#And I know this is the sort of thing where I absolutely am far from territory my tf understands - understands not as in

[vamptarotscam]

@vamptarot IS A SCAMMER.

You seriously thought you could get away with this a second time? Not a chance. SHE ALSO DELETED HER SCAMMY POST.

PART TWO: https://www.tumblr.com/vamptarotscam/782090594830991360/i-got-more-proof-that-vamptarot-is-scamming?source=share

I will provide PROOF AND SCREENSHOTS.

DO NOT DONATE TO THIS PERSON UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES.

Yes, this is the second time @vamptarot plays this game with her followers, instigating fake symptoms, lying and scamming. The first scam attempt is documented here: https://www.tumblr.com/vamptarot/771257380903288832/hello-i-am-sorry-for-the-mis-use-of-tags-i-will?source=share.

This is simply disgusting behaviour. Lying about injuries, illnesses, symptoms so that people could buy her readings or donate out of sympathy (and she KNOWS people on Tumblr are more susceptible to this, they will donate to the right cause). She always does this, she invents a fake sob story and then she says she's not asking for donations or that she's too ashamed to do so, yet asks people to help her without any proof whatsoever (because there is obviously no proof).

It’s funny how @vamptarot always claims she doesn't share links publicly because she "feels uncomfortable," yet the only thing that’s uncomfortable here is her blatant scam. If you don’t want to be caught scamming, then maybe don’t request money through DMs, where you can hide behind the anonymity of your naive followers' trust. And let’s not forget how she always magically “needs” large sums of money (1200 pounds last time) where healthcare is FREE. Especially emergency healthcare that she claims to be in need of. Do you really think people will buy the sob story about needing 1200 pounds for "treatment" that’s apparently so urgent it can’t wait for any sort of proof? If it was so dire, why are you pulling random numbers out of thin air to manipulate followers? It doesn’t add up. You know why? Because it’s all an act. You can see this from her blog's activity too, she comes back only when she needs money from her unfortunately very young and gullible followers. And she makes numbers only when she comes up with fake stories and illnesses, how interesting. Maybe it's because she's willingly manipulating young impressionable users to donate to a fake cause? Absolutely reprehensible. Proof:

These aren’t just "unfortunate circumstances", this is a pattern. It is a known scam tactic that's been around years and years before smarty pants could do it on Tumblr.

She's done this before, and she's trying to do it again. She knows that many people on Tumblr are empathetic, and she'll exploit that kindness for her own gain. Don’t fall for it. Trust your gut and stay far away from anyone who tries to manipulate you with extreme emotional circumstances like this.

ALSO, she deleted her latest scam post because she finally got exposed by my account but I will share screenshots that a very kind individual has sent me about their interaction with this disgusting scammer. The individual's name is censored as per their request. RESPECT THEIR PRIVACY.

In her latest post our beloved scammer @vamptarot tried to claim a mysterious illness with fainting symptoms that would make her "slip in and out of consciousness". Extremely vague, perfect for naive Tumblr users (who are mostly minors by the way, just mentioning that). She also claimed that she needed URGENTLY 3400 pounds in the next 10 hours (a very famous scam tactic) or that she might "die".

Then she suddenly claimed that she needed ONLY 450 pounds, 10 hours after she made that post. Interesting. I DO NOT have the original post's screenshot but we have @spiritstalking ask to rely upon:

Nice try sweetheart. Unfortunately some users fell for this. It is extremely depressing to see young kids fall for those scams, because they do not know better.

As you can see, she also claimed that she needed donations in less than ten hours or it might be "too late" for her. Poor soul. Again, emergency healthcare such as in this case (slipping in and out of consciousness🤣🤣🤣) is free. Yet another emotional manipulation tactic. As I said, it's disgusting.

Also, she claimed that she was on the verge of dying, being extremely ill but she also had time to think about PACS? AND INTERACT ON TUMBLR TOO? She tried to make it all seem so real that she even stayed online 24/7 to talk to the users she scammed.

And wow, now she’s acting all innocent, saying that people gossiping about her is "inhumane." Sweetie, we’re not gossiping, we’re exposing a scam you decided to do.

If you’re really that innocent, why do you keep changing the narrative? You’ve been caught making excuses and pulling out random sob stories for cash, guess that’s just the reality of running a fake blog.

HERE'S THE SCREENSHOTS PROOF:

It’s honestly wild how chronically online @vamptarot is while claiming to be slipping in and out of consciousness, barely able to function due to “illness.” I mean, a person who’s supposedly fighting for their life can barely send a message, let alone respond instantly on Tumblr??????? But guess what? She’s ALWAYS there to reply to her donors within minutes. truly the epitome of someone “dying” from their condition. 🧐

Oh, and then the classic scam move: telling the user to send money to her “friend’s” PayPal... except her “friend” has the exact same name as her. What a coincidence! 🥴 That’s not even a red flag, it’s a burning tower. For real, how dumb does she think people are? A friend’s PayPal? More like her PayPal, dressed up in a bad disguise.

Let’s not forget the emotional manipulation here. She messed up, said it was her PayPal, and when caught, instantly tried to backpedal with the excuse of having “brain fog” because of anxiety and pain. But apparently, that anxiety and pain don’t stop her from begging for donations? Come on. If you’re so “stricken” with these issues, how are you managing to twist your words so perfectly to squeeze money out of people? INTERESTING.

And then, to top it off, offering to give out her friends' bank details for even more donations? Classic scam. Get as many ways as possible to extract money from people’s wallets. But here's the kicker: she can’t even access the money the user sent for the next three days? THIS IS A HUGE ORGANIZED SCAM.

This whole situation is a mess, and honestly, it’s getting tiresome. Be careful who you trust, because this is as shady as it gets.

Also, @vamptarot tell everyone how you were planning to delete your disgusting scamming post from the start because you didn't want to "STAIN" your account. You knew what you were doing from the start. You knew you were scamming people and that somebody would eventually catch on.

You are a reprehensible human being and I strongly suggest you to refund the money you stole from users. Can we just talk about how conveniently her post was deleted once people started catching on? A classic move when you know you've been called out for your scam. If everything was so “legit,” why is the post suddenly gone? Again you knew what you were doing and you know you're wrong as hell for this.

PLEASE REBLOG TO SPREAD AWARENESS AND TO KEEP SCAMMERS OUT OF THE TAROT COMMUNITY. THIS IS VILE STUFF.

Once again, shame on you @vamptarot. Do better.

It's honestly disgusting to see someone manipulate and extort vulnerable users into donating for a fake illness. Preying on people’s empathy for personal gain is nothing short of reprehensible. Don’t let yourself be fooled.

PLEASE HELP US SPREAD AWARENESS. PLEASE DO NOT DONATE TO THIS USER. DO NOT GET SCAMMED.

[becausegraf]

Everything You Put Me Through - what is this ‘everything’ really?

Featuring: 

1) Interpreting the actual meaning of Blitz’ angry rant

2) A look into how Stolas misheard him just like most of us did, and 

3) A side-track into how they both gave the wrong signals about what they actually wanted from each other right from the start.

So, idk if this is a new-ish idea or not but

I've been pondering that moment where Blitz goes 'After *everything you've put me through*!!' during their one-sided argument, because it just didn't make a whole lotta sense to me.

The *obvious* reading would be that he means everything as in 'the sex arrangement [that I didn't like but didn't object to]' and I get the impression that's what most people read it as, taking it at face-value. 

It makes no sense though, as we see all kinds of evidence for Blitz actually *wanting* the arrangement to stay exactly as it is. Both before the Full Moon and after he shows his motivation to stick with their deal, and ‘it makes sense’ to him. He's at least physically into Stolas and Stolas is into him, for as far as he knows/hopes, what could possibly be wrong about continuing to have regular sex dates they both enjoy?

Throwing out that accusation of Stolas putting him through something upsetting, I personally felt like he was talking out of his ass spouting something aggressive just to channel his anger *somewhere*, including the whole tangent he went on with the whole 'not taking the lower class seriously' thing. 

Sure, it's an angle you can definitely consider, but it just seemed to have so little to do with their actual interactions around their agreement, and with what was happening right there and then?? The dismissive ‘bye Blitz I'm done talking please leave’ attitude,, sure, but something about his rant doesn't seem on-topic to be about JUST that.

-

All that said, I think I finally figured something out:

He's talking about explicitly everything *other than the sex part*

‘The sex part’ is specifically what he WAS okay with, but it's the whole 'ugh wtf is he trying to do here, playing at us being actual friends and him caring about me' that was NOT part of the agreement that caused by far the most emotional distress to Blitz, and what I think he had in mind when thinking of 'stuff Stolas put him through' that he'd *actually* have struggled with.

Like.... this might sound kinda backwards but I can see Blitz legitimately struggling with 'how dare he put me in this situation where he gets hurt and I feel like it's my fault, and somehow I'm supposed to care and I DO care but what the fuck am I supposed to *do with that*'

- because that'd be the sort of emotional challenge that'd really throw him off and make him feel absolutely terrible.

'If he'd just kept this business-only, I wouldn't be this conflicted.’

If it was ‘just business’ and nothing more, there would be neither the expectation nor the justification to approach Stolas and everything about him like a friend. Blitz *needs* it to be unambiguously ‘just business’ for his own comfort and sanity, because if it isn't… 

Example:

A prissy rich boy just looking to get giggity living out his fantasy couldn't possibly give a fuck if his ‘plaything’ to be ignored outside of fun times didn't come see him at the hospital, right? If that's what this is (and to Blitz that was the only blievable option), to go visit him would be an enormous risk, and a huge emotionally mess at that, given what happened the last time he tried to see someone he cared about who got hurt because of him. 

Yeah hahah, no, it's way easier to tell himself Stolas doesn't care than to open THAT whole can of worms, and push himself into the purgatory of being rejected in anger or be made fun of for being so stupid as to think Stolas might have wanted him there for real.

It's that internal emotional turmoil that really messes him up, and that he resents Stolas for. 

‘Why can't he just play by the obvious rules and keep it simple and clean, why does he have to do this pretend-bullshit making me almost think he actually values me, and make it so hard to keep my distance and stay detached, damnit!’

Because if that's what Stolas was actually doing, that would 1000% count as ‘playing with someone's feelings’, wouldn't it?

The annoying nicknames and the 'having sex appointments' stuff is not remotely the sort of thing that actually bothers someone like Blitz that much. It's maybe a nuisance or inconvenience, but there's no way he actually has deep-seated emotional pain about that. 

Stolas trying harder and harder to invite him closer and get to know him, THAT would be what would piss Blitz off, because he could only see it as this owl dragging him into some dumb roleplay. And that is what would actually, genuinely hurt to be a part of, because he wishes it *could* be real.

When Stolas ‘plays at being his friend in earnest’, Blitz thoroughly hates how it makes him feel.

Stolas is NOT pretending, but that's 100% inconceivable to Blitz, it's the one possible interpretation he can't risk taking seriously because if he's *wrong* oh my lord…

At this point in time, Blitz can't process his own feelings well enough to comprehend that that's what's causing him this pain, so all he feels is agitation over something vague. 

‘This hurts and I wished he'd stop doing what's causing me to feel this way.’

He feels anger, some resentment towards Stolas, and the only proper explanation he can give to himself is that Stolas is being thoughtless and disrespectful towards him - of course he'd be bothered and annoyed. That makes sense in his mental framework.

‘This whole thing he does, pretending to give a shit for real makes me feel like garbage, and he just keeps doing it like it's nothing, because he's just a total braindead douche when it comes to that specific stuff. He doesn't get why he needs to stop at *all*.’’

Blitz is walled off from his own vulnerable yearning and desires by fifteen layers of deflection and ignoring and irony. 

He tells himself he hates Stolas’ disrespectful, patronizing attitude, when the core of it is *disappointment* and self-doubts, and how it triggers his sense of unworthiness and hopelessness about never being able to have anything ‘real’.

He *genuinely* didn't get it, as obvious as it seems from an external POV, and other than Fizz nobody had any reason to challenge him on that. Other parties either didn't care, saw it just like Blitz did, or had no idea Blitz could be *that* freaking blind. 

Example:

Millie goofily referring to Stolas as Blitz's ‘boyfriend’ to her parents. Blitz responds as if she's disrespectfully joining in with Stolas’ thoughtless making a mockery of his feelings just to tease him, rather than being affectionately cheeky about this odd but kind of cute situationship he has going on and ‘pretends’ to be in denial about.

-

ALL OF THIS makes what he said when he blew up at Stolas make perfect sense.

... and it also means Stolas misheard it as 'he thinks I'm just some shallow sex fiend using him for pleasure' instead of 'he's mad at me because I sounded like all my attempts to be nice to him were just a messed up powerplay, despite me meaning every word of it'

To Stolas, Blitz thinking he'd be that shallow is far easier to believe because it's the most obviously logical, AND it's also kind of his worst fear at that point. 

The notion of his genuine interest and tenderness being consistently misread, by comparison, is a pretty strange mental twist, it *almost* makes no sense at all

'When did I ever play with his feelings, it can't be all the times I tried to be nice to him with no strings attached because I really meant that in earnest... so it's gotta be the sex arrangement he's mad over??'

No wonder he took it the way he did.

-

Now, for my third section - it's quite the tragicomedy that their first reunion as adults was a whole pile-up of giving each other inaccurate impressions of what the other one actually wanted.

'Are you here to ravish me' = oh okay, owl do be randy??? thinketh a Blitz

'Oh hey there buddy, want me to ravish you then~?' = oh uh wow uh um ok he's here because he's actually for real into me????? wondereth a Stolas

and then they just kept that little 'roleplay' of trying to give the other what they thought they wanted from each other going, assuming that was the actual primary motivation of the other (when really Blitz was there for the book and Stolas had no idea what he was getting himself into and he was just making shit up on the fly half sloshed).

They pretty much *showed* each other that yes, they do in fact want-a-da-sex from each other, pretty explicitly,

and the deal they struck was just a convenient excuse to keep seeing each other.

It's not that hard to see how Stolas' thinking went there... 

‘Hey so, that was the most amazing thing ever and oh my goodness me, if Blitz actually likes me that way and as an aside he can use the grimoire too, um, well, tee hee hee? maybe we can make it a regular thing officially~?’

He called it favours for favours, but really it's sex for sex, and the grimoire's kind of a bonus tossed in because it makes a neat story, for as far as he's concerned. He clearly didn't have any intentions of withholding it if Blitz wanted a different arrangment.

'Let's keep having dates under this little fun guise of borrowing my book, because hee hee hoo hoo that's a neat dramatic plot device just like in my novels'

He only way later clues into the implications of 'wait shit he does actually really need that book for real, this is kinda messed up despite never intending to lord it over him like this'.

Stolas *would* be the kind of dork to think of it like some romance story where the fated lovers come up with some cover story to continue their passionate forbidden tryst

... and it also makes scheduling really simple, HAH. 

(I mean scheduling can be *such* a pain in the ass, anyone who's ever played DnD would know that well enough, right~? Consistency is key ehehehehe.)

[anxiousthoughts365]

ur eighth year h/d shorts are so sweet! could u please do another h/d eighth year short where they confess their sexuality to each other? thank u! x

Thank you :) Of course

~🐍Drarry⚡️& Confessing Sexuality ~

No warnings apply

'You can't genuinely be this dense,' Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a slow breath to calm his growing anger before he straightened and fixed Potter with a glower. Potter who, frustratingly, simply sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised as he held Draco's gaze unflinchingly.

'I might be generally quite slow on the uptake, but I'm not dense,' the boy snapped, narrowing his striking green eyes when Draco scoffed. 'I actually happen to think it's a good idea. We just ask around to see which of the girls might have a perfume that smells like eucalyptus and amber, and Bob's your uncle.'

'Bob's my ... Who in Salazar's name is Bob?' Draco groaned, throwing himself down on his bed and running a hand distractedly through his hair. If he'd been looking, he might have seen how Harry followed the movement, how his gaze lingered on the soft fall of Draco's fringe over his eyes. Unfortunately, Draco was too busy rolling those same eyes to notice. 'What does that have to do with this?'

