#HOME BUYING MARKET EVIL

[byjove]

Eagle Pass, Texas. $170,00.

[skunkes]

i think the hardest thing ever is going to be getting rid of plushes like how can i do dis. These things have souls its like im abandoning an old dog on the side of the road in the rain.

[hnychn]

i think it’s so funny how people try to find humanity and love in someone like sukuna—who literally basically sold his soul for power and was is canonically a serial killer psychopath. like, this man was so powerful and psychotic and batshit crazy, people trembled in fear of his name centuries and millennia after his ‘death’

but i feel like it’s just one of those things where we all acknowledge that, no matter what happens to you or what you do or what morals you bend and rules you break, there will always be a piece of your humanity with you.

like sukuna might not be human anymore, but he’ll still sit on a park bench watching children laugh and play and scream in delight because—no matter what he’s been through—he used to be a kid too.

and he’ll still walk aimlessly through a crowded mall, because, no, he doesn’t need anything, but it reminds him of when he used to walk through crowded markets to buy fabrics and cloths to make new clothes.

and no, he technically doesn’t need to eat anymore because he’s a curse now and feeds off of the negative emotions of others, but he’ll still go to a farmers market on a warm sunday afternoon and buy the freshest pack of strawberries he can find and eat them while he browses the other stalls because it reminds him of when he was little and used to sneak bits of fruits here and there when the stall owners weren’t paying attention.

and no, he doesn’t technically need a partner or someone to love because he’s the King of Curses and there are more important things to do and evil schemes to plague the world with and he literally just doesn’t have a soul anymore—but he’ll still search for you and the reincarnated versions of you in every lifetime because you remind him of when he was human; when life was simple; when he had a home.

he’ll still search for you in every crack and crevice of every known universe to man because no, he doesn’t have a soul, but he doesn’t need one when you’ve so permanently and intricately sewed your very being into the threads of his skin that every time he loses you, it feels like the world gives way beneath him all over again.

and yes, hes quite literally started a war and yes he has the blood of thousands—dare i say millions—on his hands, but he would never even dream of exposing you to the things hes done and the monster hes become.

because sukuna doesn’t need to be human to love you.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ��wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

[ventique18]

A lil bit of nerd sharing though. A disclaimer first that Disney is pretty stubborn about their image as a family friendly company so there's a chance that they won't be too horny with this new series, but this is another brilliant marketing on their part lol. Twst fans at this point are incredibly thirsty because of how modest the releases are, so just a bit of horny insinuation would be enough to loosen the floodgates to their players' pockets.

Disney is an evil company who knows what they're doing. They're pretty infamous in the marketing field for their unique business model: throw something relatively lukewarm that pleases as much tastebuds as possible and go full aggression on merchandise. That's why most of their recent movies are mid; they're made to be as tolerable as possible to any kind of person. They don't really care about what critics think: they just need to convince children to ask their parents to go watch their films and buy a merch or two on their way home. It's incredibly effective.

It's the same for their gacha games like twst. The topups are just a bonus, they don't care much about how much the game itself makes because that's a drop in the bucket compared to the billions they make from insane office ladies who buy hundreds of the same copies of merchandise that they put out every week. That's why they have so many merch designs. And when you're even a bit informed with how marketing works, it's so overwhelming just to think of how insane their production power is that's unique to them alone.

[shuadotcom]

Good Vibrations | YJH (M)

Summary: You and Jeonghan have been together for a couple of years and share a lot of the same kinks, so when he first mentioned it, it sounded fun….Now it can best be described as the cruelest form of edging he’s ever inflicted on you.

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!Reader

Genres & AUs: Smut, pwp, established relationship au, non!idol au

Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

Warnings: Profanity, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, use of a sex toy, edging, oral (m. receiving), face-fucking, hair pulling, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, slight degradation in the form of name-calling (slut, whore), pet names (over-usage of princess and angel - I’m not sorry either!!), dom!Jeonghan, sub!reader

Words: 3.4k

Note: Yoon Jeonghan is ruining my life okay 😭 So much so that I wrote this shit in two days which is a crazy record for me. Thank you so much to @the-boy-meets-evil for always being such a wonderful amazing beta ily jess! 💖

Net tag: @kflixnet

“These are cute, what do you think, Y/n?” Jeonghan asks, pointing at the handmade set of chopsticks. You don’t seem to answer in time, because you feel the vibrations running through you get more intense - your breath catching in your throat. “Baby, did you hear me?” His tone is so casual along with the smile on his face. You want to smack him.

After taking a gulp of air, you force your eyes to meet where he’s pointing. “Y-yeah. They’re nice.” 

“Right? We’ll take these, please.” Jeonghan turns back to the woman behind the booth as she happily obliges and starts to wrap up the chopsticks.

This isn’t the first time you and your boyfriend have visited the flea market close to your apartment. Usually, you both are able to find fun knick-knacks and accessories made by the talented people in your town.

This is however the first time you’ve been here with a vibrator shoved inside of you that only Jeonghan can control. 

It was his idea, because of course it was. Apparently, he and his stupid friends had been talking about kinky shit they’ve done with their partners and Joshua mentioned buying his girlfriend vibrating panties. Jeonghan thought that idea was brilliant but instead of panties, he had surprised you with a c-shaped vibrator that not only nestled inside of you but also laid perfectly against your sensitive bundle of nerves so you would get both types of stimulation. You and Jeonghan have been together for a couple of years and share a lot of the same kinks, so when he first mentioned it, it sounded fun. 

That is until he ate you out this morning and then slipped the vibrator inside of you, telling you that he expects you’ll keep it in you all day until he says it’s enough. Now it can best be described as the cruelest form of edging he’s ever inflicted on you. 

As soon as you had stepped out of the car when you arrived, the low hum of the vibrator kicked in, nearly knocking you off of your feet.

“Whoa there, Y/n! You okay?” Jeonghan asked, shooting a cheeky smirk your way. 

“Really, Jeonghan!?” You huffed, standing upright again with his help. Each step you took was less shaky than the last, but you had to make a conscious effort not to walk like a newborn baby deer.

“Remember what I said. Be good for me while we’re out and I’ll give you a reward when we get back home.” His tone was so casual as if he was talking about something nonchalant and not your aching cunt.

Your boyfriend had taken your hand then and waltzed through the entrance of the flea market like any other normal Saturday.

It’s nearly an hour later and Jeonghan is still taking his time, stopping at nearly every stall to take in the items and homemade treats, even striking up conversations with the vendors and asking you for your opinions. Each time, he seems to crank the vibrations up a little more on the dangerous device in you.

At some point, he pulls you to a picnic table outside of a tteokbokki vendor and orders a small plate to share with you. 

“Say ‘ah’, angel.” Jeonghan holds a skewer of spicy rice cake up to your mouth, waiting for you to open.

“Jeonghan can we ple-ahh!” Your objection falls short as more intensity hits you, Jeonghan blatantly increasing the speed in front of you. Your nails dig into the plastic of the picnic table, fighting off the impending orgasm.

With a comically large pout, you wordlessly open your mouth, Jeonghan simply beaming back at you and feeding you. He chatters on about how good the weather is and how excited he is to wear the new shirt he just picked up from a couple that makes fun graphic t-shirts.

You love your boyfriend so much - you really do - but right now you want to shove a whole skewer down his throat for the torture you’re experiencing. 

After what feels like hours (when in reality it was only less than ten minutes), you and Jeonghan finish eating and he practically drags you to a boba stall. He already knows what you want, which you’re thankful for because you’re afraid that if you let out any sound, it’ll be nothing but a pathetic moan of his name.

Jeonghan leaves you standing under a nearby tree as the sun gets a little warmer on your skin while he orders for the both of you and casts a look over his shoulder at one point. When your eyes meet you get weak in the knees all over again. His smolder is unmistakable from underneath his bangs, his pretty pink lips quirking up as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He bites his bottom lip as he practically eye fucks you in broad daylight, any semblance of sanity you have left finally leaving you.

Seemingly satisfied with making you suffer more, he turns away as he thanks the vendor and comes to meet you with your drinks.

“Here you go, princess,” his tone is chipper, a jarring contrast from the way he had just looked at you.

Your hands shake as you take the boba from him, not even attempting to take a drink. You’re so far gone that even his pet names are pushing you close to the edge.

“Jeonghan, honey please.”

“Hmm?” He tilts his head to the side as he sips from his straw without a care in the world.

“Can we please go now? I can’t handle this anymore.” Your words are shaky as you plead with him. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, studying your face and observing how even standing still you’re trembling in front of him and notices the wet shine in your eyes.

He leans forward, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Okay, princess. Let’s get you home so I can fill up your needy little cunt.” His dirty words have a small whimper leaving your mouth and he has to reach out quickly to steady you as you sway in place.

Lacing his fingers through yours, Jeonghan leads you through the crowd, still going casually he takes a last look at the stalls and items in the market. He’s nice enough to help you into the car when you arrive and even leans over you to buckle your seatbelt, placing a kiss on your forehead before shutting your door. You watch him in the side mirror put his tote bag in the trunk then walk around to get into the driver’s seat.

“You know, you were so good today, princess.” Is the first thing he says as he’s pulling onto the busy street. His hand moves to cover your denim-clad thigh, the small touch making you jolt in your seat. Jeonghan only laughs at you, casting a side-eye glance your way.

“It was so hard,” you sniff, hyper-aware of how warm and how long his fingers are as they draw circles on you.

“I know, baby. But once we’re home it’ll all pay off. I promise you won’t be able to walk for the rest of the day.” He smiles sweetly at you, a choked exhale leaving your mouth at the image of Jeonghan folding you in half in your bed. You know he means it and that only makes you clench your thighs together for the nth time today. “I can see you like that idea.” He squeezes your thigh, his skin feeling red hot to you through the fabric. “Look at you. Pressing your thighs together like a horny little slut.”

“Jeonghan…” He can’t talk to you like this - not in the state you’re in.

“I wonder…is my angel so desperate that she needs to cum now?”

“Mmhmm, please Hannie, I need it! Can I?” You blurt out, not caring how pathetic you sound. It’s how you feel after all of his agonizing teasing. 

