompts: Eddie’s month day 5: Role Model | Slow Down - Ozzy Osbourne | Brave Whumptober day 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.” - Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.” Rating: Mature Relationship: Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington WT: injuries, hospital WC: 1308

Some moments define your life.

Moments that seem like others and then, when you rethink about them, you realize that they were particular moments that changed your entire life.

The first one was the day Wayne decided to visit his brother when he came back from Vietnam.

Eddie didn’t really like the silent man who kept smoking one cigarette after another while looking at him with something that he wasn’t able to define. It took him a few years but he finally understood that he was looking at him with pity.

That day, even if Eddie didn’t know it, was the day Wayne decided that the kid deserved something more than a junkie as a mother and a petty thief as a father.

It took Wayne almost three years to gain Eddie’s custody, but in the end, the State was more than happy to give a troubled kid to an adult who was willing to raise him while his parents were in prison.

That day, the first day he met Wayne, Eddie was wearing a band t-shirt his father shoplifted somewhere and that was way too big for him, but he loved it.

He still has it, somewhere.

The image has faded and the cotton is so thin that it is almost see-through, but Eddie keeps it as a relic.

Another moment that will define his life forever is the day Chrissy Cunnigham, lovely Queen of Hawkins High ,sat with him and asked him for drugs. The strong kind, not just marijuana as most of the tough kids in high school did.

And he said yes.

Now that they are getting ready to fight an interdimensional monster he asks himself: why did he say yes? Why didn’t he tell her to have fun with her friends instead of searching for consolation in drugs?

He should have never said yes.

But he thought he was helping.

He thought that he could have helped her, little by little, gaining her trust and helping her see how beautiful and kind she was, inside and out.

But they didn’t have the time.

When he turned toward her with the little plastic bag, he found himself deep in a shitty horror movie with a fucking monster ready to kill every stupid teenager in Hawkins.

So he did the first thing he learned when he was a kid.

He ran away.

Like he had run away from his father when he used to come home drunk and tried to beat him.

Like he had run from the bullies that were trying to cut his hair.

Like he had run from the police when he was dealing a few miles away from the trailer park.

Eddie has run all his life. He is a pro at running. Could win a fucking medal if he wanted to.

But tonight is different.

Tonight they are at war.

And what is worse, is that he has a kid to take care of.

The look that he has shared with Harrington has said everything there was to say.

The knight is going to slay the dragon and he is going to keep the kid safe, and he fucking will.

The adrenaline of the concert he has played on the roof of the trailer is fading away fast, those monstrous creatures are trying to get into the trailer and Eddie can’t allow that.

If they get inside they could hurt Dustin, and even get into their dimension.

No fucking way.

So Eddie does what he knows best: he runs.

The only difference is that this time he is running toward the peril instead of away from it.

Fuck it.

If the ex Keg King was able to fight a fucking monster with a nailed bat and nothing more, he could do the same, right?

He is a man. His role in society is to protect the people he cares for!

He takes the bike and the demobats follow him. He looks around him, he will never make it to the woods as he was thinking.

He leaves the bike and takes the nailed shield.

He just has to hold the line. Someone will come to help him. That is what happens in all his books.

Straider will appear from nowhere and will save him.

The demobats shriek and he yells at them.

He closes his eyes.

Now that he is alone, surrounded by demobats, he doesn’t feel so brave anymore.

He thinks of the old faded t-shirt. He should have put it on for good luck. 

He would like to be buried with that on. 

No stupid suit for him.

He falls.

Everything hurts.

Someone is screaming his name when the earthquake starts and the bats fall to the ground. Dustin is holding him tight.

“I didn’t run.” he says, tasting blood in his mouth.

“No, no. Look at me! Look at me!” Dustin screams, and then someone else is kneeling at his side.

“We have to bring him back. Now.”

“But…!”

“Robin, Nancy, help Dustin. I think his ankle might be broken.” 