'Muggle saying,' Harry explained impatiently, waving one hand dismissively before he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. 'Look, I know it's taken a little time for us to get used to this new dorm situation, but I like to think we've made good progress. I'd even say we're friends. So why, as friends, is it such a bad idea for me to help you find a girlfriend?'

Draco swallowed against the words that were burning on the tip of his tongue, and not for the first time in his life he silently cursed Blaise Zabini. He was sure that the boy had something to do with Harry finding out that they had been brewing Amortentia in Potions again this year as part of their NEWT exams, something that the Boy Who Lived Twice wouldn't know as he'd declined to take Potions this year.

His so-called best friend had probably spent far too long orchestrating some situation that would mean the information was somehow discussed in Potter's presence, or something. And it wouldn't be unfair to assume that his so-called best friend had likely done this to advance some sort of agenda of his own. Possibly as a way to get closer to a certain red-haired Golden Trio member ...

He shook the thought from his head, and tried to concentrate as Potter kept talking.

'Come on, what's the hesitation here? Surely you want to find out who the scent belongs to?'

'I know who the scent belongs to,' Draco gritted out, refusing to meet the boy's gaze. Gods, he was being damned persistent about this ...

'Oh. Oh, well, great! Why don't you go talk to her, then? Or I can talk to her for you, if you like? You never know until you try, right?'

'Trust me, Potter, I know that it wouldn't work.'

'But why not? If this is another one of your I have a bad past so I must be a bad person things, then we've been through this already -'

'It's because it's your bloody scent, you absolute imbecile!' Draco snapped, his patience finally running out. He saw Potter's face twist in surprise, but now that the confession had started, Draco was struggling to make it stop. 'I don't want a girlfriend, because I'm gay, and my Amortentia smells like you, alright?! And you're not gay, and even if you were, I am fully aware that the idea of you returning those feelings is just absolutely ridiculous, so can we please, please just drop this?'

The silence that rang around his and Potter's shared 8th Year dorm room was deafening. Draco couldn't make himself look at the other boy, fully aware of what he would see. He was just building up the strength to get up and leave when Potter broke the silence.

'Do you know what my 6th Year Amortentia smelled like?' That made Draco pause, and he looked up reflexively. Potter's face was unreadable, but he was staring right at Draco, and something about the intensity of that look made Draco shake his head. Potter opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he managed to rasp, 'It smelled like nightshade, and cedar, and green apples.'

Draco froze, all of the breath knocked out of his lungs. Up until the events of earlier this year, he had worn the same cologne as his father, the cologne that had notes of nightshade and cedar in it. He had, of course, changed it after the war, but he had most definitely been using it during 6th Year. But that couldn't possibly mean -

'I told everyone that it smelled like baking and the Burrow,' Potter went on, his voice somewhat sheepish now. 'Because I was scared about what the true scents meant. But once I realised that someone can be attracted to both boys and girls -'

'You're bi?' Draco squawked, unable to help himself, and a lopsided smile pulled at the corner of Potter's stupid, plump lips.

'Somewhere on that spectrum, yeah,' the boy chuckled, but then his face turned serious again, and Draco's chest constricted. He felt as though he might truly burst when Potter levelled him with a steady stare and murmured, 'I wonder what I would smell in it now. Probably bergamot, maybe some vetiver. But still green apples, I bet.'

Unbidden, Draco's eyes darted across the room to their shared bathroom. Through the open door, he could see the shelf that held a number of different bottles of deodorants and lotions and potions. In amongst the collection was his current cologne. A cologne that smelled like bergamot and vetiver. He met Potter's gaze once more, and watched as the other boy's smile turned knowing.

Draco didn't dare blink when Potter stood, prowling across the room to hover over him, and he outright shivered when the Gryffindor leaned down and breathed in his ear, 'No matter what cologne you wear, you always smell like those apples, Draco.'

[searchingforserendipity25]

it's a good thing conclave didn't waste any time on making the stories about catholic orders and their in-fighting. and probably i shouldn't either because i am not informed enough about it to go on at length. pls take all of this w a grain of salt.

but i know in my heart of hearts that aldo bellini is a progressive liberal jesuit, the holy father's specialest most progressive liberal italian-american jesuit.

look at him. look at his glasses. those are the glasses of a man who did his dissertation on reinterpreting loyola through a contemporary reformist lens. academic wunderkid. has sooo much beef w the editors of american jesuit weekly. possibly the events of conclave are occurring in a better more beautiful world where aldo bellini is the editor of american jesuit weekly.

the late holy father for sure was a progressive jesuit also. vr pope francis coded. and low-key set him up as a successor. for a while, that seemed nearly a sure thing in some circles.

but there is the fact. well. the fact that everyone is tired, done and tired of jesuits, progressive or otherwise.

this among other factors meant he couldn't consider him the best option, besides whatever character judgement and uncanny machievallien prediction he came up with.

adeyemi has that benedictine swag which makes his potential election particularly seem like a breath of fresh air + reliable + lots of influence. tremblay is giving dominican drip and dominican corruption. and dominican flop. his nespresso machine? it's giving dominican also.

tedesco has to be an italian-founded order member. most hypocrital salesian of all times maybe?? this is unrelated to the fact that i was nearly enrolled in a salesian primary school and the weirdly panopticon-ish playground didn't pass the vibe check. and also because: consider tedesco rising in the ranks of an order created to help migrant workers...someone kick him in the head for me pls.

who even knows about benítez. i want to say franciscan but that might be just too on the nose. cistercian?? honestly it would work well if he is also without affiliation.

this lens does make lawrence's homily being interpreted as a campaign speech more understandable (and particularly funny).

because, as far as anyone can tell, he's fully running as an independent candidate. zero platform besides - if i fuck up i'll apologize and do better and be held accountable, which is more than any of you probably would.

and because he stands alone, he can be held accountable. he can belong to all, and not one faction only. as far as anyone can tell, he's burning bridges with bellini and rocking the status quo.

he is speaking to/from a place of frustration with institutional inertia and factionalism, he is using his position as dean to bravely promote a platform for internal change in the curia, he is offering doubt as an alternative to certainty, he is pulling an absolute wildcard move.

pity he didn't mean it.

pity the the only order lawrence is interested in joining is the most hardcore discalced carmelite experience possible.

you know how some people look into luxurious real estate listings like it's porn? that's lawrence w tiny monasteries. the sort of minuscule organization with not enough people for management to be necessary. too small for politics. as close to erasure as you can get in this world: no need to be useful.

serving god by existing only to meditate on him. a narrow slant of a life, at that. barely taking up space, barely casting a shadow.

his favorite is a decrepit wreck of a place in the middle of southern spain, nowhere. no wifi no speaking aloud no possessions. no shoes no food. no nothing, only prayer. and a big big sky overhead.

maybe that will fix his issues with reaching god. if that doesn't work he'll probably just wander into the tabernas desert and become an hermit. works for some people, supposedly; plenty of order founders seem to believe so, anyway.

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

Starting the Journey:

• 𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐦 •

Hellenic polytheism (commonly referred to as helpol and popularly, although incorrectly, referred to as hellenism or hellenismos) refers to the reverence and worship of the hellenic (greek) gods. Over the past 7+ years, the religion has seen a boon of new followers popularized by social media, books, and TV shows. While this is phenomenal, it's brought in an influx of young and/or beginner future worshippers with no clue where to start. And with so many different possible starting points, a plethora of gods, and that one deity identification spread floating around, this post serves as a path all on its own.

You can follow it to the T, or take the basics of it and forage ahead yourself!

As always, I am a single resource. Please remember that even though this post serves as a guide, your own research will benefit you far more. Let's begin!

0. Respect

The very VERY first thing to remember when beginning your journey with hellenic polytheism, is to remember this is a religion. Sounds obvious, right? But many people seem to forget that the gods are in fact, gods. They are ancient, and the religion is very much alive and thriving. Respect will always be ground rule 0, and approaching the gods casually or for shits and giggles is not only disrespectful to them, but the beautiful, rich, and thriving existence of this religion.

1. The Starting Point

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐏𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞

Starting the worship of the gods begins with learning about the god (or gods) you'll be revering. There's a plethora of books to start with; "Ancient Greek Religion", "Ancient Greek Cults", "A Companion to Greek Religion". And while you should ABSOLUTELY read these, I understand that that can be a bit daunting and scary. So your VERY BASICS, should be "The Homeric Hymns", *The Orphic Hynms", and "Hesiod Theogony: Work and Days."

These books will give you the foundational basics of the gods and their myths, as well as expose you to their cults, epithets, and titles. I know reading sounds like a bore and a task, but nothing feels worse than jumping head first into the religion and worshipping a god you know nothing about.

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

Research. Research. Research. All gods have domains, and the only way you'll find the god suited best for you, is to learn.

Perhaps you know Apollo as a sun and music god. But did you know he's also a god of medicine, with darted arrows that could grant sudden death or cause plagues?

Perhaps you know Ares as the god of bloodthirsty war, but did you know he's also the father of the Amazon-queens? Or the giver of food, as he assisted his newborn son in suckling milk from his dead mother.

The gods all have domains that are incredibly well known, but also far lesser known/popular ones. Learning these can help you decide which god is best suited for your worships.

Absolutely check out theoi.com for information on the individual gods and their domains. It also provides a great starting point for learning their myths, provides texts that pertain to them, and provides a list of their epithets and cult titles.

Yes, the constant research can be daunting and tiresome and boring. But this is the absolute BEST place to start. How will you worship a god you barely understand? How will you know what offerings are favorable to them? But most importantly, how will you be able to build a relationship with a god (kharis) that you barely know?

You can build the most beautiful altar in the world for them, but that altar will become empty decor if you don't know how to (safely) invite a god into the space and worship them properly. These are the fundamentals, and you will have an incredibly hard time getting any sort of fulfillment worshipping an ignored and empty altar.

𝐈𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮

A very popular thing beginners like to start with is "deity identification." This involves using a tarot deck, and a (typically) pre-made spread. The spread will assign a meaning to each card (their domain, their personality, what they want to work on with you, etc).

I do not advise this for beginners.

At least, beginners with no background in divination to that degree. There is a vast difference between using tarot to divine messages and advice from spirits and the universe, and using tarot to divine the identification of a god. This requires much more than a basic understanding of tarot, and a god can very easily scramble the card meanings to however they please. This can lead to a lot of confusion and frustration in beginners, as they don't know how to interpret these messages.

Don't focus on identifying a particular god yet. Instead, learn as much as you can and settle on a god you resonate with first. This god may or may not be one you worship for years to come, and it's okay to be cautious when dipping your toes into helpol.

02. The Path of Worship

𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬

Kharis is defined as "the exchange of goodwill and reciprocity between humans and the divine." It is the relationship you build with your god, and emphasizes the importance of the personal relationship we build with them through devotional acts.

It's asked a lot, "what can I, a regular small mortal, provide to an ancient god? How can I be beneficial to them?" And the answer is simply devotion.

Devotion is what the gods wants, and they enjoy/ indulge in our acts in their names. To give devotion is to recognize the gods as entities deserving of reverence. So how do we do this?

𝐌𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐚

Miasma is a sort of "spiritual dirtiness" upon a person, and is something that we as mortal pick up in every day life and is not necessarily considered "bad". It is an aspect that separates us from the divine, who do not collect miasma. It's important to note that this isn't equivalent to the Abrahamic version of "sin". Miasma can (in most cases) be washed away simply by the act of washing your hands. It's stated in quite a few places that one would use khernips for hand washing, although there is a floating beliefs that khernips is "water purifies by fire." Typically considered fire that a torch has been doused in and then used to wash one's hands.

However from the research I've personally done, this is never actually confirmed and khernips is simply clean water that one would wash their hands in.

There is also a belief that those with periods are considered miasmic before the gods and therefore shouldn't worship until 7 days after they stop bleeding.

There is no evidence (to my knowledge) that verifies this and periods are not typically mentioned in ancient Greek texts or sources. It seems to stem from the fact that most bodily fluids are considered miasmic to many of the gods (ie blood, spit, genital secretion such as cum, etc) and should not be offered. However, this does not state that someone on their period cannot approach the gods to provide offerings and worship, so long as the blood is nor being offered.

Certain miasmic impurities cannot be simply washed away, however, such as murder and being around the dead, and may require a purification ritual to be cleansed.

𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Offerings are the sacrifices we make to our gods. They are the gifts we give, and oftentimes tangible displays of our devotion and worship.

Offerings can be a wide range of things and depend on the god's interests, estates, and attributes. Learning a gods preferences will result in favor from them, and builds kharis and report with them.

Its also important to understand what your god doesn't like or enjoy. What is seen as favorable to one god may be offensive and displeasing to another. A very obvious example of this would be offerings between Aphrodite and Artemis. While Aphrodite would be pleased with an accept offerings reminiscent of sexual desire and acts (dedicated sex toys for example), this would be unfavorable to Artemis, a virginal goddess, who has no need nor desire for such things.

Understanding the preferences of your gods is key to providing worthy offerings.

𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐬

In addition to offerings, devotional acts are also a large aspect of building kharis. These can be large acts such as cleaning litter from beaches in the name of Poseidon or Amphitrite, or small acts such as devoting washing your face to Aphrodite. This post itself is a devotional act to Lord Hermes, who reveres the spreading and sharing of knowledge.

Devotional acts will fall under the domain of your god, and can be done simply by doing them, in their name.

Once again, ensure that your devotional acts aren't seen as unfavorable to your god. Poseidon will enjoy you donating to sea life preservative charities and beach clean ups, however that same act will be inconsequential to Ares.

𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐲𝐦𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Prayers are not typically seen as offerings, as an offering is a gift to that god with no expectations. That said, it is common to provide offerings during or after prayers. Prayers are requests and petitions made to a god in asking for assistance, whether that be for help in an issue, advice, help reaching a resolution to something, or even asking for a little extra help or luck throughout the day.

That said, prayers can also be used as offerings if used entirely to praise your god with no added requests. The different would be asking for anything in exchange. Prayers of petitions are not offerings, prayers of praise and reverence are.

If you're curious about the construction of prayers, you can check out my break down of crafting prayers!

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

Altars are stations dedicated to your god. They act as designated spots of worship to pray at, make libations, and make offerings.

Whike you may see a lot of altars floating around that are incredibly aesthetic, it's important to know that an altar doesn't have to be large and grand. It can be a dedicated shelf, the corner of a shelf, a shoebox, or even a small mint tin. The point is that it is a place of dedication for your god.

𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Libations typically preface offerings, although are not required for every single offeding or every single day. But they are wonderful for building kharis as you provide (and in some cases partake in) a drink for the gods. I go in depth on libations, how to do them, and common libations given in this post!

𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Now that you know how to worship, it's important to ensure your worships are recieved. Doing this is simple, and just required you inviting the god into your space. You don't need to do some large invokation like stated in my prayers post, especially if you're just making offerings. A simple "I dedicated this to [god]".

That said, it's always good to invoke properly when dedicating your altar to them. An invocation should include the god's name, and display that you know who they are. You can use epithets, parentage, residences, and domains in your invocations. An example invocation for Zeus could go something like:

"I call upon Zeus, the Supreme and most high. King of kings and head of Olympus, son of Rhea and overthrower of his father Kronos. I invite you into this space, crafted and dedicated to your might and grace."

With this, we have invoked Zeus and designation the altar as his own.

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Communication with a god can be a nerve wracking thing to start, but I can assure you they're not going to bite. There's a myriad of ways to communicate with a god, and its wholly up to you and them to decide what works best. Some people work best with tarot, others with oracle cards. Some prefer pendulums, ouija boards/spirit boards, dice, bones, runes, charm casting, or something else entirely.

If one thing is uncomfortable for you or doesn't seem to be working all too well, simply try something else. I akin it to fiddling with the antenaes of an old TV to try and get a signal from the divine. You have to find the position that simpky works best.