“Do it then.” He says suddenly, turning to watch your reaction as he stops at a red light, a mischievous grin forming. In the next moment, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and the toy inside you is cranked up without warning. Your body jerks in your seat, a scream ripping from your throat as your body involuntarily does as he commands. Tears prick your eyes when you finally get to cum, your panties and jeans adequately ruined as you can feel how much you cum in them.

All you can do is pant as you come down and Jeonghan is at least kind enough to lower the vibrations. Through droopy eyelids, you watch as Jeonghan quickly pulls into the parking lot of a park, stopping the car under a low-hanging tree in the corner of the lot.

When you turn to look at him again, his hand grabs your chin, bringing his mouth to yours. Your lips move together effortlessly, Jeonghan’s tongue prodding at your lips, demanding access. As soon as your lips part, his tongue moves in to claim yours, sucking it loudly into his mouth. You whine in response, your hands coming up to tangle in his dark locks, tugging on the strands as he continues wrapping his tongue around yours, nearly devouring you whole.

Jeonghan pulls away first and moves to kiss your neck as you catch your breath.

“How was that? Does my angel need more?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Yes, please!” You nod feverishly, gasping as he bites down, leaving a mark at the base of your neck.

“But do you deserve more?”

“I do! I’ve been good all day, Hannie! You said!”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “I suppose, but you have to earn it.”

“Anything!” You rush out, head lolling back as he nips at another sensitive spot on your neck.

“Do a good job sucking my dick and I’ll think about it.”

With a last bite at you, Jeonghan pulls away and you watch, wide-eyed as he undoes his belt and unzips his jeans until he has enough room to pull out his length, his hard cock springing out and hitting his t-shirt-covered stomach.

You get to work immediately, hands darting out to pump him a few times. Jeonghan lets out a hiss when your tongue laps at the tip, collecting the beads of salty precum that seep from the slit. One of your hands grips the base of his dick, pumping it a few times as you suckle on his cockhead.

“Fuck, angel, no teasing.” He turns the vibrator back up after his warning and you moan lewdly around him. Breathing out of your nose, you sink onto his length slowly, taking in as much of him as you can. Your hand and mouth work together, your tongue swirling around him as you suck him down. 

Slurping sounds fill the car mixed with the loud, breathy moans Jeonghan huffs out above you. Your head bobs frantically, sucking and squeezing him in all the ways that you know he likes. His long fingers tangle in your hair, gripping at the roots to push you down further. You can’t help but choke as he hits the back of your throat suddenly, but you don’t pull away - you know how much he loves to leave you choking on his dick.

“Shit, look at you, taking me so far down your slutty little throat. You’re so good for me, you know that?” Jeonghan’s praises always spur you on, the desire to make him feel good taking priority because you know he’ll always return the gesture tenfold. 

You attempt to nod, swallowing around him, driving Jeonghan even crazier. He thrusts up shallowly, beginning to languidly fuck your mouth. 

His hold on your hair stays tight, the feeling of his nails digging into your scalp burning along with the ache in your jaw, but you stay where you are, gagging around his cock. You reach down to cup his balls, rolling them around in your palm which draws a deep whine from his throat.

Jeonghan scrambles in his pocket for the remote to the vibrator, turning it higher. You manage a wet, garbled squeal around his length, your eyes crossing as you feel your orgasm approaching faster than the speed of light.

“Gonna cum again, princess? Gonna get that pussy slick and sticky for me?”

“Mmph!” You breathe loudly out of your nose. Your eyes screw shut as Jeonghan thrusts into your mouth rougher, now holding your head completely still as he uses your throat as a fleshlight. The tension in your belly finally snaps, shockwaves rushing through you as you cum with an incoherent attempt to yell Jeonghan’s name. 

Your loud gasp rings out through the car as he yanks you off of him by your hair. You greedily gulp air into your lungs, body shaking as you continue to ride your orgasm out.

“Is my princess doing alright?” Jeonghan checks, his fingers lightly massaging your scalp.

“Y-yes,” you stutter out. 

“Perfect. Come here.” Jeonghan places a kiss on your lips and helps you wiggle out of your jeans and underwear, leaving them on the floor of the passenger seat. He manages to climb into the backseat of the car, helping you over the seats after him and maneuvering your tired body into his lap. Jeonghan reaches between your wet thighs, easing the vibrator out of you, shushing you as you groan at the loss. He tosses it into the passenger seat and helps you lift just enough for him to begin slipping his cock into you.

“Jeonghan!” You cry out as he stretches your walls. Even after cumming numerous times today and being filled with something all day, he still manages to feel heavy and impossibly thick. Your walls greedily suck him in, inch by inch, the sensation alone already making you lose yourself even more in everything that is Jeonghan.

“I know, princess. You’re so fucking tight, but fuck just like that.” His long fingers grip you, easing you into his lap until his dick is buried in you completely.

The two of you share a moan, taking a few seconds to adjust. 

“Hannie…can I move please?” You whimper first, your oversensitivity ebbing away as overwhelming pleasure quickly replaces it. 

“You wanna ride my dick, huh angel?” 

“Yes, please Hannie,” you’re whining for him now, hips trembling at the dire need to get fucked.

“My slutty baby is so desperate for me,” Jeonghan purrs, trailing his hands around your hips to grab a handful of your ass. “Ride me, princess. Make me cum in your messy little cunt.”

Jeonghan’s dirty words set your skin on fire, and you do what he says. You plant your hands on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him for better leverage and begin bouncing in his lap with as much energy as you can muster. He keeps one hand anchored to your hips, helping you with each thrust and his other hand reaches up under your shirt and bra to roughly knead at your breast.

“Hannie…” His name is long and drawn out, egging on his eager hands to begin pinching your sensitive nipples. 

“That’s right, princess. Who’s cock makes you feel so fucking full and good?” His words are steady, even as he starts to buck upwards, meeting your hips every time you drop down. 

“Yours!”

“Fuck yeah. And this pussy is all mine,” he punctuates each of his words with a thrust, quickly jolting you up and down almost faster than you can keep up with. 

The car rocks as he fucks into you, the air hot and stuffy and full of desperation from both of you. Sweat beads at your hairline as you ride Jeonghan and you manage to wrench your eyes open to look at him. 

His dark hair sticks to his face, his forehead glistening with sweat much like yours, but fuck he looks as beautiful as always. His plump bottom lip is between his teeth as his brown eyes, half-lidded and full of desire stare back at you. A playful smirk graces his features and your heart immediately skips a beat.

Even when he’s teasing you mercilessly and talking to you in the filthiest ways, he’s still the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“Gonna hurry and cum for me, princess?”

“Yes, Hannie, yes, fuck!”

“Better hurry up. I don’t know how long we have until someone notices our car sitting here. They’ll all hear you crying for me like a whore.” This isn’t the first time Jeonghan’s fucked you stupid in his car, but it’s the first time he’s done it during the day when anyone could walk by and easily see your silhouette on top of him through the tinted windows. The idea scares you while simultaneously exciting you.

Jeonghan adjusts his hips a little, the slight angle change having his cockhead brush your g-spot just right, making your toes curl and anything that isn’t Jeonghan cumming inside of you vanishes from your mind. 

“Fuck, Jeonghan, yes, yes, yes!” You babble out. You need to cum again so fucking bad - your fourth orgasm of the day so close you can practically taste it. You continue to meet each of his powerful thrusts, your hips burning, but you ignore it, getting closer, closer, closer.

Jeonghan’s right hand snakes between the two of you. His nimble fingers expertly find your swollen clit and rub at it, rolling it between his perfect fingers.

“Shit, baby, I’m so close - so fucking close. Be a good girl and cum with me.” Jeonghan doesn’t give you a chance to answer and instead buries his left hand in your hair and yanks you forward to crash your lips together. The kiss is all teeth, tongue, and spit. It’s messy and needy, capturing your shared lust. 

“Hannie!” You gasp between kisses. “Can I?!” You barely get the words out as he mutters a ‘yes’ against your lips, allowing you to let go. The sound of your blood rushing to your head fills your ears as you hold your breath and your orgasm hits you like a bus.

“Yes, yes squeeze me just like that, angel! Fuck!” Jeonghan throws his head back as he cums, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he paints your walls, your name on his tongue as he does.

You sag against him, your forehead resting on his shoulder. You feel Jeonghan’s fingers rubbing circles on your back while you both steady your breathing. 

“I love you, Hannie,” you say, your hands wrapping around his torso to pull him closer into a proper hug.

“I love you too, Y/n.” He reciprocates the embrace, placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

“We should probably get going,” you whisper as another minute ticks by. You didn’t want to separate but it would only be a matter of time before someone nosey happened by.

“Yeah, we should.” Neither of you moves at first after he agrees, but your hips are starting to ache so you begrudgingly sit upright. Jeonghan’s hands hold your waist as he helps you slowly lift yourself until his softening cock slips out.

Flopping onto the seat next to him, you lazily readjust your bra and shirt as he tucks himself back into his jeans and fixes his hair. He helps you move back into the front seat and you wrestle with getting your jeans back on as he climbs into the driver's seat and takes a sip of his now-warm boba.

Once back on the road you reach out to grab at his hand resting on the center console. He gives your hand a squeeze in return, threading his fingers with yours.

“Can we get food on the way home?” You ask, suddenly noticing how hungry you are.

Jeonghan snickers, giving you a look before focusing on the road again.

“All your energy is gone from cumming so much, huh?”

“Stop!” You pretend to be scandalized, smacking the back of his hand. “But yes, actually!”

Jeonghan brings your hand to his lips, placing a light kiss on the back of it.

“Yeah okay, we’ll grab something. You’ll need to regain your strength anyway.” You blink at him, your boyfriend chuckling at your silence. “Did you forget what I said already? I told you that you wouldn’t be able to walk for the rest of the day, didn’t I? I’m not done fucking you, princess.” Heat spreads across your neck and up to your face. Fuck, he did say that earlier, didn’t he? Yoon Jeonghan was truly going to be the end of you. “Now what would you like to eat, my love?”