Someone is lifting him, and Eddie whimpers when they move him.

“Hey, if you are still complaining, it is a good sign.” Steve says, sounding cheerful.

“Harrington?” he asks, confused.

His vision is blurry, but someone is carrying him in a fireman’s carry and is running through the debris of the earthquake. 

What happened?

When did it happen?

What the fuck is going on?

They are not going back to the trailer, they are going down a crack in the ground.

“Are you sure, Steve?”

“Do you have a better idea, Rob?”

It seems they are out of ideas because Robin and Nancy keep going down a few feet away from them.

“You get to the other side with Dustin, then you’ll help me with Eddie.”

“Slow down, big boy.” Eddie complains.

“You will rest when we get to the other side. Just hold on.”

“You better pray I don't get up this time around or I’ll ruin your reputation. The golden boy brought me to the other side. How does it sound as a title?” he tries to joke.

“Better than being killed by a maleficent creature with psychic powers, honestly. But I’d prefer something like ‘brought me to the dark side’, it sounds more badass, doesn’t it?” Steve replies and Eddie laughs. Everything hurts, but he laughs.

They are still walking down the crack when Steve groans “I asked you not to do anything stupid.”

He did.

But for once Eddie wanted to be the brave one.

“Are you angry with me?”

“Don’t die on me and I might forgive you.”

Steve.

Brave Steve.

The expendable one.

Still, the one that is bleeding to death is Eddie.

“I didn’t run.”

“I know. But a friend of mine told me that there is no shame in running.”

“Wise man. You should introduce us one day.”

“I will. Now hold on tight. I’m going to push you through the crack and I don’t think it is going to be fun.”

Spoilsports, Eddie thinks, and the burning pain is the last thing that he feels.

***

When he opens his eyes he is in a hospital, his right arm is handcuffed to the bed and there are two figures asleep on some cheap plastic chair.

One is Steve, his hair messier than ever, the other is Wayne, who has a duffle bag at his feet with a faded t-shirt half out.

Eddie will quickly find out that they do not have a home anymore, and all their belongings are in that duffle bag. 

He will learn that he is still the first suspect in the murder of Chrissy Cunnigham.

He will remain handcuffed in the hospital for weeks, but when he will finally leave, hand in hand with Steve fucking Harrington, he will wear a faded t-shirt.

Almost see-through.

[thethistlegirl]

I couldn't NOT do Jack for this song, it fit him too well...

@nade2308

[faofinn]

No.5 "You better pray I don't get up this time around."

@whumptober-archive

Debris | Pinned Down | "It's broken."

When Harrison had met Tai, he’d certainly not expected to grow so fond of him so quickly. But it had just felt… right. They’d somehow got good chemistry, hitting it off immediately after a slightly rocky start. Even though Harrison was busy with university, he still found time to see the Irishman, and they’d fallen into bed on more than one occasion. 

They’d decided to change things up a bit and go for a hike rather than their usual bars, and it was nice, the change of pace. It was a short enough drive out of the city, up into the hills, and they enjoyed the warm sun on their faces and good conversation as they walked. 

They’d stopped to eat lunch, taking in the views over the city, and when Tai had leaned in for a kiss, Harrison hadn’t pushed him away. It was nice, the casual domesticity of it all. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to kiss him. 

As they headed back down the hills, they had to pay attention a bit more as to where they were putting their feet, loose stones and dust easy to lose their footing on. Hars had already done it once, his knee giving out on him, but Tai had caught him with a breathless laugh. They were virtually back at the car when Tai stumbled, twisting his ankle as he went. 

He definitely heard a crunch, and the pain was immediate, red hot agony. He just about managed to keep himself upright, but couldn’t take any weight through that foot, gripping onto Harrison like his life depended on it, knuckles white. 

"Hey, hey, easy." Harrison was quick to take his weight, wrapping a strong arm around him. "I've got you."