03. Walking the Path of the Gods

As we've discussed research and starting your worships, I want to briefly touch of potential paths that extend past simple devotion and worship. Namely, working with the gods and priestesshood.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐝

You'll see the term "deity work" floating around a lot. This refers to working closely with a god for the betterment of yourself and/or your life with that god's assistance. It typically comes after building kharis with that god, and an agreed upon decision to work together.

This typically comes after establishing kharis and worshipping that god, and I personally don't recommend attempting to jump right into it. Deity work is not only energy consuming, but directly calls that god to assist you closely and personally. Attempting to start this and simply walking away because you no longer wish to work with that god is a waste of their time and offensive. Be aware of that god's time, and respect it.

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭/𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝

Priest and Priestesshood are something I discuss quite a bit on my page, as a priestess myself. They go beyond simply working with a god, and become working for that god. If you're more interested in the topic, you can check out my post on the topic here ♡

•Common Questions•

Can I as a beginner worship multiple gods?

Absolutely. However I don't personally advise it. I suggest starting with one and getting used to worshipping in general. Then you can decide if you feel comfortable worshipping more.

Why don't you recommend using deity identification spreads?

This is a personal preference of mine, and its because I find them incredibly limiting and stiff. Gods are not the same as normal entities and spirits, and identifying them requires a degree of skill and knowledge of of not only your cards but the gods themselves.

Additionally, I find tarot for deity identification incredibly limiting. While it's phenomenal for communication, I believe tarot in combination with lenormand or oracle cards provide a much better understanding of who's around for identifications.

I got a reading that said X god wants to work with me but I don't think I'm ready. What do I do?

Politely decline. It's far better to ask a god to wait or inform them that you're not ready to take that step, than to trudge into something you're bor confident in. The gods are immortal, and our lives are a drop in the bucket to them. They don't mind waiting for when you are ready, if you'll ever be. You dont have to work with or worship every god that shows an interest in you and its not disrespectful to decline an invitation.

This was a long one! But I hope it's helped provide a decent foundation for you to start your own personal journey into hellenic polytheism. Please never hesitate to reach out with questions, and as always, safe travels ♡

ᵀʰᵃⁿᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˢ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵗᵒ ᴸᵒʳᵈ ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ, ʷʰᵒ ʰᵃˢ ᵖʳᵒᵛᶦᵈᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃᵗᶠᵒʳᵐ ᵗᵒ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗᵉᵃᶜʰ ᶦⁿ ʰᶦˢ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ. ˣᵃᶦʳᵉ ♡

[nightingale-prompts]

Time Off-DCxDP prompt

Getting Phantom to comply with anything is hard enough. He does his own thing more of the time. He is constantly shifted from team to team as a sort of contracted hero. He goes where he is needed.

So far they have learned a lot about his kind. Ghost were hard to pin down due to how different they behaved. One important thing they have learn is Ghosts have their own rules and one big rule is never skipping out on the holidays. They celebrate every holiday they can from Halloween, Christmas, to New years. They like these days. Other holidays like Independence Day depend on the ghost. But Phantom made it clear that they have their own holidays that were very important. If those days came up he had to adhere to them.

"A meeting. I can't go. Not next Saturday. It's the Veil's Thinning." Phantom said "It's the biggest part of the year."

The Thinning was the day the barrier between realms weakens and allows natural portals to form. It is the one day that they are given free rein to roam. They can visit family or finish their business. They even leave gifts or messages for the living.

"You can't come because of a party? Phantom this is serious business." Natman sighed.

"I am being serious. Your parents visit you every year for the Thinning and you can't even appreciate it. The least you could do is respect our traditions and leave an offering for them this year." Phantom pouted as he jetted off

**********

"I need a date to the Haunter's Ball. Or else Clock's gonna choose someone for me." Danny sighed flopping on the couch.

The Titans all glanced at one another to see who was going to try to claim the title first.

Phantom took the silence as a no.

"The ball is sort of like a fea party. Friendly hauntings, playing tricks on mortals, and attend a grand feast where we eat enchanted food. You have to dress in costume though. It also happens to fall on my death day so its a big deal if I don't go."

He conveniently left out that part that mortals who dare attend may earn favor with the Ancients—or become the subject of ghostly pranks.

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

Not every holiday is a celebration.

One day in particular was The Silence. A day of absolute stillness, observed once per year. On that day, all spirits cease their movement. It is a sacred time of contemplation, where ghosts meditate on their past lives and what lies beyond their new form.

Phantom took it very seriously. He sent it meditating in the Watchtower. J'onn joined him in silent contemplation. It's an emotional holiday.

It doesn't compare to the holiday that has no set date. The Unfinished Mourning. when a great tragedy befalls a world a large number of souls enter the realm on their way to the other side. Some stay, but most don't. Their deaths are often sudden and unfair. Ghosts of the recently departed come together to grieve alongside the living. Those who participate earn a brief moment of clarity, where they may remember their lives and speak their final thoughts before they depart to their afterlife fully.

Phantom isn't seen during this time. He is busy laying souls to rest and performing last rights. He knows the names of the dead and marks them all down so that they are buried properly. He tells families, the survivors of their loved ones' fate. He gives them final goodbyes. He takes the blame of angry citizens who tell him it's his fault. He is demonized most in these moments as a harbinger of death. He can not control what he is and knows his role is important. For the living and the dead.

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

On a very special night Phantom invites everyone to his favorite holiday. It was created for him after all. Clockwork named it thousands of years ago when Phantom accidentally created it. Long story.

The Night of Unanswered Whispers. A rare celestial event when the stars align in a specific pattern. Ghosts gain the ability to be heard clearly by the living but only in riddles and cryptic phrases. Many spirits use this opportunity to pass on secrets, hidden knowledge, or warnings. Scholars and mystics would spend the night deciphering ghostly murmurs in hopes of uncovering forgotten lore.

Ot was like a giant puzzle to solve as everyone could write down their messages and try to solve them. The Bat family members liked it as much as Danny did. Diana and Hal just liked the atmosphere. It was a nice moonlit picnic under the stars with wisps providing light.

(That's the end for now. I have 10 more holidays in mind.)

[fancyfeathers]

I love the batfamily and daughter series!!! Now, I know this would be incredibly difficult for daughter reader to achieve but what if she kissed someone at school? When they do ask she doesn't deny it she just says, "Yeah. I kissed that person. I like them and they're smart, talented, and respectful. Shouldn't you be proud I picked someone like that?" or something along the lines of it. Thank you for reading!!!!

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling Masterlist

She is absolutely in trouble, so much trouble.

Damian is the first person to find out because he sees it happen, it is after school and they are supposed to be heading home because Dick is picking them up and waiting for them. Damian goes out to look for her only to find her kissing a boy from her class in the staircase and oh my god he is pissed. If he had not been restraining himself for the sake of their civilian identities he would have probably beaten the boy to death or damn near it, but instead he shoves him against the wall, holding his collar.

“If you dare even talk to my sister again I will end you, do you understand me?”

“Y-yes”

He then proceeds to drop the boy to the ground and drag his sister along to the car where Dick is waiting and he immediately tries to defuse the situation when Damian quite violently shoves her in the backseat of the car.

“Hey, hey, Damian you know we don’t ever get violent with her-“

“She was engaging in inappropriate behavior with a boy in the stairwell, Richard. Which is also not allowed, father has made that very clear.”

“Let… let me talk to him about this, you two need to behave.”

He drives them both back to the manor and while no words are said the disappointment is incredibly heavy, she can see Dick looking back at her in the rear view mirror with glances that make her heart sink to her gut.

The thing is when they get home Bruce already knows what happened, the boy’s parents called the principal’s office and now there was a whole lot of trouble brewing because of their actions. Bruce scolds Damian first, because of his threat and violent action he may have and up getting expelled and so now they’ll be having the family over to make amends and clear up this whole mess. Then after that his daughter gets chewed out for breaking one of the rules, she’s far too young (even if she is a teenager by this point ), what if he finds out about their secret identities, what if she and her mother get put in danger because that information gets leaked? It is one of those situations where he speaks without letting her speak, letting go her guilt build up to get his point across.

“Father, he is the top of my class, he is part of the service outreach program, he is-“

“That is not the point, it is to keep you safe, to keep your mother safe. There are people out there who would hurt you and your mother if they found out. I am not letting anyone die again.”

“Father-“

“I will pull you out of school if you keep fighting me on this, young lady.”

“Fine…”

She just agreed to not fight him on this, not to not kiss or date the boy.

Tim found out by listening to Damian talking to a very stressed out Dick about it and well curiosity and caution get the better of him and he does a whole background check on the boy and his family to find something to show to his little sister that this is not the type of person she want to be around or dating-

Perfect, he is literally spotless, so is his family, quite literally model citizens.

He is very bitter about this fact and it only infuriates him more because he does not want his little sister with him but there is not solid reason to give. So when the boy and his parents come by to sort out this incident, Tim hates him already, he is just so insanely perfect.

Then there is Jason who looks like he is about ready to strangle the kid when he sees him walk through the door of the manor with his parents. Tim may or may not have found the footage of what happened in the school’s security cameras and shown them to Bruce and the others, and at first Jason did not really care, she broke the rules so she will deal with the consequences, but then he sees the video and he is pissed. That boy was practically feeling up his little sister and she was to him, but that doesn’t matter. Then also like Tim, he hates how perfect he is, literally nothing to really hate, he is respectful to his sister, talented, romantic, a goody two shoes.

The other family is very civil, even after the fact that Damian threatened their son. All of them have to keep calm when they see their little sister and this boy laughing and talking all during dinner. Bruce even had to grab Jason to hold him back when the boy kisses her cheek when saying goodbye after the incident has been resolved.

“What? Shouldn’t you be happy I picked someone who is nothing like you?”

She is grounded for half a year.

Aldo a little extra bit to think about, her boyfriend and his family being a part of the Court of Owls and he is a potential yandere for her, just a thought.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

I propose an idea! Romantic Yandere Mark Grayson with batsib mc….oh I can feel the chaos that these two worlds would bring😂

A/N: "BIYVjhKDjshuguj" was my inital reaction to this requests because this is tew good. If you've seen my Mark Grayson post then you know exactly how insane this mf is.

Warnings: Pure crack to be honest? Like this is not even a serious post. I was laughing the entire time. Don’t even know where I was going with this but…I had fun

Requests? always open!

Masterlist

Two black haired, attention whore yanderes with the same last name, walk into a room with their darling in it...who's winning?

I mean technically their meeting is not too far fetched. Mortal Kombat and DC had a crossover..and Invincible is also apart of Mortal Kombat which means- nvm, you didn't ask for that.

Here's the thing, everyone in the family dislikes Mark but yan! Mark and Dick HATE each other the most but because they are low key so similar. Mark is obviously way more extreme but i digress. He brings out the absolutely worse out of Dick.

Like Dick has picked up a Knife and contemplated murder.

Mark and Dick's interactions are hilarious though?? Like they both have the exact same fake smile and passive (heavy on the aggressive) behaviors.

"Ahhh, Mark, we're always pleased to host you since y'know your parents obviously need some sort of break from an irritant, such as yourself."

"Thanks, Dick! But regardless of how much of an irritant i am to them, least i still have two biological parents to care for me. Maybe it's because they're not patrons of the circus....?"

*backhands him*

Jason isn't subtle and has whipped out his guns, ready to blast that mf. He's been the closet to causing Mark to blow up the mansion. It was a whole thing and you dumped Mark over it but of course he gaslighted you.

I think the family doesn't like the fact you're dating someone who can easily take advantage of you. (ironic) Mark is clearly dangerous, he's half viltrumite and they may not know everything his people are capable of but they know he can cause a lot of havoc. Mark is not only a threat to you but to them as well. He puts them in a state of constant high alert. They're always staring him down, searching for any signs of danger. I'm sure Batman has a fail safe plan all ready to go. They are eager for the moment they can take this mf down. Do you think they have the supers on speed dial just in case? Ugh even uncle Clark is disapproving of this too.

Your sisters try endlessly to have heart to hearts with you because WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING????? MARK?! They'd rather you date poke-a-dot man or something because why????

Mark isn't a dumbass, he knows they hate him. He also knows just how scared they are of him and it gives him some sort of sick pleasure knowing he could truly have you all to himself if he really wanted to. But there's really no point in that yet, you're wrapped around his fingers. He totally has thought about going back to his planet with you and keeping your pretty self locked up where your family won't ever find you. That'd really stick it to em'

The cocky, manipulation is just oozing off him every time he's around. The way he shoots threatening looks towards your siblings when they try to get your attention or "playfully" insulting them. There's never a moment where his head isn't held high, looking down at your siblings as if they were beneath him...He runs this place when he's over. Which is all the time because Bruce is like okay, if you won't leave him, you have to be supervised.

Can you imagine combined family dinners with Mark's family and yours??? First, there is definitely a fight of who is sitting next to who. I'll say your brothers win this and are sitting on either side while Mark is fuming as he's across from you. The tension is so freaking high. It's rather silent around the table but everyone is looking at each other either like "I'm ready to kill him when you are" or "i'm going to kill you, mark...". I headcanon that even Bruce has beef with Nolan. They clash rather constantly on their differences of how to handle villains. Nolan is a stone cold killer to Bruce, who is rather set in his ways. It's no wonder Mark is his son. You aren't going to be with this kid for long. "So, Bruce? How's things on your side of town? Still letting your boyfriend out of jail so you can keep playing tag?" "The Joker isn't my boyfriend, i'm just not into murder, unlike some "heros" are. I like to set an example for my kids." "Ah, is that why Jason threatened to kill my son at gun point last month?"

You and Debbie are the only ones who like are trying to be civil and are sort of ignorant to everything going on.

"Um, so i made brownies with Mark's mother for everyone! Anyone want a piece?"

"Of course, love. You know your brownies are my favorite, i've been waiting all day."

Your siblings act like savages and eat the entire pan, stuffing it in their mouths so Mark cannot get any. Bruce doesn't do anything to correct his children out of spite.

Bruce is also debating on just handling them right here. He could have Kal-el over in matters of minutes and this could all be over with.

(Okay but Mark and Damien beating each other’s asses???? Damien cannot bite his tongue and Mark is trying to be nice because he’s a kid but he then Damien call him a "little bitch boy" and it pushes him over the edge. Mark just jumps over the table lollllll???? Sad thing is, Damien gets in tons of cuts with the butterknife he was just using for his sweetroll heheh))) "I though you were invincible...guess i was right in calling you a little bi-" "OH YOU'RE DYING TONIGHT"

[saddleseatollie]

okay okay as much as I love fics where everyone in the Devil's Pack knows about Hans and Henry, personally I think the only two that would actually know and say anything are Zizka and Sam.

Zizka is far too observant, especially when it comes to his men, to not notice the absolutely homosexual behavior those two got going on.

He knows better than to openly say anything/confront either about it though.

The closest he comes is when he catches Henry staring lovingly at Hans from across the tavern and just says "I hope you know what you're doing there" then walks away, leaving Henry sitting there like 😳

Sam, on the other hand, basically canonically knows if you romance Hans (his line when telling Henry to leave him in the Praguers camp changes ever so slightly if you romanced Hans)

Sam is basically incapable of not sharing his opinion at any given time, especially when it comes to Hans, so I think he would kinda tease/bully Henry about it in private.

Not in a homophobic way just in a "falling in love with a man is one thing, but did it have to be Capon?"

He also definitely gave Hans a vague sort of brotherly shovel-talk in the style of

"I don't care that you're a noble. Hurt him and I will skin you like a deer."

Kathrine also definitely knows or suspects but she's not gonna say a goddamn word about it. Very much a "I am simply not getting involved in whatever the fuck that is" mentality

Godwin thought they'd been together the entire time.

[aetherraeys]

bloodmoon pt2

(part 1)

remus lupid x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.9k

cw ⟢ swearing, harrassment, men being vile, blood, detailed description of pain, friends to lovers, slowish burn, biting, suggestive at the end

a/n: not proofread x SORRY THIS ACTUALLY TOOK DAYS IVE BEEN TRYING TO MAKE IT LESS THAT 12WC!! i hope you enjoy ,,, slightly obsessed with vampire!reader now.

“Finally realised she’s not the devil incarnate, have you, Moony?”