[allisluv]

[post-war] johanna w an s/o that became attached to a stray cat that's absolutely disgusting, like matted fur, fleas and ticks, starving, sick, and smelly.

johanna won't let her girlfriend bring it inside so her girlfriend is outside during the cold winter feeding and trying to nuture this cat back to health.

one day, reader goes out to check on the cat and can't find it. she gets super worked up and runs back inside to find jo, to tell her the sad news, but she finds jo leaning over the bathtub, her front half soaked with bath water, as she's trying to wash this cat..

roscoe.

pairing: johanna mason x fem!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, set post war, jo hates animals cause of a bad experience, use of petnames (doll, babe, baby), chiwawa slander (sorry!), strong language but that's not new, a bit of grumpy x sunshine because i love that trope!!

word count: 0.9k

Johanna has never been an animal person. Well, no, that is a bit of a lie. Correction; she has never been an animal person since she was attacked by a bastard of a chiwawa at the tender age of six. Rocky has since given her a very personal vendetta against animals big and small. 

So, in the early days after the war, when you come home with a stray cat that you have christened Roscoe, she has a big problem with it. It’s obvious to anyone with a brain that Johanna loves you. In fact, she would even go as far as to say she loves you more than life itself. But when it comes to animals, especially evil things like cats, that is where she draws the line. 

She puts a good three feet between the two of you when she sees the cat in your arms. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tries to keep her temper in check. “Doll, that… thing is not staying in the house.”

You frown and immediately start protesting. “But I’ve given him a name and all!”

Johanna huffs out a sigh. “Babe, I don’t care if you’ve bought the thing a birth certificate, it is not staying in the house.”

“Why the hell not?” 

She arches a brow, giving you a disapproving look as if the answer is clear. “Well, for starters, his fur is matted beyond belief. It’s all skin and bones, too. I bet it’ll die in a week.” 

“Jo! Don’t be mean.” You scold, holding the cat close to your chest. “Don’t listen to your mom, Roscoe. Shes just being cranky.” 

Johanna rolls her eyes. “I am not that cat’s mom. And you know I’m telling the truth, babe.” 

You shoot her a glare. “Poor thing was left here all on its own after the bombings. He must have been scared by all of the noise.” You smooth underneath Roscoe’s chin and he purrs in response. “Look, he likes me!”

She groans. “Babe, you know I’d give you the world if you asked me to, but that thing is not gonna last a week. You shouldn’t get attached to it.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine. Remind me to pick up some milk for him in the markets. Dyou think he’ll eat tuna?” 

“Doll-, Remi—”

“Roscoe.”

“Remi, Roscoe, Riley, whatever you’ve called him, is going right back outside.”

“But—”

“Now, baby.”

You sigh. Maybe Johanna has a pint in some ways, but you can’t help but feel awful as you put Roscoe back out the front door and watch him bound away down the half- repaired street. 

Johanna walks up behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, resting her chin on the top of your head. “Do you know cats can fend for themselves?”

“Its still not fair. He’s only a baby, Jo.” You sigh, melting into her touch when she presses a kiss to your head. “‘M mad at you now.”

Johanna resists the urge to laugh. You’re far too kind for your own good. “Would you feel better if we made some of those cookies I know you like?” 

You try to stay mad at her, but the offer is too appealing to pass up. “Fine. But only if you do all the work. And I am still buying him fish and milk.” 

“Whatever you want, angel. But he’s not coming back in to the house. He could have fleas or something.”

“You have fleas,” You murmur. 

Johanna laughs. “Oi. Watch it or you won’t get any cookies.” 

✩──────────✩─────────✩

As the months pass by, Roscoe comes to your front door at seven o’clock in the morning and evening every day for his dinner. Despite Johanna’s insistence that he’s not allowed in the house, she doesnt try to stop you from taking care of him, so long as you’re outside. 

It begins to get colder and one day, you come home from the marketplace with a carton of milk and a metal can of tuna in your hands. You pour both of them into the bowls by your front door and wait, rocking on the balls of your feet. 

It’s not unusual for Roscoe to come and go as he pleases, but when you’ve been outside for an hour and he doesn’t make an appearance, worry starts to gnaw at your gut.

You slip back into the house and do the only thing you can think of. “Jo?!”

You can hear Johanna hiss in pain and curse underneath her breath from inside the bathroom. Your brows furrow and you follow the noise, noticing the high-pitched mewl that comes from behind the door. You breathe out a sigh of relief and push open the door, only to become even more puzzled, 

Johanna’s hunched over the bath, holding Roscoe with one hand and using a jug to pour water over him with the other. 

“Are you drowning him?” You squeal, rushing to her side.

Johanna laughs at that. “What do you take me for, babe? I’m not drowning him, I’m giving him a bath,” she rolls her eyes.

You frown. “You’re… giving him a bath?” 

“Yeah. He’s smelly,” Johanna shrugs. 

“But you hate him.”

“Well, by the looks of things, he is not going anywhere anytime soon, so we might as well make him presentable or something.” 

You grin. “You like him, don’t you?” 

Johanna’s lips twitch. “I don’t hate him.” 

You kneel down beside her and pet Roscoe’s wet coat of black fur. A giggle slips past your lips before you have a chance to stop it. “Well, I reckon he’ll hate you after this bath.”

She rolls her eyes. “Somehow I think I’ll live.”

[mochatsin]

MC GIVING GIFTS FOR THE BROTHERS

You’ve been racking up quite a ton of grimm with all the part time jobs you’ve worked in. You decided maybe you can go a bit off budget for once and spoil one of the brothers as a token of appreciation.

we stan a self-sufficient MC in this household. Just imagine your MC working in Akuber and other jobs earning that sweet grimm.

------------

Lucifer

The seemingly endless amounts of paperwork that Diavolo has been leaving on his desk gave him quite the headache. He dreads going to his office every time, expecting to find another stack of student complaints and reports about his brother’s behavior. 

Surprisingly though, he finds a bottle tied with a ribbon on his desk. But when he picked up and read the label, his eyes went wide to see it’s one of the finest brands of Demonus. 

He knows his brothers well enough to cross them off the list of people to buy him this. Even if this was a prank from Satan or Belphie, the price tag is way too expensive for the both of them to even consider this. Perhaps it's the young prince then? 

After closer inspection, he does find a small card for him and he immediately knows it's from you. ‘I bought this bottle for you since you’ve been working so hard. Take a break okay? — MC’ 

It’s the little sheep doodle at the end of the card that made him chuckle. It’s adorable, he thought to himself. He smiles before taking out his D.D.D. to call you. 

“I found the bottle you left at my desk earlier today MC. You know you didn’t have to get me something so grand. I know buying this wasn’t easy.”

You explain that you bought it as thanks for all the times he got you out of the trouble the brothers would drag you in, and for making your stay in Devildom as comfortable as he can provide. 

It’s not often he receives a token of gratitude from anyone in the house. For someone to be grateful for all the work he’s done, especially when it’s coming from you, he’s touched and speechless at the gesture. 

You’ve been waiting for what seems to be a solid minute of pure silence. “Lucifer? Are you still there?” You asked, before you heard a light laugh from the other end. 

“Well… enjoying this bottle all by myself seems rather lonesome don’t you think? After work, come to my room. Let’s have a drink together, just the two of us.”

Mammon

The poor guy has been trying to rack up all the grimm he can get but it’s as if lady luck decides to turn a blind eye. The stock market dropped today and now Lucifer confiscated Goldi because of his failing marks in class. 

He’s been pretty much sulking all day. You try to cheer him up by hyping him for his next modeling gig. At least by then he’ll get some spending money right? But it doesn’t feel so comforting when you’re saying that over chat. 

You’ve been busy getting some work done in your part time jobs, which means he gets to have less time with you. Making him extra sulky. You promised to drop by his room to give him a small treat once you get home, so at least that might lift his spirits.

He was expecting maybe a free snack, since you work in Akuber after all. What he did not expect was finding you on his doorstep with a paper bag labeled ‘Evil Devitton’ and no way did you actually go there? 

He remembered the other day that he was complaining about how didn’t have any cash when the brand released a new watch. You have a little extra grimm to at least buy him this, but this is for all the times he’s helped you in Devildom (and kept you alive) since you’re ‘his first.’ 

You watched him stumble on his words and stutter, trying to think of what to say. 

“T-THE GREAT MAMMON ACCEPTS YOUR TRIBUTE!” He tries to act all cool about it. You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. So he grumbles before letting out a soft “thank you” which makes you smile. 

You scold him though every time he’d ask for treats or gifts, since he seems to be forgetting that the watch came from all your extra hard work. You don’t want to keep enabling his bad habits after all. 

But you know that he cherishes your gifts. You found him flaunting the watch you gave him on one of his photoshoots from his latest magazine gig. 

Levi

He’s been trying his hand at this market raffle. First prize gets a limited raffle-exclusive figurine of one of his favorite characters from this new series, a sales tactic to make people buy the store’s products for one entry. 

Last you’ve heard from Levi, his luck (and his allowance) ran out from buying all he can for entry tickets, only to draw the wrong prizes. 

He’s even begged for the brothers to buy from the store for a ticket or lend him some money so he can try again. A behavior that’s modeling his older brother. This catches Lucifer’s attention and he makes Levi put a stop to his shenanigans or he’ll do something about his Akuzon account. 

Levi has been ranting to your chat while you were out finishing your shift. On the way home you decided to try your luck from that market raffle and behold, you won the first prize item. You know this means more to Levi so you went straight to his door. 

The moment he opened, he immediately complained to you when it was announced that someone won the first prize raffle. “It’s just unfair! What if it was just some normie who won it?! Or someone unfamiliar with the franchise?! They’re never gonna appreciate the figurine!!”

When you finally showed him that you won the figurine, he would be excited (and jealous of your luck) because even if it’s not his, at least he gets to admire the figurine in your room. 

He only stopped talking when you were handing it over to him, saying that he should keep it since he wants it more than you do. Eyes? Wide open. Jaw? Dropped. 

“EH?! WHY WOULD YOU GIVE ME SOMETHING SO PRECIOUS?! I'M JUST A USELESS OTAKU AND-“ he would go on but you insisted.

It’s thanks for introducing you to some of your shows that became your favorites, as well as being your gaming buddy. 

Levi.exe has stopped working. 

The next day, you find the figurine you gave him on the best spot on his shelf collection. 

Satan

Whenever you two would visit the library, he would always borrow the same book about magical spells. It covers 400 years worth of knowledge, so it was so thick that he can’t finish it in one sitting like he normally does. 

He expressed that he wished he could add that book to his ever growing collection in his room, but he can’t exactly afford the cost for the book. Not to mention that he’s way too busy with other important affairs (feeding cats) to try to earn for it.