“Fuck.” He whimpered. 

"What's wrong?"

“My ankle.” Tai groaned. He tentatively stretched it out towards the ground and recoiled almost immediately. “Nope.”

"Careful!" He couldn't hide his worry. "Let's sit, let me have a look."

“I felt something go.”

"I heard it." Harrison admitted. 

“You’re gonna have to drive.” He whined. 

"That's the least of my worries."

“Hurts.” He panted, feeling woozy. “Where are we sitting?”

"Just down, you look like you're gonna pass out." He said softly.

Tai nodded, and sat with Harrison’s help on the dirt. “Fuck.” 

"I've got you, you're gonna be okay." He soothed, rubbing Tai's back. 

“How bad does it look? It felt bad.”

Harrison pulled a face. "I've seen worse. But it's broken, there's no doubt."

“I was hoping you weren’t gonna say that.”

"So was I."

“I’m not gonna be able to stand.”

"I can carry you?"

Tai scoffed. “Really?”

"Hey, don’t be so mean."

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself too.”

"I'll be fine."

“Mm.” He mumbled. “Hurts like fuck.”

"If we get back to my car, I've got stuff in the boot."

He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

"Or I can go get it, but I'll have to leave you alone for ten minutes." He absently pressed a kiss to his hair. "Hey, if I do that, you'll be high as a kite for the rest of the hike. You might enjoy it."

“I just want to go home.”

"I know, love." He rubbed Tai's arm, the affection instinctive. "I know."

“Can we go back to the car?”

"Of course. Want me to carry you?"

He nodded sheepishly. “I’m not gonna be able to stand.”

"You know, there are easier ways to get close to me." He teased, standing up.

“You don’t like the damsel in distress routine?” Tai joked weakly.   

He helped him to his feet, balancing himself s moment before looping an arm under his knees. He moved as gentle as he could, aware each movement would be agony for Tai. Concern covered his face as he frowned at him, eyes wide with worry.

"Is that okay?"

Tai had definitely paled, everything spinning a little, but he nodded. “Yeah.” He replied tensely. 

"Just breathe, you're okay. I've got you." He murmured. "You're okay."

“Didn’t know you were this strong.”

"Am I more attractive now?" He teased.

“Maybe.”

"This all a ploy to get closer to me?"

“Would be funny if it was.”

He grinned down at Tai. "Y’know, there's easier ways."

“Probably less painful too.”

"Oh, most definitely."

“Was a nice hike, though.”

"I certainly enjoyed the view."

“Yeah?”

He hummed. "And the scenery was nice, too."

“Oh, shut up.”

"I'm serious."

“So am I.”

"I'll be quiet then."

Tai leaned into him with a soft hum. “You can keep talking.”

"Ah, no. You've made your bed, you can lie in it, suffer in silence and all that." He'd barely made it a few steps before his act broke and he laughed. 

“See, you can’t resist me.”

He hummed. "Yeah, something like that."

He was quiet for a minute. “You think it’s definitely broken?”

"I'd put money on it." He said softly. 

“Ugh.”

"Hey, you'll have to come stay with me." He murmured. "I can look after you then, make sure you have everything you need."

“Oh, so now you’re trying to get me to move in?”

There was a hint of blush on his cheeks. "Maybe."

“Not complaining.”

"You're not?"

“You just promised to wait on me hand and foot.”

"Like a king." He teased. 

“Mm, perfect.”

"Only fair."

[spirit-whump]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Original Character-centric, Abuse, Choking, Stabbing, the guy getting stabbed is the abuser, Joan is going through it again, she escapes the situation she makes it out okay, not exactly a happy ending though, Angst, Immortality, Hurt No Comfort Series: Part 4 of whumptober2023, Part 2 of the Joan 'verse Summary:

Ioana's husband finds out she's immortal. It doesn't go well for anyone.

whumptober2023 No. 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.” | Pinned Down