Its as though Sirius just physically couldn’t stop himself, everyone else had been ignoring it for weeks—the skeptically raised eyebrows changing into almost knowing looks. They’d all been silently watching.

Him and you, you and him.

How essentially overnight, Remus had become one of the people he used to openly scoff at, roll his eyes as if they’d fallen into some sort of trap that was only obvious to him. To his friends shock and relief, their dear old Moony, was not as immune to you as he’d made out to be.

Now, if anything, it seemed that he was more affected than anyone else, walking you from the slytherin common room, to the great hall, and back again—visiting you multiple times a day when you were working in the hospital wing. The complete 180 in the way he reacts to you, a sigh of relief when he sees you enter the room, rather than the erking gut reaction he had before.

And even as discrete as Remus has tried to be, he was unable to escape Lily’s watchful eye—having caught glimpses of a few Bloodsuckers rolling a round in the bottom of his bag.

It literally wasn’t even as secret as this point.

But, apparently unbeknownst to Sirius and Sirius alone, there had been an unspoken agreement: do not acknowledge it. Which explained why, the moment the words left his mouth, the entire table fell into a stunned silence.

A silence Sirius was still exactly one beat behind.

The ghost of a smirk still playing on his lips, Sirius barely had time to register James’ foot swinging under the table before—

“Ow! Bloody—fuck—” He doubled over, forehead colliding with the hard wood of the table.

By the time he pried his eyes open from the sharp sting of pain, everyone was staring at him with identical looks of disbelief, as if he were the idiot in the situation.

Raising his hands in surrender, he huffed, utterly perplexed by the turn of events.

“What?! So we’re all just supposed to act like it’s normal that one minute he hates her and the next he’s so far up her arse he could whisper in her ear?!”

At the very least, Sirius expected someone to back him up. James, maybe, because he was always on about Remus being a hypocrite. Or Marlene , who at least had the good sense to find humor in all of this.

But no.

Instead, James pinched the bridge of his nose like he was battling a migraine, Marlene muttered something that sounded suspiciously like for Merlin’s sake, Black, and Lily was just avoiding eye contact altogether, suddenly very interested in buttering her toast.

And Remus—Remus just sighed. That slow, patient sigh that meant he was this close to losing his temper, but he was doing that thing where he convinced himself he was above it.

“Pads,” he said, voice clipped, “I swear to God—”

“No, no, sorry,” Sirius cut in, straightening up despite the throbbing ache in his shin. “Am I the only one who remembers how you used to look at her like she’d burst into flames if you kept staring? How you’d turn green when she walked in the room?”

Across from him, James let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “Are you actually daft?”

Sirius just ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

He looked to Lily, hoping for a shred of backup, but the traitor was still focused on her toast. He turned to Marlene, but she just gave him a wide-eyed look that screamed drop it, Black.

He turned back to Remus, who was now very pointedly stirring his tea, as though pretending he wasn’t the center of attention would make Sirius forget the absolute insanity happening right in front of him.

“I hated her?” Remus repeated blandly, finally looking up. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

Sirius let out a laugh. Loud, disbelieving, scandalized.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocked. “What would you call it, then? Casual disdain? Deep-rooted, undiagnosed allergic reaction? Because I distinctly remember you not being able to stand within a three-foot radius of her without looking like you were about to be sick.”

At that, Remus’ jaw ticked. It was barely there, the kind of reaction only someone who knew him well would notice. But Sirius did notice, and so did James, and it was definitely why James suddenly went stiff beside him.

A beat of silence.

Before he could go off—before the tightness in his jaw and the twitch in his fingers could escalate into something actual. Just as the inevitable explosion was about to happen, Sirius bracing himself for the verbal annihilation that was surely coming—there was a sudden shift in the room.

You walked into the Great Hall, oblivious to the absolute war zone you were unknowingly interrupting.

Just barely brushing past him as you made your way to your seat, as always, Pandora on one arm, lolly in your mouth—as normal as ever.

It was nothing. Just a fleeting moment. The soft whoosh of your robes as you passed behind Remus, your fingers lightly skimming the back of his chair in a casual, absentminded way. Barely even a touch.

But it was immediate.

Remus’ shoulders relaxed. His hand, which had been clenched into a tight fist against his thigh, uncurled. The sharpness in his jaw eased, the tension around his mouth smoothing into something effortless.

He didn’t even turn his head. Didn’t watch as you crossed the hall to your usual table, settling in without a second thought.

But Sirius saw it all.

He saw the way Remus exhaled, slow and steady. Saw the way his fingers twitched slightly—like maybe they wanted to follow where you’d been. Saw the way, without even realizing it, Remus tracked your presence out of the corner of his eye before returning to his tea like nothing had happened.

Sirius gawked.

“You have got to be kidding me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the disbelief in it was palpable.

James cleared his throat, poorly disguising a smirk as he reached for the pumpkin juice.

“Pads,” he said, in a tone that was dangerously close to condescending, “I’d drop it if I were you.”

Sirius snapped his head toward him, scandalized.

“Did you see that?” Voice whispered, eyes gesturing wildly at Remus, who was now painfully composed, stirring his tea with the patience of a saint. “She brushed past him, and suddenly he’s a bloody monk! He was about to rip my head off, and now look at him—he’s practically floating.”

James just shrugged, taking a sip from his goblet. “Yeah, mate,” he whispered still, far too amused. Only mouthing his next words, in hopes to not break the peace—“We know.”

Remus quite literally looked as though he’d reached enlightenment, comfortable in letting himself ignore everything else around him.

He didn’t think it was weird how, as of late, his mind often wondered to you.

It seemed only natural really, you were more affected by him because of his condition, and he was more affected by you. Guessing that this was how everyone felt this whole time, drawn to you all the time—presence undeniably addicting.

Yeah. It made sense to him. A perfectly reasonable explanation.

That’s why he felt absolutely no way about having found himself in the hospital wing, yet again. Clearly once he’d been sucked into your orbit, there was no escaping—completely unavoidable, not that Remus was complaining.

You could smell him from a mile away, not even turning away from your station—

"Hello, Remus," you mused, setting down a tray of fresh bandages. "What is it this time?"

Remus hummed, glancing down at his hands like he needed to double-check. "Not sure yet. Give me a moment, I'll think of something."

Even during the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing, multitasking as he perched on the edge of an empty bed, silently observing your movements.

You were good company.

That was all the reason he needed.

All that mattered was the way the steady hum of your presence started to settled something deep in his bones, the way the corners of your mouth twitched in quiet amusement whenever your eyes caught his—half-exasperated, half-knowing.

Rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. "You do know this isn’t a common room, right?"

Remus exhaled a slow breath, something curling warm and weightless in his chest. "Strange," he said, tilting his head. "Feels like one."

You gave him a look, but he could tell from the slight twitch of your lips that you were trying not to smile. "Unbelievable," you muttered, shaking your head. "Well, since you're so comfortable, you might as well make yourself useful."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You turned away, reaching for the large pile of freshly folded bedding, before handing it to him. “Put these on top of the cabinet in the corner, since you’re clearly in no rush to leave."

He took the pile without hesitation, fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent something sharp and fleeting through him—odd, but not unpleasant. Not anything worth thinking about.

"Mm. Of course." Using his height to his advantage, placing them with ease. As much as he wanted to trail after you as you moved around the ward, he’d already been told—several times—that if he wished to stay, he needed to stay out of the way.

Even if he wanted to help it, he couldn’t. There was a pull to you, a presence that drew in attention in ways both subtle and impossible to ignore.

As much as it was special—it’s not something unique to him, at least. You had that effect on everyone.

Rather unfortunately actually.

Not everyone who was drawn to you, was quite as pleasant as Remus. You had a feeling he would come, saunter in—unbelievable high and mighty, friends trailing behind him.

Remus was still sitting on the empty bed, reading, as you packed up the last few things—only fifteen minutes left before the end of your shift. That’s why he was waiting, having fallen into the habit of walking you back to the common room—supposedly because ‘company wouldn’t hurt’.

The sharp inhale that left your lips had him sitting up straight immediately—alert.

“You okay?” Already walking over to where you stood, face twisted into an expression of concern, you simply shook your head—mumbling “Yes”.

Still training your gaze downwards, eyes almost twitching and lips pressed into a thin line. Then he heard them, not too far from the entrance—obnoxiously loud, howling laughter accompanying.

A clear grimance was stuck on your face now, placing a hand on his chest as you finally raised your eyes from the tray of empty vials you’d been sorting.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Voice suddenly hushed, hand lightly pushing him to sit in the far corner, out of sight. He didn’t protest, walking backwards in the direction you motioned him, despite the look of confusion, only asking—

“What? What’s the matter—“

You cut him off completely, practically pleading while you backed away to close him into the bay, brows knit high.

“Just promise you’ll stay here? Please?”

When he finally nodded, you shut the curtains behind you, taking in a final deep breath before plastering the most polite smile you could muster on your face.

It made you want to physically shrink into yourself, the arrogant, smug smirk his lips curled into when he saw you—as jarring as ever.

Avery.

Closely followed by Malfoy and Mulciber. Pathetic really, the lot of them. Walking around as if they were Heaven’s gift to earth, like they graced the presence of everyone they’d met. Fragile, weak men, who so clearly took pleasure in the discomfort they caused others.

So self-important and big headed that they can’t fathom the idea of rejection.

Because you had, in fact, rejected him.

But Avery was relentless—so used to being the one doing the discarding, so accustomed to having others scramble for his approval—he’d not taken it well.

You had tried patience. You had tried politeness. But it was becoming increasingly clear that neither would get you very far.

He leaned against the nearest bedframe, all mock ease and arrogance, his lips twisting into a grin that sent a fresh wave of repulsion through your stomach, setting uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

"Merlin, love," he drawled, letting his gaze drag down your figure, lingering far too long in places that made the surface of your skin crawl. "You really shouldn't be wasting your time in a place like this." He tutted, shaking his head in exaggerated pity. "What a shame—a pretty thing like you, running around cleaning up after other people's messes. Bet you could be doing something much more...suitable for a girl like you."

Malfoy and Mulciber chuckled under their breath, the former nudging Avery's shoulder as if egging him on.

"Shame she's not taking any applicants," Mulciber added with a grin. "Not officially, anyway."

Spine becoming taut, you didn’t even try hide the way your expression visibly distorted into disgusted frown.

Avery’s grin widened, his tone dropping into something lower, more vile. "Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got better things to do than play nursemaid to a bunch of useless sods," he said, stepping forward. "That uniform—" He whistled, dragging his eyes over you like you were something to be had. "Merlin—makes a man wonder, doesn't it?"

Roughly dropping the empty vial he’d been fiddling with back into the tray—"Bet you'd be a real treat with a bit less of it on."

The pressure in your jaw from the clench sent sharp pangs through your skull, stomach twisting.

"Shame, though," Avery continued, completely ignoring your stiffened posture, "a bird like you, wasting away in a place like this when you could be spending your time with someone who can show you a good one, a real man."

"Yeah?" you deadpanned. "Where would I find one of those?"

Mulciber let out an obnoxious bark of laughter, while Avery's smirk wavered for the briefest moment before he recovered.

"Feisty," he mused, tilting his head, eyes glinting with something nasty and superior. "I like that."

Knuckles white, fingers numb—you were sure your nails had drawn blood from their harsh digging into your palms.

"But let’s be honest, love," Avery continued, stepping even closer, his voice taking a somewhat conspiratorial cadance. "A girl like you—" He clicked his tongue. "I know what you really are. You act all high and mighty, like you’re better than us. But I reckon if I just—" He reached out toward you, fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. "Pushed a little, you’d fold like the rest of them."

That was it.

"Right," you said, voice cold and even. "If you haven't got anything wrong with you, feel free to leave. I've already given you my answer." Snatching your arm away from him as though he was something filthy—purposefully dusting off where his fingers had been with a loud, “ugh,”

It was painfully silent, and for a moment Avery didn’t move.

His smirk vanished.

Its replacing expression, something ugly, almost unhinged—filled with malice, his nostrils flared as your words, your viseral reaction set in.

"Right," he sneered, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath between you. "Of course. Because you think you're too good for me, don’t you?"

You stood your ground, not moving an inch—but the fury radiating from him was palpable.

"Don’t you?" he repeated, louder this time, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, puffed out as if to make you cower before him.

A dramatic sigh passed your lips, head rolling over your shoulders—when you looked back at him, an almost devious smirk played on your lips and with a condescending, feigned sympathetic coo, you responded.

“Yeah…I do.”

And that’s what really did it.

Avery’s lips curled into something vicious, eyes narrowing.

"It would be real unfortunate if something happened to that pretty little face of yours," he murmured, voice mockingly sweet but dripping with spite, his finger suddenly reaching up—so light, so deceptively gentle as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You began physically recoling away from his touch, but his fingers gripped the bottom of your jaw—holding you in place, "Seeing as that’s all you really have."

A hand clamped down over his wrist.

It happened so fast—one moment, Avery was inches from you, the next, he was yanked back, spun around so fast that his head barely caught up before he was staring at the broad chest of someone towering over him.

Remus.

He wasn’t angry.

No—anger was too simple, too small.

He was seething.

His grip on Avery’s wrist was bruising, his knuckles white with the pressure. His expression, usually so composed, so calm, was something terrifyingly unreadable.

"You’re a sick bastard, you know that?" Remus finally said, voice eerily smooth—so quiet it sent a shiver of something primal down everyone’s spine.

“Pestering a girl who’s already rejected you, and when that doesn’t work, you threaten her? Because your fragile ego couldn’t stomach the idea of her not wanting you?”

Avery sneered, yanking his arm, but Remus didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“You’re a sick little boy with nothing to offer,” Remus continued, slow and deliberate, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I mean, it’s no wonder no one wants you—you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Avery’s face turned red—not just with fury, but humiliation. His eyes flickered to Malfoy and Mulciber, both of whom had stepped back ever so slightly, watching with careful amusement, not stepping in. The muscles in Avery’s jaw ticked. His free hand twitched, curling into a fist.

Remus didn’t so much as blink.

The cracking, whining sound of the hospital wing doors is all that was heard.

“What on earth is all this commotion?!”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp voice cut through the ward, almost bouncing—echoing violently off the walls, her stern expression making even Malfoy stand a little straighter. She narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking between each of you before they landed on Avery.

Yanking his arm from Remus’ grasp, stepping back with a sneer.

"If you’re not sick, you’ve got no business being here," she snapped. "Out—the lot of you!"

Avery was still enraged, but he knew better than to argue.

"Disgraceful," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she turned to you, her hand coming onto you shoulder with a soft pat. "You’re dismissed for the evening, dear. Go on and get some rest."

You exhaled slowly through your nose, lips still pursed into a thin line, nodding.

But just as you turned to leave, Avery leaned in just close enough for only you to hear, voice low and dark.

"You’ll regret this," he murmured.

Then, with one last glare at Remus, he turned on his heel and stalked out, Malfoy and Mulciber following close behind.

You still hadn’t moved from behind your station, lost in deep thought, goosebumps still raised on your neck from Avery’s vile touch—the blood beneath your skin felt warm, too warm and buzzing with something you’d only describe as fury.

Gaze still fixed on an unimportant spot of the floor, the agitation seemed to only swell, invasive—inevitable, its just that you couldn’t believe it.

The audacity, the nerve, and on top of that; you let him get to you, knowing he relishes in the rise, knowing—

Warmth and a gentle hand, ghosting over your spine is what broke your chain of thought, you could still feel the skin of your cheeks internally burning. If it was anyone else, you would have flinched away, but, it was Remus.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his hand settle lightly against the small of your back, grounding. You finally took the steps to remove your dressings, hanging them by the doors—still warmed by the heat radiating from his palm.

A silent question, a quiet offering of comfort.

You exhaled, long and slow, willing away the leftover tension still coiled in your muscles. It didn’t work. Barely having made it half way through the walk to the common room, almost trudging to a stop—footsteps getting heavier the further you walked.