He went home late since there was a lot of work to be done at the council, and the dead hours of night won’t ever stop him from going to his usual spot to play with the stray cats. 

He walks back up to his room only to find a big book resting on the foot of his door. Even a few feet away, he recognized the leather with gold imprinted designs and rushed towards it. 

He can’t believe the book of magical spells was at his door! How did it even get here? He sends a message to the House of Lamentation group chat to ask. 

Satan: Someone left the Index of Magical Spells at my door. Do any of you know who did?

Asmo: ohhh is that what MC has been carrying? Watching them lift that heavy book made me feel tired myself. 

Finally getting his answer, he goes straight to your room with the book in hand. You were in the middle of writing your essay for class when he barged in. 

“MC! I’ve heard from Asmo, but did you really buy this for me? This must’ve been so expensive! Not to mention really heavy…”

You explained that since you work part-time often, you’ve saved enough extra money to buy him a small thank you gift for helping you with your homework and pass your tests. It means a lot as a transfer student with little to no knowledge about this world.

“You didn’t really have to, your company is quite the treat itself. But I appreciate this. How about I help you with your essay? After that, maybe we can find some spells here that we can learn together.” 

Asmo

As an Avatar of Lust who gets gifts from fans, he’s often showered with a lot of luxury brands and products. There’s not much you can actually get him when he seems to have everything he could ever want in Devildom. 

You asked permission from Lord Diavolo to grab a few things up in the human world to bring to the House of Lamentation to make your room feel like home. 

When you got back, Asmo was curious to see what you brought with you, so you allowed him to see what you have in your room.

You have your stuffed toy, your own blankets, some more of your casual clothes (that he’d love to mix and match on you soon), and so much more personal belongings but what got him curious is that small bag you have on your desk. 

It’s a little kit with your own skincare products and personal perfume in a small container to bring along. He insists on having a whiff of your perfume and to your surprise, he loves it!

“I can’t believe it! They don’t have these kinds of scents here at Devildom! It’s probably because we don’t have the same ingredients. Ohh I'm so jealous of you right now dear! Maybe one day I can get one of my own!”

You just so happen to bring the actual bottle of perfume with you, so you dug up your luggage and offered to give him the perfume. The bottle has a very intricate design, since the brand was considered fancy in your world. 

At first he was speechless, and you explained that you appreciate the moments he took care of your skin as well as the times he’d help dress you up for any important occasion (since you didn’t have much of a wardrobe when you moved in).

He’ll squeal in delight before giving you the biggest hug “DARLING! You have no idea how much this means to me!!!” 

He’d brag to his brothers about receiving a gift from the human world by his beloved MC. Lucifer had to stop them when they also wanted to ask for gifts from you as well, saving you from the brothers trying to raid your room.

Beel

Beel has been studying hard lately since his grades haven’t been doing so well. Compared to Mammon’s, he’d say his grades are fine but if he doesn’t do better in his next test then Lucifer isn’t gonna lift the curse on the fridge that’s preventing him from getting his midnight snacks. 

It’s difficult for him when his hunger preoccupies his mind way too often to focus. Sometimes he’d eat his homework when he can’t handle it anymore, and that’s not a good excuse against Lucifer.

There was a soft knock on his door and when he opened it, he found you holding two big bag of chips in your arms. They were so massive he barely saw your head when you carried it. 

You told him that while you were out, you managed to buy a couple bags of chips, cheese puffs, and sweets that you stored in your room. You offered to sneak him a couple snacks for him, as long as he promises not to tell Lucifer about your secret stash. 

“MC, you’re an absolute lifesaver right now” he says as he grabs a bag and starts snacking down on it. It was gone in 5 minutes, but it helped bring him back to focus. 

You ask if he needs any help but he tries to refuse “you’ve already done so much for me though MC… you don’t have to teach me” 

You insisted. Beel was the one who helped introduce you to some Devildom dishes that were safe for humans to consume, and he’s the one that reminds you to eat if you ever forget. Helping him by giving him your snacks is a small token of your appreciation. 

For a few nights, Beel would chat if you’re free and you’d go visit his room with a few snacks while you help him go over the lessons. 

With your help, he did a lot better at his tests much to Lucifer’s surprise. 

Belphie

Belphie was beyond angry right now. He was trying to take a nap in the garden, and he found a perfect spot to remain undisturbed. 

Mammon, under Lucifer’s punishment, was in charge of gardening duty. He didn’t know about his baby brother sleeping in the bushes when he turned on the sprinklers. Now Belphie was awake, drenched, and furious. 

His favorite cow pillow had to be dried out, as well as some of his clothes that got soaked. 

You heard about everything through Beel, he was worried about Belphie not getting enough sleep because he lost his pillow and has nothing to cuddle with. So when you got home, you made a quick stop at this nearby shop to buy him a little present. 

Belphie was struggling to get some proper shut eye, not after Mammon ruined his afternoon nap and getting scolded by Lucifer when they ended up fighting and ruined the garden. 

He felt something soft press against him and when he fluttered his eyes, he saw that you were holding this big cow stuffed toy with you. 

You apologized for waking him. He asks what that’s for and you explain that heard what happened to his pillow. Beel told you about how much he wanted it, so you went ahead and got it for him. 

It was your gift, since Belphie was always the one to remind you to rest. He would be the first to see the signs that you haven’t been getting enough sleep, so he would always remind you or even nap with you. 

He has this soft smile on his face when he hugs the stuffed toy. It was so soft, just as he imagined it would be when he first saw it on display. 

“MC… thanks. I hope that I’ll get to dream of you while hugging this… actually, come here. Let’s take a nap together, you’ve been working so hard lately. You need to rest.” 

Belphie was able to peacefully sleep with the cow stuffed toy in his arms, resting with a smile on his face.  

------------ OKAY THE COINCIDENCE??? IT’S NOT FUNNY ANYMORE BC as I was writing this I was actually stumped on what MC can give Mammon THEN I GET A CHAT ABOUT THE WATCH THAT HE WANTS!?!?

[chellescripts]

Career Legacy Challenge: Rules

A Sims 4 completionist legacy challenge that plays through all the careers while aiming to complete all collections, rewards, aspirations, degrees, skills, using all traits and worlds in-game.

Basic Rules

Since there are 26 generations in all, heirs could be named alphabetically

Spouses must complete the other career track, unless there’s only one career branch

Spouses may complete the side quests, second aspiration, and/or after-school activity

University is optional except when an organization or an after-school activity is specified

The family museum should contain the collections, career rewards, and other memorabilia of the family. It can be a closed retail lot that is passed throughout the generations.

Generation A: Actor

Traits: Self-Assured, Snob Aspiration: Master Actor/Actress Aspiration Collection: Crystals Side Quest 1: Complete the Successful Lineage Aspiration Side Quest 2: Start the Family Museum

Optional: Home: Del Sol Valley Degree: Drama

Generation B: Astronaut

Traits: Materialistic, Loves Outdoors Aspiration: Fabulously Wealthy Collection: Space Prints Side Quest 1: Fully upgrade the rocket Side Quest 2: Go to Sixam

Optional: Home: Oasis Springs Degree: Physics: Space Ranger

Generation C: Athlete

Traits: Active, Romantic Aspiration: Serial Romantic Collection: MySims Trophies Side Quest 1: Win the MVP Soccer Trophy as a Soccer Team Player Side Quest 2: Complete the Bodybuilder Aspiration

Optional: Home: San Sequoia Degree: Biology: Bodybuilder

Generation D: Business

Traits: Cheerful, Kleptomaniac Aspiration: Party Animal Collection: Holiday Cracker Plushies Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of the Foxbury Spirit Squad Side Quest 2: Max the DJ Mixing skill

Optional: Home: Magnolia Promenade Degree: Economics: Investor

Generation E: Conservationist

Traits: Child of the Islands, Vegetarian Aspiration: Beach Life Collection: Buried Treasure Side Quest 1: Cleanup Sulani until it is thriving Side Quest 2: Watch a Tutle Hatching event

Optional: Home: Sulani Degree: Biology: Marine Biologist

Generation F: Criminal

Traits: Evil Aspiration: Public Enemy Collection: Metals Side Quest 1: Befriend the Grim Reaper Side Quest 2: Complete the Villainous Valentine Aspiration

Optional: Home: Willow Creek Degree: Villainy: Criminal Boss

Generation G: Critic

Traits: Hot-Headed, Foodie Aspiration: City Native Collection: City Posters Side Quest 1: Learn all the City Food Stall recipes Side Quest 2: Buy all 5 Trash and Treasure items from the Flea Market

Optional: Home: San Myshuno Degree: Art History: Arts Critic

Generation H: Culinary

Traits: Glutton, Jealous Aspiration: Master Chef Collection: Experimental Food Photos Side Quest 1: Prepare Ambrosia and bring back a ghost to life Side Quest 2: Marry someone who will complete the Master Mixologist Aspiration

Optional: Home: Windenburg Degree: Culinary Arts: Chef

Generation I: Detective

Traits: Insider, Gloomy Aspiration: Leader of the Pack Collection: Microscope Prints Side Quest 1: Meet with the club at least once a week Side Quest 2: Complete the Neighborhood Confidante Aspiration

Optional: Home: Newcrest Degree: Psychology: Detective

Generation J: Doctor

Traits: Cat Lover, Neat Aspiration: Friend of the Animals Collection: Feathers Side Quest 1: Make a purple owl statue from another set of feathers Side Quest 2: Max the Veterinarian skill

Optional: Home: Brindleton Bay Degree: Biology: Doctor

Generation K: Education

Traits: Family-Oriented, Art Lover Aspiration: Super Parent Collection: Frogs Side Quest 1: Complete the Big Happy Family Aspiration Side Quest 2: Max the Cross Stitch skill

Optional: Home: Henford-on-Bagley Degree: Psychology: Professor

Generation L: Engineer

Traits: Geek, Unflirty Aspiration: Nerd Brain Collection: Space Rocks, Aliens Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of the Bot Savants Side Quest 2: Create a Servo

Optional: Home: Oasis Springs Degree: Physics: Mechanical Engineer

Generation M: Entertainer

Traits: Dance Machine, Lactose Intolerant Aspiration: Joke Star Collection: Sugar Skulls Side Quest 1: Win an award at the Starlight Accolades Side Quest 2: Complete the Musical Genius Aspiration with a Guitar