“That was—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as a humorless huff left your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Remus’ fingers twitched against your back, the only sign of the anger still simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, you didn’t deserve it,” His voice was even, comforting but still slightly strained, turning the last corner before reaching the dungeon, he pressed further—“You know that, right?”

Pausing outside the common room door, you nodded, rolling your shoulders as if that would shake off the lingering filth Avery had left in his wake.

“I know,” you muttered. “Doesn’t make it feel any less disgusting.”

Remus didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, his hand slipped from its place on your back, pulling you in lightly by your wrists towards him. Engulfing you completely, arms firmly wrapped out you, anchoring—when you lifted your head to look at him, he was already looking down at you. Eyes swimming with sympathy and unspoken words of compassion that just escaped him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, searching his face. “Step in like that.”

The way his brows furrowed made it seem as though the thought had never even occurred to him.

“Of course, I did.” The answer was simple, final, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to him, it was.

You studied his face for a little while longer, the look in his eyes so unbareably fond, it had the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end—you forced yourself to look away shaking your head, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of your lips.

Just the glimpse of your smile had a small twinge of pride blooming in Remus’ chest—unable to avoid the way his lips mirrored yours, forming a crooked one. Having felt the tension in your shoulders melt away, the way you comfortably tilted your head up at him again—a soft, sincere “Thank you,” resting in the air between you, he allowed himself to relax.

Ever so slowly, reluctantly, you were putting space between you, arm trailing down his as you walked backwards towards to door, drawing out the seconds so you could absorb his warmth just that bit longer.

“You don’t have to thank me,”

Still basking in the lasting grip of his hand on yours, arms stretching out and away from both your bodies, inching painstakingly back—”I know,”—the words were soft, airy—fingertips just barely connecting now, eyes locked with his.

The heavy sound and creeking of the door, is all that hung between you for a few long moments, both still savouring the last whisps of skin on skin—until your back was pressed against the door, a lazy smile spread across you lips, breathing out—”Goodnight, Remus,” before finally disappearing behind the cold metal.

Not even moments after you were out of his sight, he sighed, almost dreamily—fingertips still buzzing from your touch, he ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting it drag down the side of his face. Settling on his lips, still stretched into a cheesy grin as he started his walk back to his common room.

After that day, Remus somehow found a way to make sure you were rarely alone, always with you on your shifts, putting imperative effort into essentially escorting you around the castle—its not that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself.

It was that Avery was notoriously cruel and twisted on his own, but with the added encouragement of his entourage, and the burning desire Remus knew he had to defend his bruised ego.

It felt necessary to him.

He’d been so thorough, that even as the full moon came and went—Lily had coincidentally taken the time to join you before the end of your shift, grabbing dinner in the great hall every night that Remus was away. You were almost never alone.

Almost.

To and from classes, it became a bit harder to ensure you had company. But quite frankly you weren’t convinced it was necessary at all. It’s not just that you weren’t particularly fond of people taking time out of their day to get you from point A to point B.

It’s that you didn’t even believe Avery was actually going to do anything, it had been almost two weeks and he still had yet to utter a single word to you. Apart from the occassional glare from across the great hall—Avery’s little threat had been relatively harmless.

You didn’t even grant him the satisfaction of acknowledgement as you walked by him and his friends while they sat on a bench in the courtyard. And even as another snide and vulgar remark reached your ears, you continued to where you needed to—completely unfazed.

Though, it did make the grip you had on your textbooks, that tad bit tighter. Taking in a deep breath, you told yourself—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

It seemed that Avery was a bit of an opportunist, waiting for the right time to jab at you, waiting until you were alone.

One after the other, they hopped off the bench—trailing after you, the scuff of boots against the dry ground, the low murmurs of laughter that sent a wave of irritation down your spine. It was calculated—deliberate, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the courtyard—students milled about in the distance, not too many, just enough.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Avery’s voice was deceptively light, laced with the same condescension that it dripped the last time. “You’ve been awfully rude, you know. Ignoring me like that.”

You sighed through your nose, forcing your steps to remain even—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

A presence at your side. Another just behind. You were surrounded, their shadows stretching long under the fading sunlight.

“I’m busy, Avery—don’t you have a stone to kick or something.”

His smirk twitched, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers flex like he was resisting the urge to grab you. “You know,” he said, voice all mock thoughtfulness, “I wasn’t going to let you get away with what happened in the hospital wing.”

That made you stop.

The words dug under your skin, prickling, burning, unrelenting—you turned sharply, finally looking him in the eye.

Avery smiled, slow and victorious, relishing in the reaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, taking a deliberate step closer.

The urge to wipe that smug, entitled look off his face clawed at your insides.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think you’re being gracious, do you? Letting me ‘get away with it’? What, so I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy?”

Avery’s smirk twisted.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show a little gratitude,” he mused, eyes flicking down your body with a slow, assessing gaze had you fighting every urge to not simply swing at him. “You’ve been walking around here like you’re above people. You ought to be taught a lesson.”

He took a step closer, a sick, dread beginning to pool in the pits of your stomach, fingers twitching for your wand—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

“That uniform of yours,” he murmured, tilting his head like he was considering something. “You have to know what it does, don’t you? Little skirt, all dolled up like you’re just begging for attention.”

Eyes darkened with something vile.

“Though I suppose you’re already getting plenty of attention, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Flitting around in that little thing, acting all innocent, when we both know what you are.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make it invasive.

“Lupin have you playing nurse, is that it? Bet he just loves having you at his bedside, don’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dropped lower. “Bet you wouldn’t even have to ask to get on your knees for him.”

You’d finally had enough, completely disgarding your textbooks to the floor as your shoved him back aggressively. The heated argument erupting in no time—vexed and roaring, “All this bitching because one girl doesn’t want you—pathetic!” You almost didn’t recognise your own voice, shrill, abrupt, nasty.

Words violent and clashing against his, boiling and sharp, insults spewing, slicing through the once peaceful air of the courtyard. A few heads turned, a few onlookers slowing their steps as the tension grew thick, simmering with something electric, something dangerous.

It was the principle, you refused to back down.

Refused to let him win.

And when the venom on your tongue reached its peak, when you could no longer stand the sight of his smug, entitled face—taking a step back, face twisted and scrunched into a look a revolt, while you surveyed him. Eyes scanning from head to toe, you let out a loud, bellowing incredulous laugh before spitting, “You’re not even worth it, Avery. Infact, you’re a waste of time and good air,”

Then you turned away.

Disregarding—dismissed him like he was nothing.

The sharp crack of an insult, a curse from Avery’s lips, venomous and unchecked.

And that was when it happened.

You heard the whisper of fabric, the flick of a wrist—the fizzling hiss of magic.

The moment was barely a fraction of a second, having put just enough space between you, there was time—you’d be quick enough to deflect it—the hex. Every instinct, every reflex kicking and screaming to do so, to move, fight back before it hit you.

But—there were just too many people.

Too many bodies standing in your proximity, too many possible targets, too much risk of having someone else caught in the crossfire. Enough time to deflect, not enough to redirect—you’d have no control over where it would go, you didn’t even hear the curse he muttered, no chance of knowing what it could do, no control of who it could hit.

So you made a choice, bracing yourself, every muscle of your being constricting, becoming taut.

You took it—biting into your lip as the awful, searing burn of the spell made contact with your back, the impact making you seize up even further, hurtling forwards, upwards.

The world around you blurred, spun—then—

Stone.

A sickening crack as the side of your body collided with the hard stone of the courtyard walls, ribs taking the brunt of the impact, before you bounced off it, gravity pulling you down. Slamming against the firm ground with a dull thud.

At some point, Regulus has caught sight of the commotion and was already running to the great hall in search for his brother—who would without a doubt be with Remus.

Pain exploded through your side, agonising, blooming mercilessly with every breath, every slight movement. The sharp stinging throb of your ribs, your lungs burning as the weight of every inhale pressed against the bones—each one more of a struggle than the last.

Curling in to yourself, hand desperately clutching at your side—eyes squeezed shut, the world sounded so distant, muffled, the first thing you register was the silence—all you could feel was the small shards of grass brushing against the side of your cheek with each shaking tremble of your body.

Then, a second later—murmurs. A ripple of shocked voices.

A small crowd had formed, hesitant, concerned, a voice was so close but so far away you wouldn’t make it out over the gurgling, rushing sound that floated between your ears—instictively raising a hand, a signal—stay away.

Barely hearing the sharp gasp from somewhere in the distance—the sound of loud panicked footsteps—running. Unsure of how much time you’d spent laying there—only disturbed by the way the footsteps made your body shake as they got closer, you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the desperate calls of what you thought might have been your name.

Hand coming into contact with something hard and hot—trying to push it away, it was all too much and you were still—the pain of movement so overbearing. Pushing through the crowd, his heart rested firmly in the pits of his stomach at the sight of you—fragile, just a small mass of robes, folded into yourself.

Eerily similar to that morning two moons ago.

He scooped you up quickly, despite the weak and pitiful protest that left your lips, the heartbeat that was now pressed close to your ear was mildly soothing—familiar.

Remus.

Each one of his rushed jolting strides made the stabbing pain in your side more noticeable, and though the voices blurred and blended into eachother, you could make out three, maybe four other sets of rushed footsteps behind you.

A mild, faintly sweet smell of anti-bacterial filled your nostrils, the hospital wing. Even in his panic, you could recognise the overly catious, gentle way Remus set you down on bed—still pained whimpers spilled from your lips, once again curling in on yourself.

Pomfrey’s voice was sharp and alarmed, bringing you ever so slighty back into the room, she was telling, no asking something, and Regulus’ voice chimed in.

“It was Avery, he hexed her while her back was turned—coward.”

You could feel the heat of Remus’ hand on your back, trying to sooth you, calm the injured groans that you couldn’t hold in. And as Pomfrey’s gentle hand came to move yours from their desperate grasp on your side, you squirmed away—cracking an eye open as another wave a pain radiated through your body.

She shushed you, voiced becoming more tender and quiet—”You have to let me see, dear,”

Slowly, reluctantly, you withdrew your hands, breaths becoming more shallow with each moment, and as she lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing your skin, a chorus of horrified gasps sounded around you.

Your side adorned with dark splotches of red and black and blue surrounding the area, streaking up your side in cruel, uneven smears. The skin was swollen, raised in places where the bone had set wrong—a clear distorted, raised bump peaking at the side. Flinching sharply at the prodding touch Pomfrey pressed into you, hands gripping the sides of the bed in restraint.

“Oh dear,” The grave tone in which she spoke did not give Remus the sense of comfort he was looking for, brows knit high on his forehead, and like the others, gaze transfixed on the huge blossoming mark on your side.

She turned in a flurry of motion, disappearing behind the curtain only to reappear moments later, her expression unreadable but urgent.

They waited anxiously to be in the know. Barely minutes had passes since your arrival, and a sobering silence had already hung in the ward, the only audible sound was you.

The laboured, heaves and cries you struggled to contain.

No one spoke.

Lily and James stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, their worried eyes darting between you and Pomfrey. Regulus was deathly still, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Finally, after multiple rounds to and from the cabinet Pomfrey, took the first of three vials and put a few drops of the cloudy white liquid under your tongue, doing the same with a few more drops from a vial with green liquid—it must have been foul tasting from the way your body stiffened with a small retch. With a deep breath, she announced to them—

"This is nasty business," she said, voice low, steady. "I’ll need you to hold her down."

Remus’ head snapped up.

"What?"

His hand had come up to your head, stoking the hair that had stuck to your face away—sweat prickling at your hairline.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate.

“She has a broke rib, it’s healing in the wrong position,” her hands her already moving to press against the swelling at your side, even as you twisted in agony, she continued,

“I need to re-break the bone.”

Eyes nearly popped out of his head, heartbeat ringing loud in his ears—though still not loud enough to drown out the constant shallowed, wheezes that left you, littered with moans of distress that got weaker as the seconds passed—your lungs struggled to fill with enough air to support your voice.

Re-break the bone.

It sounded so clinical, so matter-of-fact, so detached from the reality of what it actually meant.

Your breaths were coming too shallow, too fast, your vision slightly spotting at the edges. The sharp, stabbing ache in your ribs with each inhale made it impossible to breathe properly. Every tiny movement sent daggers through your body, the weight of it all crushing.

“But she’s still awake,” James whispered mostly to himself, soft, quiet—but everyone still heard.

The words rattled around in your skull, sinking past layers of pain and exhaustion, now, you were panicking, hand frantically clawing up Remus’ forearm.

“We don’t have time to wait for a sleeping potion to work, it’s already healing as we speak.”

Your vision was blurry, but you could feel Remus’ hand against your forehead, could hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice.

“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” What else could he have said?

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing anyone could do but hold you down and watch.

It needed to be done, you understood that, but it didn’t make your next words any easier to say, every syllable a struggle against your fractured ribs, “Do it now—,”

Pomfrey nodded.

James and Regulus hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, grim-faced, exchanging silent glances before reaching for you.

James’ hands found your shoulders, firm but careful, his grip like iron. Regulus settled by your legs, a single hand pressed against your thigh, his face etched with a deep frown—your pain so clear, so raw he couldn’t look at you. Lily hovered just beside him, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you herself.

And then there was Remus.

His hands were steady, one gripping yours tightly, the other resting against your head, his thumb brushing against your temple in slow, comforting strokes, feeling truly tormented—harsh wrinkles between his brows as he winced with you. Dreading the idea that you will now know of a pain so awful and familiar to him.

Pomfrey took a deep breath—"On three."

Your own breath caught by the lump in your throat.

"One.”

Gripping on Remus tighter, gaze fearful as it fell on him.

"Two."

Your body tensed, finally screwing your eyes shut, forcing the brewing tears out the corners, instinctively bracing—

"Three."

The crack was sickening.

But the sound that followed was much much worse.

Your jaw slacked releasing a truly blood-curdling, tortured, harrowing, an ear-splitting scream—it ripped through your throat, hoarse and choked, resonating through the ward with an echo.

A pain unlike anything you’d ever known exploded through your side, hot and sharp, rattling up your spine and everywhere. It felt like being torn in half, deep and intense. Your body tried to arch away, escape the splittering agony that set every nerve on fire, but James held you down, gritting his teeth as you thrashed weakly against him.

Only able to focus on the reorganising of bones at your side, the low grinding and shifting sound you heard from within yourself.

A fresh wave of agony struck—white-hot and blinding—and suddenly, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stay awake, head lolling in clear delirium, vision blurring, blackening at the edges, sob ridden whimpers and hiccups still tumbling out between wheezes, your grasp on Remus faltering.

Your vision tunneled, black at the edges, fading—

"Stay with me, y/n,” he whispered, voice raw—wrecked, laced with something aching. "You’re okay."

You didn’t believe him.

The slow and gentle soothing, lulling stroke of his palms over your hair matched the pattern his fingertips ghosted over your hand, fingers intertwined—he held your hand close, pressed to his chest as if letting you go would mean losing you completely.

Still reeling from the pain, nerve endings on fire, all you could muster the strength to produce was one word, weak and unsteady—”Remus?”

Pomfrey worked quickly again, pressing another vial to your lips, the taste barely registering past the burning in your chest—applying a large bandage coated in medicinal ointment to your side. Remus took the small towel by the bedside, softly dabbing off the beads of sweat that remained on your forehead—

"Breathe, love," he murmured, voice soft as silk, but no less urgent. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Your lungs shuddered—staggering at the effort, the air thick, heavy, impossible to take in. But you tried. The worst of it dwindled away, not gone, not by a long shot—but enough for the unbearable pressure to settle into something dull, something that no longer consumed everything.

Your body went slack.

Regulus let out a long, slow breath.

James loosened his grip, rubbing a hand over his face.

And Remus—His legs almost gave out beneath him, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat as he took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like forever, and he leaned in closer—the idea of continued space between you was basphemous.

No one spoke.

For a long moment, the only sound in the ward was the shallow, uneven rhythm of your breaths.

"It will heal properly now," she said, her voice more gentle than before, but edged with a small tinge of relief, “I slowed her healing, so the pain will linger for a few days. She’ll need rest.”

Then she was gone, disappearing behind the curtain, leaving the rest of them standing around your bed, and Remus—he only stared at you, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing the back of your hand, eyes running over your exhausted figure, eyes clearly heavy with the grueling after effects of your ordeal.

A long silence stretched between you.

Letting out a slow, jagged, painful inhale, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips to no avail—it was hushed and raw, “Water,”

Remus all but scrambled to get the small metal cup by the bedside, gently slipping a hand under your neck to tilt your head forward—helping you take a few sips. The others all just watch the scene unfolding infront of them, the comfortable way you leaned into Remus’ touch, the unnecessarily fond and tender look in his eyes as he instinctively dotes on you. How his hand trailed back to yours, drawn in to it like a magnet.

Lily couldn’t help the small knowing smile that twitched onto her lips.

Then, the heavy wooden doors of the hospital wing slammed open abrupty with a force that rattled the glass vials on Pomfrey’s shelves.

Everyone’s heads snapped up.

Sirius stood in the entrance, his chest rising and falling with sharp, heavy breaths, his knuckles raw and split. His robes were disheveled, streaked with dirt and something darker, something red. And in his grasp, dragged by the scruff of his collar, was none other than Avery.

Or, at least, what was left of him.

Avery was battered—face swollen, a deep gash running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, lip split so severely that blood had seeped into his teeth. His robes were torn, dirt and grime smeared across the fabric, and his wand—his precious, useless wand—was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius took a few steps forward, his grip tight on Avery’s collar, until they were just a few paces away from your cot.

And with a sharp jerk, he threw Avery to the floor.

The Slytherin crumpled like a ragdoll, landing in a heap at the foot of your bed, groaning as his battered body hit the stone.

Pomfrey gasped, hand flying to her chest.

"What on earth—"

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

He stood over Avery, hands curling into fists at his sides, his entire body still taut with adrenaline. For a long, stretched-out moment, he simply stared at the boy on the ground, nostrils flaring with every furious breath, as if daring him to move. Then, voice low and seething, Sirius asked,

"Haven’t you have something to say?"

The room was silent.

Avery coughed, his body shuddering with the effort.

Straining yourself to move further up the bed—you watched with everyone, every breath rattling in your lungs, eyes dark and cold.

Avery hesitated for a second too long, and Sirius moved—a single, sharp step forward, hands twitching, still ready to rip him apart.

"Alright!" Avery wheezed, flinching back. "Alright!"

The silence stretched thick.

"I did it—I hexed her!"

The words came out weak, broken, almost panicked—pathetic.

Sirius said nothing, only raised a brow, unimpressed.

Avery swallowed hard, shifting painfully on the floor.

"I’m sorry."

There it was.

Sirius still didn’t speak, just watched him, waiting—the digust dripping off of the scrowl that sat on his face.

"He—" Avery’s voice cracked, shaking violently as he forced himself to continue, "—he didn’t do anything to me. I just…" His throat bobbed, his entire face twisted in humiliation. "I just walked into the Whomping Willow."

James was grinning now, shaking his head in mock pity. "Wow. That’s just—" he let out a low whistle, "—real unlucky, mate."

Sirius smirked, slow and dangerous.

But Remus wasn’t smiling.

He was staring at Avery, his face unreadable, his grip on your hand still firm but not tight. He hadn’t said a single word since Sirius arrived, hadn’t moved a muscle—just watching.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he rolled out his shoulders, like he was only just calming down from whatever happened before he’d stormed into the ward.

Then, crouching down so he was eye level with Avery, he grinned.

"You should consider yourself lucky," he mused, voice dangerously casual, "because if it were up to him?" He tilted his head, nodding over to Remus, smile sharp and positively wolfish. "You wouldn’t be conscious right now."

Avery’s entire body shuddered.

Sirius only chuckled darkly, clapping him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him flinch.

“Off with you now, before Remus decides to be less forgiving,”

Avery swallowed thickly, glancing toward the matron—who, while still clearly appalled, had her arms rigidly crossed but was making no move to defend him. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself off the floor, every movement making him wince. And then—without another word—he turned and limped toward the exit, humiliated beyond belief.

The moment the doors shut behind him, a collective breath was released.

Remus turned his attention back to you, the anger that previously blazed in his eyes melting away in seconds, another smaller, more comfortable silence lulled over the ward. Sirius turning, and as he took the last few steps toward your bed, looking you up and down, taking in the way you were still clutching weakly at your ribs, holding onto Remus, he let out a breath, asking—

"You alright?"

The very corners of your lips curled, twitching up every so slightly as you huffed out a choked snicker, and though it was cut off by a sharp hiss—you were clearly amused. Letting your head fall back tiredly with—”I’m alright, much better now,”

Pomfrey slipped through the curtains again, and while she changed the small now sweat ridden towel by your bed, refilling the water, she said—

"I assume I don’t need to tell any of you to let her sleep."

She eyed the group pointedly.

James had the decency to look sheepish. Lily nodded. Regulus said nothing, but his arms were crossed, as Sirius rested his elbow on his shoulder—the usual indifference returning.

But Remus, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand away—you looked so tired, probably wanted some rest, but he was frozen in place, stuck by your side.

Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, almost to herself, "just don’t let me catch you keeping her awake."

He let out a sigh of relief as she left, the others slowly filtering out, Lily giving your hand a comforting tight squeeze as she left. Remus pulled his chair up closer, allowing his body to lean slightly on the bed, just watching you eyes full of worry.

It was slowly and shaky, but you brought your free hand up to him—he stayed still, watching expectantly for your next movements. Your fingertips threading slightly through his hair in a gentle stroke, pushing it away from his face—mirroring his from before.

But yours slipped down and settled at the base of his neck, fingers still curling around the strands—touch too tender. Eyes scanning his face just as much as his were scanning yours.

“You don’t need to stay here—I’ll be fine for the night,” It came out heavy and mumbled, less convincing than you’d hoped. His face flashed slightly with an almost offended expression, the idea clearly never having crossed his mind.

“I want to stay,”

His words were plain, honest—left little room for protest on your end, but you still tried. And even as your eyes got heavier, sleep weighing heavy on your body—”But you can’t sleep on that chair all night, you’ll break your back,”

A huffed laugh came through his nose, typical crooked smile playing on his lips—”I’ll be fine—”

“Come up here,”

Yours words cut him off, light and simple, and you shuffled over onto your side—lips pursed to hold in a wince, making space for him before he could protest. His eyes just darted between you and the now open space, trying and failing miserably to stutter out an excuse—but the sleepy bored look in your eyes, accompanied with the light pats on the bed made him relent.

Slipping into the bed, careful not to knock you and keeping a safe, meticulous distance from you, you couldn’t help yourself, eyes rolling with a dramatic sigh—”I’m not made of glass, y’know,”

Watching as his form relaxed a bit, taking up more space, you slowly curled into the gap he’d left, drapping the thin cover over you both, humming as you finally closed your eyes. He watched you settle carefully, hesitating before bring an arm around to softly pull you in slightly closer to him, the smile twitched onto his face, when you unconsciously burrowed into him—allowing sleep to over come him too.

The change between you wasn’t instantaneous, nor was it something either of you consciously acknowledged. It was slow, creeping, like ink bleeding through parchment—gradual, yet utterly inescapable.

Because it wasn’t just that night you spent in each other’s comfortable and content company, and though it started with the nights, this was the first of many.

Somewhere along the way, your post-shift routine had shifted. You never really meant to end up in Remus’ dorm every night—it had just happened. One moment, you were finishing up in the library, the next, you were in his bed, limbs tangled lazily, a book forgotten between you as you talked in hushed voices about anything and everything. His sheets smelled faintly of parchment and something woodsy, and without fail, your shoulders, your knees, your arms would brush, a constant, grounding touch that neither of you ever pulled away from.

At some point, you both stopped pretending this was something normal friends did.

Maybe it was the way his fingers always lingered on your wrist when he passed you something, or the way he never failed to have a Bloodsucker rolling around at the bottom of his bag.

It had started as a small thing—insignificant, really. You hadn’t even noticed it at first, not until the third or fourth time it happened.

The first time, it was after a particularly long shift, your legs aching from standing too long, your mind buzzing with exhaustion. You’d barely slumped into your usual seat beside Remus in his common room when he wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small, wrapped sweet.

You had blinked at it, then at him.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Thought you could use one.”

Then again between classes, during late-night study sessions, in the middle of a quiet walk back to the dorms—whenever you reached for one absentmindedly, he had one ready, handing it to you without a second thought. He never even looked like he thought about it, just pulled it from his pocket like it was as natural as breathing.

The realization hit one afternoon, sitting across from him in the library, books scattered between you. He passed you a piece of parchment, and along with it, he slid a familiar, wrapped sweet across the table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, picking it up. “Okay, you definitely don’t carry these around for yourself.”

He barely looked up from his book, but the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Maybe I just like being prepared.”

“For what?”

Remus finally glanced up, a single brow raised. “For you, obviously.”

Maybe it was the projects—you always ended up partners. Whether it was a conscious decision or just something unspoken between you, you gravitated toward one another like it was inevitable. Like it was meant to be. The others barely batted an eye anymore, rolling their eyes as you took your usual seats together, heads ducked in close as you whispered back and forth, scribbling notes in the margins of each other’s parchment.

Or maybe it was the bookstore.

That trip to Hogsmeade was different. You’d both walked through the cobbled streets, the wind crisp but pleasant, your arms brushing as you made your way toward the small, tucked-away shop Remus had offhandedly mentioned once before. It was his place—somewhere quiet, somewhere his. And yet, he’d brought you.

He watched as your fingers trailed the spines, his own hand brushing over yours as he pointed out his favorites. There was a certain weight in the air, a quiet understanding you both wordlessly acknowledge—both so easily able to find solace in each other, a unspoken harmony—solidarity.

And then there were his nights.

Pomfrey was very understanding when you began to ask to have the days after the full moon off.

You had entered his dorm without knocking—because, by now, you never had to. You expected him to be curled up in bed, exhausted and aching, maybe reading, maybe just resting. Instead, the moment you sat down beside him, he shifted—eyes heavy-lidded, body sluggish, but his arm curled loosely around your waist, his face nudging into the fabric of your jumper.

You barely even hesitated before your fingers found his hair, carding through it with a softness you didn’t even have to think about.

You were there every morning after, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders, murmuring softly as he pressed closer, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he needed to feel you near.

And somehow, somehow, the nights you stayed over became less about exhaustion and more about something else.

You weren’t sure when you stopped leaving.

There was no more, “I should go,” no more, “It’s getting late.”

One day, you simply didn’t.

It just took one moment—you were dozing beside him, your legs tucked between his, your cheek pressed into his pillow. The next, you were waking up, his arm draped heavily over your waist, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His scent clung to you, warm and familiar, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft warmth of him against your back.

It was inevitable.

The stolen glances, the lingering touches—each one more obvious than the last. The shift had been slow, careful, but now it felt like a rope being pulled taut, a thread stretched thin between the two of you, waiting to snap.

The day it did, was so ordinary.

Nothing out of the daily routine for you and Remus—you’d made your way over to his dorm, to keep him company, of course—James and Sirius were off at quidditch practise, leaving just the two of you. Both lying on your backs, sprawled across the bed.

The light music of one of Remus’ records droning on in the back as you listened to the low and steady melody of his voice—reading outloud, you’d have to admit, you weren’t paying as much attention to what he was saying as you were to the light vibrations his words sent through the matress beneath you.

Taking a few moments of near silence for you to realise he’d stopped reading, mumbling out quietly, “Why’d you stop?”, as you turned to look at him—but he was already looking at you. The sudden intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat, but his voice as casual as ever in your ears—”You were falling asleep, that’s why,”

The ghost of a pout reached your lips, lightly defending yourself in feigned offence, “No I wasn’t.”

He huffed out a light scoff, shifting onto his stomach, somehow impossibly closer to you—the breath of his words brushing over the curve of your cheek. One of those crooked smiles that made your chest bloom with an undeniably fuzzy feeling etched onto his face, “If you weren’t falling asleep what did I just say?”

Your lips parted, sucking an inhale as if you were about to answer, but all that came out were stammered stutters of half started words, before you huffed out in defeat—he was already laughing at you. And it shook the bed, making you bounce slightly up and and down in sync with him, it made you giggle—joining and mixing in with his as it echoed off the walls of his dorm.

When it finally quieten down, lazy grins still stretch out on both of your faces, he couldn’t help it—it was second nature at this point, he leaned in closer, fingertips rushing the hair lightly away from your face with a low content hum.

It didn’t make sense, the familiarness of his touch was the same as always, and yet today, it made your mouth so incredibly dry—swallowing thickly as he inched closer and closer. The space between you barely a fingers width.

The sun shone in lightly through the window behind him, giving a small spotlight to the golden brown whisps of curls that framed his face—his eyes were scanning your face, for reluctance, hesitation—anything.

But your expression was calm, matching his movement—eyes darting around his, catalogueing his features, the way his eyelashes became slightly straighter towards the ends of his eyes, and the extra freckles by the edges of his eyebrows. Involuntarily, you sucked in a small sharp breath as he closed in, when there was just a slither of space left between you.

He paused, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, words so shockingly tender, barely above a whisper—”Do you want me to stop?”

You couldn’t trust your voice to not break under the pressure of his gaze—so warm, so fond. Instead you just shook your head, fingers twitching up to his arm, he was so close—but hesitant still. Catious.

Even as he leaned down towards you, he paused again, just as the tips of your nose brushed against each other—eyes still searching for even a drop of doubt in yours. Shifting to hover over you lightly, fingertips coming to just lightly trace along the line from the bottom of his jaw, to the drip in his neck.

His lips brushed against yours.

It was soft at first, testing, but the moment your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he pressed closer, Remus abandoned all his reserved. Melting against your touch with a low sigh, dropping the weight he held on his forearms and pressing into you, deepening the kiss. Something that was once gentle and timid, bloomed into more feverish, wanting touches and grasps.

His hands gripping almost roughly at the curve of your hips, rolling you over and onto him—erupting in giggles against his lips—the sound muffled between the spaces where your mouths met, soft and breathless.

His laughter mixed with yours, a quiet, husky sound that sent warmth curling deep in your stomach. His hands slid over your waist, fingers splayed against the thin fabric of your shirt, his touch firm, but reserved—like he wasn’t sure if he should be holding you like this but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

You didn’t want him to.

Both hands sliding to his neck, exploring, travelling up and down—carding through his hair one moment, holding desperately onto his jaw the next, pulling him closer as if to fall into him—become one. His touch leaving the surface beneath your skin, warm and craving.

Muffled groans and whimpers sounded through the room, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly harder into the rounds of your hips—leaning up into you, into the kiss, breathless and greedy. Sitting himself up straight—allowing his hands to wander, trailing down your spine—spending jolting shivers through you, pawing at your thighs.

Indulging in the first taste of you, the pent up desire set free in the form of unrestrained, frenzied kisses. Relishing in the contact, the cooling sensation of your cold body against his—touches becoming rushed and eager as he drank in every gasp of his name that passed from your lips onto his.

It wasn’t until his hands, once again, found purchase on your hips—grasp almost bruising, causing your to rock helplessly against him, did you pull away suddenly with a sharp gasp. Burying your face into the curve of his neck, chest heaving. A string of apologies immediately tumbled from his mouth, “fuck m’ sorry, I didn’t mean to—y/n,”

He leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you’d brought your hands up to cover it, barely loud enough to hear, squeaking out, “It’s fine—just don’t look at me,” It was a bit late for that, he could already see them—the small dark veins that pulsed and protuded from the base of your neck stretching further up.

“Y/N,”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet, not like this—hands still stuck firmly to your face—chest still rising and falling in quick succession, just as breathless as him. He pressed again, voice low and soft, comforting—”Lemme see,”

“Just gimme a minute,” Voice panicked and muffled by your palms.