Optional: Home: San Sequoia Degree: Drama: Comedian

Generation N: Freelancer

Traits: Adventurous, Bro Aspiration: Extreme Sports Enthusiast Collection: Snow Globes Side Quest 1: Max all extreme sports skills Side Quest 2: Complete the Renaissance Sim Aspiration

Optional: Home: Mt. Komorebi Degree: Communications: Supervisor

Generation O: Gardener

Traits: Animal Enthusiast, Music Lover Aspiration: Country Caretaker Collection: Village Fair Ribbons (Main Competitions only since the Minor ones are bugged) Side Quest 1: Complete at least 3 errands Side Quest 2: Hatch a Golden Chicken

Optional: Home: Henford-on-Bagley Degree: Biology: Botanist

Generation P: Law

Traits: Perfectionist, Mean Aspiration: Angling Ace Collection: Fish Side Quest 1: Fish at Sylvan Glade and Forgotten grotto Side Quest 2: Win at the Sulani Fishing Tournament

Optional: Home: Willow Creek Degree: History: Judge

Generation Q: Painter

Traits: Creative, Clumsy Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire Collection: Decorative Eggs Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of the Art Society Side Quest 2: Complete all emotional paintings with masterpiece quality

Optional: Home: Brindleton Bay Degree: Fine Arts: Master of the Real

Generation R: Politician

Traits: Ambitious, Hates Children Aspiration: The Curator Collection: Fossils Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of the Debate Guild and win at a Debate Showdown Side Quest 2: Complete the Mansion Baron Aspiration

Optional: Home: Newcrest Degree: History: Politics

Generation S: Salaryperson

Traits: Proper, Loyal Aspiration: Mt. Komorebi Sightseer Collection: Simmies Side Quest 1: Complete the Voidcritter Hunt Challenge Side Quest 2: Complete the Soulmate Aspiration

Optional: Home: Mt. Komorebi Degree: Computer Science: Expert

Generation T: Scientist

Traits: Genius, Slob Aspiration: Academic Collection: Geodes Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of The Brainiacs Side Quest 2: Create all the serums from The Chemistry Lab

Optional: Home: Britechester Degree: Physics: Scientist

Generation U: Secret Agent

Traits: Childish, Erratic Aspiration: Chief of Mischief Collection: Voidcritters Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of the Secret Society Side Quest 2: Have a secret baby with Father Winter

Optional: Home: Windenburg Degree: Villainy: Villain

Generation V: Self-Employed

Traits: Noncommittal, Good Aspiration: Freelance Botanist Collection: Gardening, Magic Beans Side Quest 1: Purchase 6 Retail Perks that unlock items (Placard: My First Simoleon, Provocative Pedestal, Stunning Sign, Snazzy Shirt, Register of Tomorrow, Placard: Fobbs 500) Side Quest 2: Complete the Lord/Lady of the Knits Aspiration

Optional: Home: Magnolia Promenade Degree: Communications: Management

Generation W: Social Media

Traits: Self-Absorbed, Goofball Aspiration: World-Famous Celebrity Collection: Positivity Posters (Buy them from a pre-made retail lot), Underwater Photos Side Quest 1: Max the Media Production Skill Side Quest 2: Max the Dancing skill

Optional: Home: Del Sol Valley Degree: Drama: Internet Personality

Generation X: Style Influencer

Traits: Outgoing, Child of the Ocean Aspiration: Friend of the World Collection: Seashells Side Quest 1: Become a Senior Member of the Britechester Spirit Corps Side Quest 2: Max friendship with a dolphin

Optional: Home: Sulani Degree: Fine Arts: Stylist

Generation Y: Tech Guru

Traits: Loner, Dog Lover Aspiration: Computer Whiz Collection: Elements Side Quest 1: Reach the top of the eSports Competitor career in University Side Quest 2: Max the Pet training skill

Optional: Home: Britechester Degree: Computer Science: Start-Up Entrepreneur

Generation Z: Writer

Traits: Bookworm, Lazy Aspiration: Bestselling Author Collection: Postcards Side Quest 1: Write the Book of life Side Quest 2: Complete the Grilled Cheese Aspiration

Optional: Home: San Myshuno Degree: Language and Literature: Author

[drawlfoy]

the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.” 

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin. 

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it. 

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable. 

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy. 

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring. 

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it. 

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal. 

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you. 

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands. 

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?” 

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.” 

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer. 

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark. 

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point? 

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys. 

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder. 

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version. 

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market. 

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943. 

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please. 

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal. 

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below. 

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s. 

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train. 

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it. 

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

~

“Y/N!” 

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces. 

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.” 

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had. 

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink. 

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you. 

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin. 

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty. 

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it. 

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you. 

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects. 

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand. 

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects. 

Huh. 

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either. 

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest. 

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away. 

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?” 

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.” 

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.” 

“Right, right.” 

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.” 

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise. 

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly. 

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.” 

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all. 

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.” 

Y/N. 

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out. 

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added. 

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow. 

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you. 

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions. 

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing. 

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here. 

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though. 

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.” 

“See? Useful.” 

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot. 

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away. 

Well, goodnight you wrote. 

Goodnight

~

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit. 

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy. 

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.” 

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” 

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way. 

There you are. I thought I’d bored you. 

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight. 

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you 

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around. 

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink. 

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts. 

Then the lettering appeared again. 

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me. 

You lived in a muggle orphanage? 

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming. 

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to. 

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth? 

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn. 

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair. 

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class. 

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets. 

Surely you do. 

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this. 

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out 

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up 

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection. 

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important 

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.” 

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching 

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then??? 

Ancient. 

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage? 

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled. 

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out? 

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious. 

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction. 

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought. 

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail? 

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause. 

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly. 

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again. 

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section. 

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake. 

Not until now. 

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands. 

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here. 

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more. 

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it. 

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary. 

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead. 

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again. 

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal. 

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again. 

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes? 

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive. 

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend. 

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day. 

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give. 

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke. 

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help. 

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied. 

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world. 

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy. 

“Lucy?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?” 

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze. 

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.” 

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent. 

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it. 

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.” 

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.” 

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok. 

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling. 

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook. 

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable. 

“Hi.” 

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin. 

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.” 

“And how are you so sure of that?” 

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.” 

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left. 

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered. 

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering. 

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning. 

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.” 

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.” 

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.” 

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away. 

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch. 

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.” 

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless. 

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.” 

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of  producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate. 

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.” 

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron. 

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut. 

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly. 

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?” 

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices. 

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory. 

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness. 

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?” 

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed. 

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes. 

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” 

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air. 

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing. 

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.” 

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening. 

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised. 

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you. 

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm. 

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?” 

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.” 

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders. 

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling. 

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well. 

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

[goodlucktai]

okay just because we were talking about this - how do you think an asl reunion at alabasta would look like?

i hope its ok that i took this as an excuse to write an au no one asked for :')

read on ao3

x

A lot of the problems in Ace’s young life—most of them, if he was being honest—could be attributed to the shitty choices that adults around him made. 

When Bluejam grabbed Luffy by the scruff, the business end of a pistol jammed painfully into the nape of his neck, he was talking a bunch of shit about how Sabo’s dad ripped him off. He was paid to kill Ace and Luffy but he’d been short-changed, and for a man who seemed to think he was entitled to a certain lot in life, it rankled. 

“But that noble brat doesn’t make a bad ransom,” the man said, shaking a weepy Luffy in one meaty hand to shut him up, like Ace’s baby brother was nothing but a piece of dirty laundry. “If his family won’t buy him back, I’m sure someone will.”

Ace’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Whatever time Ace didn’t spend in the jungle he spent in the gutters and outskirts of the city, where every unwanted, street-sharpened child knew the risk a certain kind of stranger brought with them. 

If Sabo ended up with a slaver, Ace would never get his brother back. Pieces of him, maybe. But not the same golden boy he was right now. Not the brave, proud, secretly soft-hearted person Ace loved so much. He’d come back different if he came back at all. 

He had to compartmentalize. He couldn’t act rashly until he had Luffy back. His mind raced frantically, but he made sure it didn’t show on his face. He snatched Luffy up when Bluejam finally let him go and made his own body a wall between his brother and the men who had no compunctions about hurting him to prove a point. 

They were left to spread gasoline throughout the terminal, while the pirates made their way back down to the beach. Not one of them lingered to make sure Ace and Luffy did as they were told, and Ace should have wondered about that. Should have wondered why they were making themselves scarce, why the city gates were barred, what all those fuel canisters are for, but his thoughts were too full of other things.

That was why, the second the coast was clear, he tossed his gasoline drum aside and seized Luffy by the arms. He stooped to look right into his eyes, trying to ignore the way his chest panged at how wide and red they were. 

“I have to go get Sabo,” he said firmly. “You have to stay here.”

“Let me come!” Luffy cried immediately, predictably. “Don’t leave me behind!”

“It’ll be faster if you wait,” Ace snapped, because he didn’t want to say that Luffy was going nowhere near any ship bound for the slave market, because then he would have to explain why. Even without the Fruit that made him a special novelty in the Blues, Luffy would be snatched up by evil hands in a heartbeat. “You’re too little, you’ll just slow me down,” he said instead. 

It wasn’t nice, and when Ace had time later, he would feel bad about the way Luffy’s lip trembled. But for now, it was important that he got his point across. Every second he lingered was another inch ahead Bluejam’s crew got. Ace’s world would literally end if their ship left port without him. 

So he gave Luffy’s shoulders a push that propelled him back a step. Then he pointed in the direction of the treeline. He made his face mean and forbidding. 

“I mean it, Luffy,” he said. “Go wait for me at home.”

Luffy finally tucked his chin in a miserable little nod. Ace gentled despite himself and reached out because there were two people he would always reach out for and one of them was right in front of him.

He flicked the brim of Luffy’s hat up enough that it fell off his head, and then ruffled his hair. A gesture so familiar and well-practiced it was like muscle memory to him now. Luffy didn’t smile, but it kept the tears at bay for a bit longer, and Ace left him with another firm point back at the jungle. 

Ace was a child, doing his best to keep his tiny family together. He had a half-formed plan that he would sneak about Bluejam’s ship and find Sabo wherever he was and they would fight their way out and escape together and reunite with Luffy in time for a midnight dinner. He was a pragmatic youth, and was made wiser by the world than any ten-year-old should have been, but he was still only ten years old. He couldn’t have guessed what was going to happen. 

He would piece it together later—that Bluejam had been commissioned by the kingdom to make sure the Gray Terminal burned down, a noble title he planned to come back to collect once he had auctioned off Outlook’s eldest son to the highest bidder—that Ace had chased after one brother and left the other alone in a place that was about to go up in flames. 

When he climbed aboard the Blood Batako, he didn’t realize it would be the last time he saw Dawn Island for almost half a year. 

He didn’t realize that Luffy would wait for him right there where Ace left him, even as the fire spread into walls of flames much taller than a scrawny seven year old—frightened and crying, little hands bunched in the front of his own shirt as he choked for each breath in the thick, acrid smoke. That Dadan would find him there and haul him away kicking weakly but not screaming, because there wasn’t enough oxygen left in his body to scream. That the asphyxiation, not the fire, is what nearly killed Luffy that night. That he would spend the next week in Foosha Village tended to by their only doctor and wake up with some of his memory intact, but not all. That he would recognize Makino, but wouldn’t know Dadan. 

Ace had no way of knowing, when he and Sabo finally made their way home, well-traveled at the tender young age of freshly eleven, and relieved to see journey’s end for the time being, and looking forward to reuniting with a certain crybaby who had probably been miserable cooped up in Dadan’s country or at Party’s Bar without them, that Luffy will have been gone for months by then. 

“A cruise ship docked further up the island,” Makino says fretfully, “and a little boy who worked in the kitchens came down here to play because he said he didn’t like the way the kingdom smelled. He and Luffy were fast friends. I had no idea Luffy was planning to leave with him until I found the note he left in his room, and by then they were long gone.” 

It’s a good thing Sabo is there, because Ace’s head is just a roar of white noise. Sabo is the one who chokes out, “But—what—did—did you call Gramps? What did he say? Is he going to find him?”

“I don’t have his direct line. I’ve left a dozen messages with his office, but you know how he is,” Makino says, forgetting that they don’t, actually. “He hardly remembers that he has an office. And the number Dadan has for him is no good.”

“Why would Luffy wander off like that?” Sabo says, progressively getting louder. “Why wasn’t someone watching him?”

“He’s just been so restless since the fire,” Makino replies. “There wasn’t anything keeping him here anymore, and it seemed like he just needed one good excuse to leave.”

Sabo looks as gutted by that as Ace probably feels, hurt and confusion racing their way across his face. And Ace finally makes his contribution, in the form of a choked, “What do you mean?” which is when Makino realizes there’s something they still don’t know. 

She sits them both down at a table and holds one of each of their hands in hers, and gently explains that while they were gone, the world as they knew it had changed forever, and the happy little boy who always ran to catch up to them wasn’t running after them anymore. 

———

Ace still forms the Spades, and Sabo still falls in with the Revolutionary Army, and the only reason they don’t sail together the way they promised when they were young is because the ocean is awfully big. They have a lot of square footage to cover, and splitting up is the only way they could even hope to cover it all. 

It doesn’t occur to either of them to give up at any point. As Sabo climbs ranks, as Ace gathers a crew, both their bounties increasing every day, they continue to search faithfully. Either they’ll find him one day, or they’ll simply spend the rest of their lives looking. 

Masked Deuce says, “What about the cruise ship he left on? Did you track it down?” 

“Boarded by pirates that same year,” Ace replies. “According to the official report, it sank in a storm.”

The loaded silence says everything Masked Deuce will not say. Ace doesn’t care what someone who has never met Luffy thinks about his odds of survival at sea. If Deuce knew Luffy, he would understand. Since he doesn’t, Ace’s first mate can believe his captain is delusional all he likes as long as it doesn’t keep him from doing his job. 

Deuce turns out to be a better friend than Ace deserves. One day when Ace leaves his crew to party with some locals and sets off into town to distribute flyers and put his ear to the ground, he hears someone rumble something under their breath about a hopeless cause. He doesn’t even have time to turn around before Deuce has seemingly teleported across the bar and knocked the dissenter out cold. 

“Anyone who shares his opinion is free to get their shit and leave,” he says calmly. 

The only voices that rise up are ones who sound very offended that Deuce would lump them in with that guy, and Ace refuses to look as touched as he feels. 

When he hears word of Red-Hair Shanks in nearby waters, he tracks the man down to a wintery island and leads his crew up a small mountain to meet him. In part, he wants to thank this man who saved his little brother all those years ago. But also…

“I heard about the fire,” Shanks said grimly. “And Makino kept me updated about little Anchor until he disappeared. I’ve got eyes out looking, too, Ace. The world is big, but not so big that we’ll never find him.”

It’s a relief to know that Luffy is so loved, that more than just his brothers care if he’s ever found. But in true Luffy fashion, he explodes onto the scene when he’s good and ready. 

Ace is woken up by Deuce kicking the door of the captain’s quarters off its hinges and shoving a crinkled Wanted poster into Ace’s bleary face so that a toothy, stretching smile is the first thing he sees. 

He accidentally sets half the room on fire, a slip-up the likes of which hasn’t happened since the first week after he ate his Fruit, and there’s a lot of screaming, and someone shoves a baby Den-Den at him so he can call Sabo. From the way his nakama were carrying on, you would think it was their long-lost brother in the paper.

“I was about to call,” Sabo says breathlessly in lieu of a hello after only barely half a ring. “You saw it?”

“I saw,” Ace replies. The newspaper is rattling noisily in his hands but he can’t get them to stop shaking. “He took down Arlong Park. There are all these witness statements from the villagers. They’re saying he did it all for his friend.”

“If anyone even thinks about coming for his bounty, I’m killing everyone on the Grand Line and then myself,” Sabo says. It takes knowing him as well as Ace knows him to be able to tell over the phone that he’s crying buckets. 

“Get in line,” Ace says. If anyone so much as looks at Luffy wrong he’s burning this goddamn planet down. He can’t tear his eyes away from the poster for more than a few seconds at a time. At the urchin grin, the pencil-mark curve of a scar, this bright young man he’s never met who is so, so familiar. 

“They’re calling him Straw Hat Luffy,” Deuce says. He’s a pillar of serenity in a sea of absolute chaos, leaning on Ace’s shoulder to read with him. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Now I’ll finally get to meet him.”

Which turns out to be easier said than done, because Luffy and his merry band of lunatics won’t seem to stay in one fucking spot for longer than an hour. It takes weeks to finally track that cute little caravel down to a summer island about halfway through the Grand Line, and by that time Sabo has taken a leave of absence from the Army to join him. They’re close now. They’re so close. 

Wait for me, Ace would beg him if he could, wondering if this was how Luffy felt all those times his big brothers ran ahead and left him behind. 

———

Ace never knew how heavy a heart could be when he was a child, a half-feral, angry, touch-starved thing. But now his heart is full—now it bursts at the seams, spills through his ribcage, until there’s no part of him that isn’t touched by it—and it’s the heaviest thing he’s ever carried. 

A precious burden. He’s twice the man he would have been without it. He will never, not one time in his life ever, entertain the idea of putting it down. 

But gods, Ace thinks, it would be easier, so much easier, to rip the stupid thing out of his chest and walk around a hollow shell of someone once-loved than it would be to stand here for one more minute and look down at his baby brother looking up at him like he’s a total stranger. 

“Who’s this guy?” a blond man behind Luffy mutters. With the touseled hair hanging in an artful curtain over half his face and the cigarette between his teeth and the well-cut linen suit that makes it very clear he never skips leg day, blondie gives off an air of Do Not Fuck With Me just by breathing in a way that reminds Ace of Sabo at that age. 

The swordsman beside him, called Roronoa Zoro on his bounty poster, is scowling outright, gray eyes sharp, ready at any moment to leap over Luffy like a faithful hound and dig into Ace with his teeth the second he presents as danger. 

It makes Ace feel kind of nostalgic, like he’s looking at an old photo of himself. 

He tries to focus on the nostalgic feeling, because all the rest of his brain is drowning in guilt and grief. 

Somehow, he wasn’t prepared for this moment. Years of searching, nearly half his life, and he’s finally standing in front of the person whose absence tore a hole clean out of his whole future, and he has no idea what to say. 

You look well, springs to mind, because Luffy does. His hair and skin and eyes are all different shades of brown that gleam with good health under the desert sun. He’s still skinny, but not in the waifish, underfed way of all the Gray Terminal kids. He looks like he’s been eating well. It settles something in Ace’s heart in the one tiny corner of it that isn’t breaking. 

I should have been there, is the next-most immediate thought, and it almost takes Ace’s knees out from under him. He should have been there to make sure Luffy ate well. He should have been there to save him from the fire, to help him recover from the smoke sickness, to hold him when he cried in his sleep and to take his hand when he wandered aimlessly around the village with no one to play with and nothing to look forward to. 

I’m sorry I left you, is what it boils down to, what Ace has held close and carved into his heart over the years, hating himself, hating the child he was who thought he knew better, who thought he could conquer everything without losing anything. I never should have left you. 

But Luffy doesn’t know him from any other person in this busy marketplace, his head tilting to one side like a curious little bird’s, and Ace can’t think of anything to say to him that he’ll understand. 

He needs Sabo. He’s about to become a walking fire hazard, and he’s about to mess this whole thing up, this reunion that was almost a decade in the making. Luffy’s two friends are eyeing him with mounting suspicion the longer he stands there and stares at their captain, every line of their body still the way a predator’s body stills in preparation for a pounce. Luffy, for his part, is still engaged, but only barely. His interest is slipping away—there are too many sights and smells and things bustling all around for him to want to stand still for a gawking stranger that doesn’t even have anything exciting to say.

His little brother. Crybaby Luffy. The boy who crawled under Ace’s blanket when their treehouse quaked in a storm, who held Sabo’s hand when they stayed out too late and walked home through the jungle in the dark. He’s a pirate now, a Wanted person, with a crew and a ship all his own, and he got this far without them. The last time Ace saw him was that last night in the Gray Terminal, when Ace was being mean on purpose to make sure Luffy stayed away from certain danger. 