He didn’t wait, just taking your wrists lightly, and pulling them away—your head hung low in shame, avoiding his gaze, still trying to catch your breath. Letting go of your wrists, they fell to your sides, and his hands came up to your face, compelling your gaze to meet his.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

Eyes as warm and sincere as ever, he let his hands trail down your neck, ghosting over you shoulders—gently tracing the curve of your spine, forcing a soft gasp from your lips as a shiver ran through you.

His touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared you might break beneath his fingers. His thumbs brushed just beneath your jaw, tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin—where the veins pulsed dark and traitorous against the curve of your throat.

“Y/N,” he murmured again, softer this time, like he was afraid to startle you. “It’s alright.”

Leaning down, peppering slow, calming kisses to the exposed skin of your collarbones, the goosebumps raising in their wake impossible to ignore—hands finding their way to grasp at the fabric of his jumper.

His hands now rested low on your waist, making your breath hitch as he nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, trailing his soft pecks up and down from your neck to your jaw. Humming as you leaned into them, melting.

Becoming putty in his hands, once again.

Light gasps slipping through your lips when he brought the thin skin behind your ear in between his teeth—the lightest of bites and bruises littered between his words; “Did you have your potion last week?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, just barely tugging at the soft brown tufts, panting out, breathless; “Forgot,”

He only hummed back again in acknowledgment, bringing his lips back to yours, swallowing the whines of his name the your couldn’t contain. “So pretty,” he mumbled against your lips. Touch worshipping each piece of skin it passed, fingertips inching up the underside of your shirt—leaving light feathering touches across your skin before residing in the dip of your waist.

Kisses slipping away from your lips as you shuddered against him—lips pressing firm against the curve of your jaw he whispered, “Want a bite?”

The drag of your fingertips against the skin at the nape of his neck forced a groan from his lips, as he continued his assault on the sensitive skin by the dip in your neck. You almost didn’t notice what he said, brain warm and fuzzy from the hot kisses—eventually mumbling out, “Not funny, Rem,”

Your words came out breathy and distracted, less convicted than you’d like, sighing dreamily against his touch. You could feel the way he smiled against your skin—“Mmm not laughing,” so close you could feel each rumbling vibration of his words in your chest the warmth radiating off him mind numbing.

A gasps catching in your throat as he tightened his grip on you, anchoring—punctuating his words with the small nibbles and pecks, “Been thinking about it…for a while,” it was so hard to focus on what he was saying with the way the pads of his fingers dug into flesh at your side—as if it were possible to pull you any closer than you already were, “—trust you,”

He leaned back slightly, taking a look at your hazy expression—lips swollen and glistening, half lidded and breathless. Absolutely bewitching. He looked just as tempting, tops of his cheekbones reddened matching the deep red of his parted lips. Just barely brushing his nose against yours, sighing almost dreamily at the contact—his thumbs stroking slowly back and forth over the flesh of your hips.

Whispering so softly, “Only if you want to,” a pressure-less offer.

Instead of responding, you just leaned into him further, reconnecting your lips making him sigh contently. Eventually, trailing cautiously light, ghosting kisses down his jaw, mirroring his own nipping and sucking pattern. Fingers twiddling and intertwining with the small curls at the base of his scalp.

Testing, contemplating his offer when you found yourself hovering over the junction by his neck, his heartbeat joining yours in its loud thumping rhythm that rung in your ears. Ever so slightly craning his neck, baring the skin to you—soothing your hesitation with simple words, “It’s okay,”

The air almost stilling, his voice so delicate even as he felt the small sharp, piercing of your teeth into his skin. He’d thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable—unpleasant. But he just felt a rush in his head, jaw slacking slightly permitting the prettiest groan you’d ever heard. Hips stuttering against yours, eyes almost rolling as he flooded all your senses, unconsciously grasping onto him tighter.

A hot buzzing filling him entirely—surprisingly euphoric, intoxicating. Your body shuddered against his, muffled delicate whimpers passing through you, licking lightly at the broken skin as you withdrew—it was short, barely ten seconds of connection. All nerve endings in your body set alight, looking back at pupils blown.

Drunk on him.

Exhaling with almost a honeyed purr, he lifted his thumb wiping gently at the corners of your mouth. Planting a kiss just by where is thumbs had been, letting them trail again down your jaw—slower than before, less fevered, more lax. Smirking against you when he bit over a mark he’d already made—earning a sweet gasp from your lips.

“Better?”

His voice took an almost smug cadence, and when you hummed back shy and lazy, lips still parted, satisfied sighs spilling for you. Remus couldn’t help the bubble of light laughter that rumbled in his chest—shaking you on his lap. Messily kissing back up to your lips, smiling against you. Savouring each and second of your moment.

When lunch struck and you strolled into the great hall, hand in hand—you shrunk slightly at the quiet murmurs that sounded as you walked between the benches. It wasn’t that you were together, no, that was normal.

It was the trail of red and pink bruises and hickeys that adorned both your necks—failing miserably to cover it with the collar of your shirt. Remus on the other hand, walked in as confident as ever—squeezing your intertwined fingers reassurance. Wearing his marks like a badge of honour—leaning down to your ear, whispering in a teasing tone,

“At least we’re matching,”

And when you sat down at the table with him, rather than your usual spot two tables across, lolly in hand—after Remus silently shot a look at Sirius that said you better not start. He settled beside you, hands interlocked under the table, his warmth against you, your cold against him, comfortable. Blissfully ignoring the way Sirius muttered “About time,” under his breath.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Vil Schoenheit - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

I can never sleep the night before my birthday, in eager anticipation of getting to meet a whole new me. How utterly troubling.

Summon: I am at my best condition. I am far more beautiful today than I was yesterday. Now, give me all your well wishes!

Groovification: Every single day I refine the first-rate product known as Vil Schoenheit even more.

Home: A good night's sleep is the key to beautiful skin.

Swap Looks: All right then, first I need to make sure my body is fully awake.

Home Transition 1: Silk garments can be difficult to take good care of, since they are weak to any sort of chafing. I truly appreciate the campus ghosts who wash them with great care each time.

Home Transition 2: I received a little video greeting from people I've worked with often. I absolutely will be sending them something back in thanks.

Home Transition 3: Sometimes I concoct my own cosmetics or herbal teas. They may not last as long, but their quality is comparable to anything on the shelves in stores.

Home Transition - Login: On the day before and the day of my birthday, I make sure to do an extra special skin care regimen. It's a little reward I give myself for all my constant hard work... See?

Home Transition - Groovy: Deuce seemed to be eating the party dishes with apt curiosity. It seems he's not very well versed with the concept of superfoods.

Home Tap 1: Ruggie handed me some herbs, and when I asked where he got them, he said he just "picked them from somewhere"... Yet somehow, these are actually high-quality ingredients.

Home Tap 2: I was speaking with Sebek on the methods of training inner muscles. I was rather surprised at how unexpectedly competent he was at explaining everything.

Home Tap 3: The rug I received from Kalim is the perfect size to place in front of my mirror. The vibrant colors gives my room a splendid atmosphere.

Home Tap 4: I should go through and replace the contents on my cosmetic storage shelves. Those close to their expiration dates should be disposed of, and the rest I can sort according to their uses... Heh, how fun.

Home Tap 5: This loungewear has the right balance of a gorgeous design and a chic color scheme. I truly love its elegance.

Home Tap - Groovy: You'd like to know the key to my beauty? Let me think... I wouldn't mind giving you a special little peek, but I wonder, would you actually be capable of pulling it off?

Duo: [VIL]: You're unexpectedly thoughtful, Deuce. [DEUCE]: I'm honored to be celebrating with you, Schoenheit-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: You... want to be my assistant because it's my birthday? Oh really, well, if you're offering, then perhaps I'll have you help with some of my club tasks. I'd like you to review our next script, specifically for typos and specific phrasing. If you notice anything else off, let Ortho know. ...Also, aren't you forgetting something? That's right, I'm speaking of a birthday greeting. Come now... How could you forget the most important thing, little spud?

Requested by @farfalla049.

[suiana]

i spent the whole day reading and watching fianl fantasy 7 and guys pls imagine yandere! creation

you're an evil scientist and because you can and you want to, you created this absolute beast of a man.

he's perfect in every single aspect. height, strength, build, even his cock is huge.

anyway the evil corporate shitheads steal your creation from you when he was still newly created because they wanted to use him as a weapon. that... worked out well for them because when they took your perfect man he was still fresh like a newborn baby and didn't know shit.

they brainwashed him into thinking his parents had died and they took him in because you know. they took him in and raised him on his parent's behalf... a sad backstory makes a good hero am i right? it'll also give him more motivation to 'kill' the enemies that 'killed' his parents.

meanwhile you didn't really care that much that they took him away. sure, you were annoyed because he was expensive to make. but if you really wanted to, you could just make another version of him that was even better.

one day while you were doing your silly little things in your silly little lab... your creation burst into your office with a few of his teammates following beside him.

"give up you evil..."

his voice falls flat, eyes widening as the long sword he pointed at you slowly got lowered. you merely raised an eyebrow, frowning at him as his teammates continue to point their weapons at you. oh, did the corporate people send these guys to kill you?

you were going to willingly give up, cause, well, there's no way you were going to win in a fight against your creation. not when you created him to be a god in human form. he'd kill you before you even got the chance to stand up.

however...

you could only stand in silence as his sword pierced his teammates and ended their lives brutally. what the? he's killing them??

their screams of pain and terror ring through your ears as your creation steps towards you, blood on his hands and face as he drops in front of your legs. he kneels on the ground, his cheeks a beautiful shade of red as he takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

"my creator."

he mumbles, getting you all bloody as well. you didn't dare to move from your spot, fearing that he might kill you if you resisted him. damn, did he remember you or something? did seeing you unlock some sleeping memory that you created him?

you didn't know, and you didn't want to know. especially not with how he looks crazed for you now. did growing up as a soldier of war make him lose a few screws? it probably did. because why is he now carrying you in his arms and treating you like you're some sort of god?

"um-"

"hush now, we'll have plenty of time to talk once this is done."

your creation then kills everyone in the vicinity, bringing the palce where you work to ruins and making it totally uninhabitable.

...then he floats away awkwardly with you in his arms to some deserted far off island.

"i've finally found you, my creator."

"erm-"

"we'll be happy together. i'll take care of you."

oh well, at least he has big boobs.

[sgiandubh]

'Premiere' vs. 'preview'

When you are an absolute charlatan, but still want to look sophisticated and use Google Translate to prove your point.

There is some furious gloating across the street about C finally 'confirming' Tony McGill attended the London premiere, despite her clearly stating the contrary in that BBC Four interview. Source allegedly being this interview for the French weekly women's magazine Marie-Claire:

[Source: https://www.marieclaire.fr/caitriona-balfe-rencontre-interview-coulisses-informations-saison-finale-8-outlander-the-amateur,1493219.asp - 11 April 2025]

Except... she never said what BIF's non existent knowledge of French, offered as a legit translation and sarcastically commented upon:

I will translate, if you allow me:

'Her husband did not recognize her in this new role

The actress, who was 'very excited to play this deep and complex woman' and 'to work with Rami' Malek, who plays a brilliant CIA cryptographer who considers her as his ally and his moral counterpart, was also able to persuade her own husband. 'He discovered the movie at the preview screening and he confessed he did not notice it was me, Inquiline, in the first scene where I hit the screen. I take that as a great compliment', she quips with a smile, when we ask her what is the most beautiful compliment she ever got for this new role''

So she did not lie to BBC Four's Nuala McGovern, because an 'avant-première' is just a false friend in French, Google Translate is not really able to recognize as such. It means:

[Source: https://www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/french-english/avant-premi%C3%A8re]

It means 'preview showing/screening'. Not premiere, hence the 'avant-' prefix: it means 'before' in French.

Avant-première. Before the premiere. -> Peel your eyes on this and eat crow, darling

Something we know happened on March 30, 2025. Not the next day, when @asilookedupatthestars-blog-blog thought, in all good faith, she saw McGill in front of the Leicester Square cinema:

[Source: https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/caitr%C3%ADona-balfe-and-laurence-fishburne-attend-a-special-news-photo/2207642520?adppopup=true]

As for the 'compliment', well, well, well (ROFLMAO) ...

As far as I know, Inquiline looks like this in that movie, and consistently so:

[Source: https://uk.news.yahoo.com/exclusive-caitr-ona-balfe-reveals-111200469.html?]

You can't say there is a stark difference from real life C, like for example...

Count László de Almásy before the accident...

and...

...Count László de Almásy after the accident. Yes, The English Patient, one of my top 5 movies ever. I am a huge fan of Ralph Fiennes and yet, I did not recognize him, when the first scene he appears in that movie hit the screen.

But I never met Ralph Fiennes in real life, only his Doppelgänger of sorts (a.k.a Someone). The very Someone who, believe me, I would immediately recognize on the Maracanã stadium filled to the brim. For obvious reasons, mind you, and despite anything else.

So yeah, I never met Fiennes in real life, let alone pretended I was married to him. Apparently not a joy, either - but hey, stick to the work, not the person, right?

Color me confused. 'The husband' doesn't see her enough? Is she that forgettable? Or is it such an OTT (fabricated?) compliment, that can easily backfire? And in my book, it did.

Because it is important for Caitriona Mary Balfe to be perceived as a 'serious actress' in France. For many, many reasons. But yes, France - it just had to be there and believe me, I bet people in the know probably had a good laugh at what can ironically be construed as her endearing, sentimental clumsiness.

But the most important thing is still this one: a French 'avant-première' is never an English 'premiere'.

And that makes all the difference between a superficial idiot and all the rest.

[igotanidea]

Bedridden : Dick Grayson x reader

Aka: the one when Dick gets sick and makes it everyone's problem.

„What on earth are you doing!?”

“I’m – working out?”

“Why?” the question came out in some sort of crazy instinct, without her thinking much about it.

To tell the truth, under any other circumstances, seeing Dick shirtless, doing reps and circuits of exercises wouldn’t be shocking. Hell, it would be absolutely normal and almost – expected. Hell – she would just sit on the bench shamelessly watching him flexing his muscles and getting all hot and sweaty, waiting for the end of training to sneak into the shower with him.

But there was one little thing that made that day different.

He was fucking sick.

And not the I-got-99-degrees – I -am-fighting-for-my-life kind of sickness.

Real fucking sick.

Specifically put on bed rest by a real doctor, and not excused to go on another patrol during another night.

Y/N sighed heavily, knowing damn well that convincing her superhero-vigilante-shit boyfriend with the golden retriever attitude and savior complex would involve a lot of work, starting from explaining to him the meaning of word bed rest.

“Dick? Honey?”

“Hm? Yes? What-is-it – 99-100-101.”  Clearly talking to her was not as important as doing a few more level pull ups.

“Could you please spare me a second of your time?”

“Mhm- yeah-sure-just – a – few-more- 150-151-152.”

“Richard Grayson!”

“Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Could you please-“

“Love of my life, please understand that I absolutely have to keep in shape. If not for the beating-criminals’-asses than for you. You do like your boyfriend hot, don’t you?”

HE got her right into the trap, cause even if she said “no”, her eyes and face would reveal the truth.

“You do look hot and – “

“I know, thanks!” He grinned mischievously, jumping off the bar and reaching for the towel, wiping the sweat from his forehead.  

“- and ridiculous.”

“Ouch!” His expression turned from playful to painful.

“Don’t do this, Dick. Don’t play it down.”

“I’m not playing down anything, princess. I am absolutely fine. All ready to go. Now, do you want to take a shower with me?” he stepped closer, wrapping arms around her waist.

“No!” she tried to wriggle free, but obviously it was futile as the grip only got tighter. “Dick, you have to-“

“Shh.” He cut her off by pulling closer to his bare chest “Did I ever tell you about that one time I kicked down three goons with one broken arm?”

“Yes! At least ten times, but this is not a very good point of relevance in the case and – “

“I swear to you, I am absolutely healthy.” Dick stepped back and with zero effort did a backflip.

“Dick…” Y/N rubbed her forehead “stop showing off, for god’s sake…”

“I’m not showing off, babe! I’m showing out, actually.”

“That’s not even a word!”

“It is now.”