It occurs to Ace, for the very first time, that Luffy doesn't need him anymore. That tiny seven year old grew up. 

“I saw you in the paper,” he finally says, making a concentrated effort to sound like a human being. “You’re pretty cool.”

Luffy brightens immediately. “Yeah? Are you a pirate, too?”

“I am. Made a promise to my brothers when I was a kid that we’d sail the seas together one day.”

“Wow!” Luffy says, suitably impressed. “We made a promise like that, too.” He loops both his arms through one of Blondie’s and one of Roronoa’s. “We decided way back when we were little that we were gonna stick together and become the pirate king, and the greatest swordsman, and the man who discovers All Blue!”

So one of his two guard dogs must be the little kitchen boy from The Orbit who spirited Luffy away from Foosha. The other must have come along not much later if they were all children together. Ace wants to hear the story so badly he has to clench his jaw to keep from asking. He wants to hear about everything. 

Instead, ignoring the way Roronoa’s hand closes around the hilt of one of his swords, Ace reaches out and flicks the brim of Luffy’s hat so that it slips backwards off his head. Luffy squawks, and tries to free his arms in time to catch it, and then freezes in place at the touch to his hair.

Ace ruffles it fondly, muscle memory that hasn’t corroded even after a decade, and says what he should have said the first time that sunshine child in a worn straw hat shared a wild, impossible wish; 

“I hope I’m there to see it when all those dreams of yours come true.”

If he had stayed a second longer, he would have seen the way Luffy mirrored Ace’s touch with his own fingers, frozen in place. 

Instead, Ace has officially reached his emotional threshold, and formally retreats to find his twin. They take turns being the stable one and Ace is calling dibs on being a basket case for the next month. Masked Deuce is just going to have to deal. 

Sabo got back to their meeting spot first, an outdoor table outside a tavern that hasn’t yet opened for the day, and already has their map rolled out and pinned down at the corners by various junk from their luggage. He’s marking something down and calls over a distracted hello, and Ace bleakly replies, “I found him.”

His tone is all wrong for the remarkably momentous occasion he’s announcing, so it’s not really Sabo’s fault that it doesn’t click right away. Sabo says, “Found who?” and Ace just looks at him with all his helplessness and weariness plain on his face, and Sabo drags an ink mark all across Sandy Island on the map as he whirls around and says, “You found him?” 

“It’s not going to be how we thought,” Ace says, trying to manage his brother’s expectations. They share everything, but Ace would keep this heartbreak to himself if he knew how. “It’s—I think we took too long.”

“What do you mean?” Sabo asks, hands clenching into fists and unclenching. The fountain pen is dripping ink, ruining the fine leather of his left glove. 

“He didn’t know me. I knew he wouldn’t, not really, but he—he didn’t recognize me at all,” Ace tries to explain. He feels stupid and childish and ungrateful, but really he just has no idea what to do. Luffy doesn’t know him and doesn’t need him and how is he supposed to fill a place in that kid’s life that doesn’t exist anymore? “We’ll have to—to start over from scratch, but how? How are we supposed to make someone like Luffy care about people like us? He’s sunshine personified, and deserves to have everything he wants and the best this shitty world has to offer, and we’re just—two selfish idiots who couldn’t even take care of one little kid between the two of us.” The awful truth, delivered quietly: “Luffy doesn’t need us anymore. I can’t see why he’d want us around now.”

Sabo is watching him like something carved from marble. Ace would never tell him, because it would hurt his feelings in a way nothing else ever could, but there are times when Sabo looks every bit the nobleman his biological family wanted him to be. The line of his jaw and the fall of his hair and his deep set eyes are regal, especially when he’s focused, when he’s working through a problem, when he’s the last sane voice in a room and he’s waiting for the morons wasting his time to run out of breath. 

And then his eyes flicker past Ace’s shoulder, and his expression transforms. The breath leaves him in a rush like it was punched out of him, his lips parting, blue eyes widening in a way that seems to shave whole years from his face. 

Something causes him, impossibly, incongruously, to smile. 

“Would you put money on that?” he asks. 

“What? Yes,” Ace says, thrown off by the inappropriate lightness of his tone. He feels himself start to bristle defensively. “Are you even paying attention?” 

“One of us has to,” Sabo says, only smiling wider, and Ace feels sparks falling off his fingers in sheer aggravation as he turns around to see what is so—

He has three seconds at most to take in the sight of Luffy hurtling up the hill at top speed. It’s been years and years, but three seconds is all he needs. His arms remember how to reach out and catch him. 

“I waited where you left me, but you never came back!” Luffy shouts. “You can’t be mad! I waited and waited, and then I went out to find you instead! I didn’t remember you but I had to find you! I still don’t—I still don’t know some things—but I know it’s your fault for taking too long!” 

Sabo lurches over and Luffy’s rubbery hug wraps around them both and Ace is too shell-shocked by the last minute to do anything but hug back. 

Luffy shoves his face in Ace’s shoulder, and there’s a hot, wet smear of tears there. It gives away that Straw Hat Luffy, the pirate captain worth thirty million berries, is maybe not as grown-up as Ace had initially feared. 

Sabo presses his face against the crown of Luffy’s head, too overcome to do anything but hold him. The regal young man from moments ago is long gone. The one standing here with them is that street-rat from Dawn who knew the best places to steal food from, who always made sure they never went hungry, who once shrugged off his fine winter coat at the market and traded it to a vendor for a pair of sturdy boots for Ace and thick woolen mittens for Luffy. He had shivered all the way home, where there was an extra coat in the treehouse he could use, until Luffy had the bright idea that they should all bundle into Ace’s oversized cloak together for warmth and whined until Ace agreed just to shut him up. That had been the most annoying hike up Mount Colubo in history. It’s a memory that Ace cherishes beyond reason. 

Ace whispers, “Of course I’m not mad, Lu.” It’s been ages since he was that hostile, hateful little thing who would take a bite out of anything that dared to show its soft underbelly to him. He presses as close as he can, cheek to cheek with this piece of his family that’s gone missing for far too long, and adds, “You’ve never been obedient a day in your life. If I expected anything different, that’s on me.”

Luffy laughs, and it’s snotty and choked and pure music to Ace’s ears. The kid worms closer, makes himself smaller, and lets himself be held. 

He doesn’t need his brothers. His shoulders are broad, and his arms are solid and strong. He’s already made a name for himself, and even now those two friends of his are lingering watchfully further down the road—far enough away to give the respectful illusion of privacy, near enough to make Ace and Sabo’s day a living hell if they try anything fishy. It’s probably been a long time since he’s needed someone to hold his hand or carry him home. 

But if, by some insane, undeserved miracle, Luffy still wants them…

It’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s more than Ace has had in ten years. 

What one piece? he thinks, arms full and aching. I’ve got it all right here. 

[sgiandubh]

Caitriona didn’t mention Tony. Seems the ‘reporter’ utilized Google. 😂

Dear Didn't Mention Anon,

It's always a sarcastic pleasure to see tension climbing for literally nothing across the street. Some other Brazilian Anon, just like you (best way to convey your thoughts was, in proper English, 'the reporter used Google' - not the Portuguese semantic calque 'utilized'...), even speculated we must be hiding this shattering press article, since no reaction and/or discussion happened as of yet.

Brazilian Anons would certainly have made better use of their time and grey cells if they simply presumed that in another time zone people really have other (simple and boring and prehaps even endearing) things to do. While Brazilan Anons were probably sleeping or having breakfast, someone else was just about to end a shorter Friday work schedule, buy Chinese takeaway on the way home, have a light lunch, take out Baby the Lab for a short pee stroll around the block. And mercifully collapse in flannel sheets for a blessed siesta, waiting for the first snowy day of the year. But enough about me, Anon, you are not here for this: you are here for that article - https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

It is also an amusing factoid that C's PR and/or *** very often seem to favor second-tier media outlets in order to keep spreading around the Narrative Word. Pinoy regional gazettes, borderline clickbait/gossip websites and now Mindfood, a vanity/hybrid press magazine based and edited in New Zealand and Australia by McHugh Media Group, which main activity, at least in Oz, is (🥁🥁)...paper mills and paper manufacturing - of course.

[Source: https://www.dnb.com/business-directory/company-profiles.mchugh_media_australia_pty_limited.6ded585ed8e21b347589059682b44143.html]

Within that group, the Mindfood project is but an apparently lucrative subsidiary ('integrated media company', LOL), despite some dire client reviews ( 2 out of a resounding global 3, how odd!) on Google:

'Rank amateur's' [sic!] (...) What sort of magazine publisher doesn't have a manned office? (...) They'll go broke very quickly like that.' '(...)pretty shabby treatment of a customer.'

😱😱😱

But let's assume I am twisting again the plot (I don't, I do not need to). Let's assume I am evil like that and I give credence to two very negative (but brutally clear, too) user reviews only. Perhaps I am wrong, you might say. So, let's also have a look at some company figures, shall we?

Nay contest, it's them.

[Source: https://rocketreach.co/mchugh-media-profile_b5d2097af42e3bbb]

Now, my lovelies, how can I put it without offending anyone? What we are looking at, here, is a small company with 5 (five) employees, few web hits (164.480 hits is ridiculous, when we are talking about press/media!), but a comfortable revenue (7 million AUD - about 4.5 million USD). May I remind you that a company's revenue is roughly its gross income, before subtracting operating costs, wages and taxes. But given they have only 5 employees, wage expenses & operating costs must be marginal and taxes are rather friendly in New Zealand, where their HQ is (to the point there was, three years ago, an ongoing debate in order to determine if the country was a tax haven: https://thespinoff.co.nz/business/06-10-2021/is-nz-a-tax-haven-for-the-rich-and-dodgy-the-pandora-papers-reignite-the-debate), you do the maths. Therefore, how can this rather substantial profit be explained, otherwise than by a very friendly editorial policy towards paid and/or sponsored content and product placement galore (Lifestyle, anyone)?

Its immediate competitor is a supermarket chain in-house bulletin/leaflet, Campbell's Cash & Carry. The kind of thing that always lands somehow in your shopping bag and then directly in the kitchen trash:

This is enough to show their real reach and place on the market, I believe.