She was starting to get impatient, considering going as far and kicking his freshly healed bruise if it meant being able to put him into the bed and maybe tie to the bed frame, not for the reason she wanted, but definitely for the reason that was needed to prevent him from getting out.

“Listen, what do I have to do to make you get some rest?”

“Get rid of the entire crime in the city and place me in the reality where everything is full of sunshine and rainbows and people are safe.” He responded, without missing a beat, becoming serious.

How could one ever argue with such logic? It wasn’t like she didn’t have heart nor like she was blind to the situation of habitants, the violence and everything around it.  Feeling helpless more often than not, worrying about the state of the world and people in it.

“I swear to you, I am feeling absolutely fine.” One finger landed under her chin, lifting her eyes up on him. “I can do it, come on, you know I can do it. “

“I don’t like it…”

“I am very aware you don’t like it.”

“I hate how you can convince me to follow through your stupid ideas.”

“God-given gift.”

“This is not a God-given gift. It’s the effect of years of playing around and fooling everyone with those innocent blue eyes. Even Batman for god’s sake. What are you – no! – no! stop looking at me like that!

***

It was a surprisingly quiet night, one that doesn’t happen often and yet brings some sort of fear into the heart of people.

Almost as if expecting a calm before the storm.

And it made Gotham’s vigilantes far more careful and observant.

Only that they couldn’t possibly expect the hit that was coming for everyone.

“Achooo!”

***

“Y/N….” a weak voice, reminding her a little of Dick’s timbre, only more muffled and  stuffed.

“Dick? Dick, oh my god, what happened?!” In a second, she was on her feet, eyes running up and down his body, searching for cuts, bruises, bullet holes, bleeding and whatever other type of injury he might have had sustained during patrol.

“I think I’m sick…” He stuttered as if the runny nose, pale face and reddened eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway.

“huh! You think? Who would have guessed, right?”

“I don’t feel so well….” His shoulders sagged and anyone else might have fallen for the little exaggerated act.

“Is this the moment when I said I told you so?”

“You’re being mean. I’m suffering here.”

“You wouldn’t be suffering if-“

“I get it! I get it! You were right, I admit it, are you happy now? Can I just go and rest in peace?”

“No.”

“No? Y/N, come on-“

“I am not happy and you can’t just go and rest in peace, god damn your stupid choice of words. Do you really think I am enjoying seeing my boyfriend all mopey and miserable? I am not that heartless.”

“Does it mean, you’re going to make me a chicken soup?” he looked at her with begging eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll make you the chicken soup.”

“Thank you….”

“Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Dick was suddenly far less playful and teasing than usual, leaning on her as she guided him to the bedroom and helped get into the sheets, pulling covers up to his chin and brushing hair out of his forehead placing a little soft kiss on his burning skin.

***

“YYYYY/NNNNN!”

“I’m coming!”

“YYYYYYYY/NNNNN!”

“What is it?!” she busted through the bedroom door, madness in her eyes, half-expecting Dick to be suffocating or fevering with the life-threatening temperature.

“I can’t reach the water….”

“You can’t- you can’t what?”

She should have known better.

He was calling her from downstairs because it turned out to be impossible for him to reach for the glass standing about three inches from him.

Oh dear lord.

“Here.”

“Thank you…. You’re so good to me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“The only one standing by me in the time of challenge…”

She rolled eyes, making her this-will-pass-I-just-have-to-be-patient face, observing him carefully. This was far more ironic considering the fact that merely a few hours earier he was all fine, ready to beat asses and bubbling with energy and now it was a life-threatening situation.

“And while you’re here, could you fix my pillows?”

“Sure, sure, I’ll fix your pillows.”

She leaned over him fluffing the cushions that were probably the fluffiest one on earth.

“Thank you…” he grabbed her hand, brushing fingers over hers in a tender gesture. Playing her like a doll, and leaving her absolutely helpless against it.

“Sure…”

“Is the soup ready? It smells really nice in the house…”

“I think a few more minutes and –“

“Please…?”

“Dick, seriously, I can’t feed you with half-boiled meat—”

“But I’m hungry… and cold and ….”

“You’ll get Salmonella!”

“I want a cookie….” He hummed putting on the most vulnerable, weak tone

“You want sweets? But sugar is not a sickness food. You need vitamins and – “

“I’m sick, Y/n! I’m suffering! I want a chocolate chip cookie!”

“Right. Maybe I’ll just put it inside your chicken broth?” she half-mocked, discreetly placing a palm on his forehead to check how bad the fever was, since it came close to raving.

“Could you do that?”

Holy shit…

“Yeah… yeah, right, I’ll be right back, ok? Just – just wait here, Dick. Don’t go anywhere, ok?”

Groaning internally, she swiftly moved out of the bedroom, closing the door and reaching for the phone.

“Alfred?”

“Miss Y/N? How nice to hear from you.”

“Alfred, I am in desperate need for your help-“

***

“Yyyyyy/nnnnnnn!”

“Oh for the love of-! I’m coming!”

“Yyyyyyyy/nnnnnnnn!”

“What is it now!?”

“Someone is at the door….”

“Ugh!”

It was getting worse by the minute. Now he was calling out to her, making her rush the stairs, only to find out it was about someone’s unexpected visit and knocking happening downstairs.

“I think you should open it-“

“You think?” the amount of strength she had to put into biting her tongue and not lashing her sarcasm and annoyance on that poor, suffering, self-absorbed, dramatic, soul. “You’re so smart.”

Dick grinned, not catching up on the bitterness of her words, clearly proud of himself.

The knocking repeated and Y/N was on the thin line of pouring all her bad emotions on whoever dared to add to her pile of problems with sick boyfriend but it turned out it was the only person who could actually be of help in this messed up situation.

“Alfred!”

“Good evening, miss Y/N.”

“Thank you for coming but why – “

“Because I’m aware of Master Dick martyrdom tendencies when his organism is working against him.”

“Right. Please tell me, you also have a few solutions, cause I think I’m about to pull Daenerys Targaryen on him….”

“You mean the one when she –“

“Yes. Yes, the exact one.”

“Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

***

When they entered the bedroom together, Dick was on a zoom call with everyone he could reach on such short notice.

How he found strength to get a laptop from the desk, retrieve charger, plug in and start talking and talking and talking while it was too much to cover with a blanket earlier was forever to be a mystery.

“Guys! I’m sick! I’m on bed rest. And I am so lonely, deprived of the contact with-“

“Ahem!”

“Oh, it’s Y/N, everyone!” Dick turned the computer so she could see half of the Young Justice and at least three members of The Justice League on the screen. “Say hi, babe.”

“Um… hi…” she stuttered, because obviously it was normal to wave hands at Superman and Wonder Woman while being hardly accustomed to dealing with Batman on a regular basis. 

“He’s not alone, I swear I am taking care of him and – “ the justification was a poor attempt at making sure the heroes and heroines won’t be at their door in the next ten minutes, demanding explanation and babying Dick, by – for example – serving him chocolate chip chicken soup cookie.

“Oh, thank god, Alfred is here. Now, I’m saved. Thank you all for listening to me, I’ll reach out next time when –“

Click.

The laptop was shut, carefully but firmly, not by Y/N, but Alfred.

“Master Dick.”

“Alfred…” he hummed in a soft, quiet voice, the same way he used to do when being twelve. 

Hence, to sum up the whole dick-is-sick-and-making-it-everyone’s-problem situation, Y/N was left with one pro and one con.

 Pro: Alfred relieved her of her nurse duties, at least for a while.

Con: It was just a matter of time before she was about to be investigated and background-checked by at least a dozen of Dick’s super friends, making sure she was truly good enough for their golden boy.

As if her confidence wasn’t already suffering enough….

[silentmoths]

*slams table with knife and fork* j i n g y u a n s m u t ijuhgfvcvghjhgfdsdf.

( i am so predictable look awaaayyyyy )

*Slides the silver cloche over and removes the lid* here you are, you fucking heathen. /j

NSFW, Jing Yuan x Reader

Smut, thats...yeah that's really all there is to it, Size diff if you squint? Jing yuan is an asshole who knows he can get his own way with little effort. No plot just porn.

NOT PROOFREAD

Jing Yuan likes to play with his food. 

Very much like a housecat, pampered, spoiled and adored; he’s liable to get away with anything, even at the expense of others.

All he has to give is one of those damned smiles. Outsiders think he’s sweet, warm and kind.

You know he’s absolutely nothing of the sort.

“What’s the matter, darling? Too much?” He practically purrs into the shell of your ear as he rolls his hips up again, pressing deeper and deeper into you; touching places you’re sure were never meant to be touched, filling and stretching beyond comprehension. You’d warned him, when things had begun getting serious; when clothes had come off and you had seen him in all his glory.

”that won’t fit.”

Oh, what a fool you were.

For of course he would take it as a challenge; but while most might perhaps try to move things along, Jing Yuan was, as he was in everything…horrendously slow. 

First came the teasing, the lightest of touches that only seemed to stoke his own ego as your frustrations mounted, never quite touching where you needed, but just close enough that your body pined for it; teeth pressing into the skin of your pulsepoint but never biting down hard like you wanted. 

Even when you’d finally lost composure and begged, pleaded with him to do something, anything; bite, scratch, touch you…his smile only grew all the more languid, his touch only a little firmer as he asks you to clarify as if the bastard didn’t know what you were asking him for.

Infuriating torture.

By the time he did finally slide that aching cock of his all the way into you in a single, slow roll of his hips, you’re practically sobbing from relief. ‘Finally’ you think as you feel his pelvis press against your ass, warm strong arms wrapped firmly around you as he leans back against the headboard, sighing softly. ‘Finally’.

Oh but that was only the beginning.

Jing Yuan and all of his insurmountable patience, versus you, already strung to the very edge, shaking in his lap as he takes what he wants to very languidly, seemingly without a care in the world for your utterly wrecked, begging state. You glance over your shoulder, hoping that the pleading gaze would finally push him into giving you what you wanted, that orgasm that was so close, yet seemingly so far out of reach. Instead, you’re met with a smile, the one golden eye visible from beneath his mussed mane of hair twinkling with amusement and adoration in one as he leans up, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss to your flushed, sweaty cheek.

“Patience, my sweet…a little longer for me..?” 

Goddamn him, a single phrase and you’re bending to his whims, just like everyone else. His smile widens as he hears the defeated whine, he presses another kiss to your shoulder this time, rewarding you with a deeper, harder thrust that sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, and stars bursting behind your eyes.

Ever the strategist, Jing Yuan wins again.

[esamastation]

fanciestgeckofella: desmond transmigrates into liu qingge

(This is not that, sorry, but I do have a snippet where Desmond transmigrated into Yue Qingyuan which I don't think I ever posted, so, have that one instead.)

-

First thing to go through Desmond's mind is something along the lines of, Oh fuck, here we go again. Next is complete and absolute bafflement. Because he's pretty sure he's supposed to be dead right now.

That alone is very confusing. Then there is… this thing.

[Welcome to the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way! This System is designed to guide you as you go about your existence in this world. Operating under the guiding principle, You Can You Up, No Can No BB, this System hopes to provide you with an pleasant user experience!]

Desmond blinks at the floating screen in front of him. It… doesn't exactly look like any kind of Animus screen he's ever seen - it actually kind of looks like it's from computer from pre-2000s or something, with blocky grey boarder like something he's seen in old TV shows. No Animus programmer would be caught dead using aesthetic like that. Right?

… Well, actually. He could totally see some retro-loving techie liking it. Not Rebecca, though, she's a futurist through and through, but if she'd been into the old style Window XP or something, it probably wouldn't have taken much effort for her to install some sort of theme - aaand that's completely beside the point.

It's an Animus. He's in the Animus again… somehow. Hm.

"Um," Desmond says out loud, and clears his throat. His voice is weird, different from how it should be. Not that unusual, in the Animus, that, but it feels… more than just having an ancestor transposed over himself. Man, they must've upgraded the Animus a lot while he was, uh… "I'm… aren't I supposed to be… dead?" he asks slowly and feels a bit silly doing it, because he's clearly still around, and yet…

[You have indeed died! Your consciousness has been transferred, and your role has been bound: Yue Qingyuan, the Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.]

… Okay, that's a bit different, but he can almost understand it. Consciousness transfer, role bound, that's probably new term for running around in your ancestor's skin. Yue Qingyuan, that's his ancestor this time around then. Cool. Sounds Chinese, which is interesting, Desmond didn't know they had any family there, but hey, Rebecca did say he had ridiculously low pedigree collapse, so that would mean his ancestry spread pretty far, right?

Ezio did have a Chinese student, Shao Jun, so, some pre-existing connections there. Maybe few generations down the line, they became bit closer. Rubbing a hand over his face and finding some of those familiar markers he shared with Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhake:ton - full lips, aquiline nose, high cheekbones… Desmond nods to himself. Yeah, yeah, seems about right.

And yet there's still something just a bit… off.

"Okay," he says, drawing a breath. "I'm still kind of stuck up on the being dead part. Did you reboot my DNA or something? How am I here being, like, a living - or at least a thinking - person?"

The System window seems to consider this for a moment before answering.

[Your consciousness was captured from your dead body and transferred into your new role.]

Oh.

Desmond squints. "Captured how?"

[Your consciousness was captured from your dead body and transferred into your new role.]

… helpful.

So it was the Grand Temple - the Grand Temple did something? He'd been digitised like Clay and Juno, maybe? Okay, yeah, cool, that makes sense. Not sure how well he likes it yet, but hey, he's around, he's thinking, maybe sorta-kinda living and breathing - it's a step above from not… doing those things. Yeah. He can do this. "Nice. And who's Yue Qi-qin - how do you say that name, again? Who is he?"

[Yue Qingyuan is the Sect Leader of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, also known as the Xuan Su sword.]

Desmond hums in understanding, eying the window, waiting for more. Nothing more comes, so he says slowly. "… Okay. And what am I supposed to do with him? I mean. What are we after here? Another piece of Eden, or… what?" he asks, folding his - folding Yue Qingyuan's - arms. "What is the mission status?"

[…]

That's all he gets. Literal ellipses, before the System window slowly flattens and disappear, leaving him blinking at empty air.

"… O-kay…?" Desmond mutters, making a face. "That was weird."

He'd never been left hanging in the Animus before. Not cool. The whole initialisation here process was a bit weird, really. Almost feels like they'd left him with an automated answering machine version of the Animus UI, or something. Was he even talking to an actual person there? What the heck. Why resurrect his consciousness at all, if they're not going to tell him what he's supposed to do here? Even Vidic didn't leave him completely in the dark…

Who resurrected him anyway? The Assassins or the Templars?

Uncertain, Desmond glances around for some sort of guidance or clue. The place is nice, and the graphic quality has gone through some incredible upgrades, like, damn. You'd almost mistake it for reality. But there is something seriously off about this. Not just the weird answering machine Animus, but… everything, really.

It doesn't feel like any Animus he's ever been in either. Usually when he starts out, it's as a passive viewer in his ancestor's memory - it takes a bit before he gets control and even then it's sorta not… not full control. Desmond is more used to being the passenger to his ancestor's actual driver. There's never not a moment where he doesn't feel like a second wheel on a unicycle.

Here, it's just him at the steering wheel, just him on the pedals. There's no other mind, no framework of another life - no shell of a person that once was. It's just him, in another body. Weird.

The terminology used was weird too - nothing like the lingo Rebecca or Shaun would've used. You can you up? No can no BB? What does that even mean?

Desmond rubs at his chin for a moment - baby smooth, not even a stubble - and then shrugs his shoulders and goes to get up. Might as well take a look around and try and figure out the limitations of this version of Animus. And it's not like he knew anything about Altaïr or the others either, not before getting the synchronisation up and running, so… better get started with that.

It's still a bit weird though. Usually he gets thrown into a cut scene first to get started with. Waking up in someone's - frankly rather fancy - bedroom is new. Ezio not counting.

Oh well.

-

And then he walks out under dressed and scandalises all the disciples on Qiong Ding Peak.

Alas that is as far as it got really, but the idea of Desmond as Yue Qingyuan is still weirdly dear to me.