All this for what, Madam Knife? All this to say that paper is probably paid by the talent's PR/***. I will not go into useless detail, because there is very few new-ish/relevant information (e.g.: 'With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. '). But I will, gleefully even, point out two tiny details, all of you patiently read this long rant for, in fact.

As always, McGill doesn't even deserve a quote, only reported speech that is, in fact, snowballing prior reference (this is exactly where copy/paste comes in very handy, you see). And a clumsy one at that, sugar on top - hence the copy/paste certainty and this is so, so rude, I could cry (nope...):

But... but... such a nice, thoughtful touch for her Stans, who spent DAYS in a row proving he was not a music producer, but the Night Media Manager (and I have to say, delivered actual quotes - still No Face, No Name, No Number, though):

[Tait rhymes with hate, alright - I know, darlings, it pisses you off to no tomorrow 😉.]

Copy paste/Goes to waste. Finally, I had to snort (not a pretty, nor feminine sight) when I realized Mindfood takes its readers for complete, amnesic idiots:

So she became 'a mother in August of 2021', but she did film 'the sixth season of the drama while pregnant'. Granted, this paper is written for casual OL viewers, the kind of people who did find C interesting/beautiful/clever/extraordinary, but who don't remember her name when prompted on candid camera, for example. The kind of superficial audience who will never do the maths and never question the fact a pregnant actress was filming beautiful (but steamy) scenes with her... ahem... with her co-star she is now 'consciously uncoupling' from.

ROFLMAO.

Not even sorry for the length, Anon. There you go, let's say good bye with a merry little song - I am told I have the best tunes on Tumblr (SMH). Really, Mindfood's client could have curated and tailored better the Retconning Operation - but perhaps even PR has trouble taking that man and his narrative role seriously?

[bitkahuna]

“Harry, the information you’ve given us, while we believe you, has to be verifiable in order to do anything about it.” Arthur explained.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “To do something, what, legally?” He blinked. “Like, getting the Ministry involved?"

“Frankly, yes.” Arthur nodded. “If we can bring Crouch Jr. in on something serious enough to warrant the use of a truth serum, we could get everything we need to make arrests and search the Crouch residence."

-----

“What do you think of a sleepover?”

“A sleepover? In Grimmauld Place?” Ron grinned.

“Yea.”

“Mate, this place is like a fucking legend for us. You don’t just get invited to Grimmauld Place, home of the most noble and ancient House of Black.” He said the last part in a somewhat mocking tone of how House Black used to refer to themselves.

“Now home to Sirius Black, a werewolf, and me.”

“I think it’d be awesome. Who would you invite?”

“Us, obviously. Maybe ‘Mione and Luna. She and I need to go buy formalwear together anyway. If we’re inviting them, then we ought to invite Ginny, cause I think it would be weird if Luna was the only person younger than us. But then we might as well ask Neville, Dean, and Seamus."

-----

“You want me to use dark arts.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A tired one.

‘To make him known is to delve into the very essence of his being.’

With that, Ianthe interjected, “I’ve had many powerful masters. Last I remember such magics were theoretical.”

‘The foundations of which are proven. ’ Those illusory eyes turned to Harry. ‘Recently proven.’

The boy tensed, looking between the two. “What have I done?”

-----

First, he was denied knowledge for fear he would become a dark wizard. Now he has to in order to hunt Horcruxes. Was he becoming a monster? He got Professor Quirrell killed, killed the basilisk, encouraged Sirius to kill Peter. But the good killing, killing the Horcruxes, he outsourced. Moaning Myrtle destroyed the diary and Kreacher destroyed the locket. Why had he only done the bad killing? Sure, Sirius was the one to actually kill Peter, but Harry still encouraged it. Harry insisted on staying. He saw Peter’s dead body.

Maybe this was it, then.

Maybe he was made for the scars. Maybe he was made for the evil. Harry Potter was a vessel for all the darkness required to end this war, so everyone else could stay in the light. He could eat it, swallow it whole, and become it. Become the darkness to bring the dawn.

-----

Harry sighed, sitting back down. He thought back to when Ashterah said she didn’t want to train the next Dark Lord. He remembered everything she said afterward; the thin line between miracles and horrors, would he take everything he wanted if he could, that he should be afraid. “You’ve been debating this for a while, haven’t you?”

‘I’ve thought it necessary since summer but never wanted it to come to this.’

“Dark magic is corrupting.” He spoke in a feeble argument. “It turns people weak and hideous.” He’d been taught on several occasions the effects the dark arts can have on people. Some argued those were just rumors, but he knew it was true. He’d seen two separate books in the Restricted Section on how to reverse the physical deterioration that comes from dark magic use. He’s also heard plenty of complaints on Knockturn Alley, where there was a flowering counterfeit beauty potions market.

“Evil turns them weak and hideous.” Ianthe corrected. “Weak will turn inquiring minds to greed and hate; this malice leads to evil.”

“It’s illegal.” Harry muttered.

‘Only if you use it for evil, Harry. I cannot promise you will not kill, but you will find law and morals are oft cast aside in war.’

Harry sighed, feeling a tear fall from his eye as he came to a decision. “They have to be, don’t they?”

-----

Just posted!! Things went a bit differently at the Triwizard Tournament, allowing Harry and his allies a shot at getting Barty Crouch Jr. arrested before the 3rd task. Now, during Yule break, Harry grapples with the fact that he''ll have to do something drastic to survive whatever has been planned for that final task.

Also, Yule is coming up and Harry is 1000% going to kiss Draco again because I can't physically stop

[lou-struck]

Too Many Pumpkins

Shinsuke Kita x reader

Flufftober Day 4- Too Many Pumpkins

WC: 2.3k

- After a successful morning at the farmers market, Shinsuke finds an unexpected gift in his truck.

There are two types of people in the world. Those who wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings and those who don't. Usually, you fall into the second category, but thanks to the gentle coaxing and sweet promises from your Partner, you find yourself miles away from home, organizing little bags of rice on Shinsuke's wooden vendor stall for the last Farmers Market of the season.

Ever since the market opened, you have had a line at your till; a few people come to your little stand hoping to just buy one bag of rice but find themselves reaching for another after they catch a glimpse of Shinsuke's stunning smile. You understand, but are thankful though that he uses those good looks of his for good and not evil, because if he decided that after high school he wanted to start a pyramid scheme or a cult, you probably would still be with him.

When the clock in the square chimes on the hour you glance around your stand to find only your empty little display boxes on the counter. Accomplishment blooms in your chest, as you see Shinsuke walking back from helping an older customer, carry her bags out to her car. (Because, of course, he is)

"How are we doing?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

With a satisfied grin, you turn your head and lean into his embrace, "We are completely sold out." you hmm.

His eyes widen in shock as they flicker between you and his now-bare tabletop. "Everything? Even the large bags behind the counter."

"Those went first," You chuckle, peering down at the table and looking for anything you may have missed. "I don't even think there's one grain of rice left to spare."

"Oh my, that's wonderful. I should leave you in charge more often." he smiles, but it fades slightly as he scans the tent. "Are you looking for something?" You bite your lower lip worriedly. Is it possible you forgot something when you were running the stand for him?

"Nothing like that at all; I just forgot that I have one last delivery to make before we can call it a day." He reaches into the pocket of a cloth bag and pulls out the last bag of rice of the season. This one, in particular, is tied neatly with a cute little bow printed with pumpkins and bats.

"That's adorable, who is that for?"  You ask wondering who from his farmers market family he set this aside for.

"It's for Ms.Kaho. Do you remember her?" 

You nod. Ms. Kaho is the sweetest old lady ever; she runs a huge produce stand a few tents down from you and seems to have a new embellished sweater for every occasion. Every time you visit her stall, she has you 'quality check' her fruit of the week and sends you on your way with a new story about someone you have never met and some serious grandmotherly advice.

Needless to say, you would let the world burn for that little lady.

"I could bring it to her," you offer immediately. "Then, when I get back, we can explore the rest of the market."

"Thank you, that would be great," he says, setting the pouch into your outstretched hand. You can tell he is itching to clean up. He hasn't outgrown his diligent habits from his youth, nor is he likely to do so anytime soon. Which works out for you because you have no clue how to dismantle that wooden table he sets up.

Stepping out into the market, you see tents sprawled out all over the town square. It's busier than the other weekends as people pass by you with their arms full of freshly cut flowers and little pumpkins. You weave through the crowd to Ms. Kaho's large produce stand. 

You see her bright orange pumpkin sweater and her wide-brimmed straw hat talking to a customer when she notices you. She greets you with a wide coral-painted smile and immediately hobbles over to you with outstretched arms. 

"Y/n, it is so good to see you, dear," she says, squeezing you tightly. "How is the rice selling today."

"It's going well," you wheeze. "We actually just sold out a few minutes ago, but we wanted to give you this as a little gift." You hold out her little rice bag to her, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree. 

"Oh, aren't you the sweetest thing," she gushes, grabbing the rice bag with her fall-themed acrylics, "You're Not leaving yet, are you?"

"No, we are planning on walking around for a bit," you answer, knowing you are walking into a trap. 

She claps her hands together, "Wonderful, I just have a little gift for you two, but I'll just slip it into your truck before you go."

"Thank you, but you have done so much for us already," you say with a sweet smile. "I'd hate to take anything from y.." 

"Nonsense," she huffs, slipping her rice bag behind her cash box. "What kind of friend would I be if I let Yumie's family go hungry during the winter? You kids go enjoy the rest of the market, and I'll just drop it in your truck."

Before you can say anything else on the subject, she expertly steers you out of her tent and pushes you away with a sweet little goodbye.

~

"Come on, Shin," you frown, crossing your arms as the two of you walk back to his truck. "You have to let me hold something."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he says bluntly as if he doesn't have bags filled with everything from soap to sourdough weighing down his arms. Having sold his entire stock, he is in a great mood and is spoiling you relentlessly, buying everything that you look at for more than three seconds. The most recent addition is a crochet little ghost plushie holding a piece of candy corn. 

You are nearing the parking lot when suddenly Shinsuke stops in his tracks. "Oh my…" Following his gaze, your eyes land on his truck, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. "His truck bed, having been completely empty when you last left it, is now filled to the brim with pumpkins and squashes of all shapes and sizes.

"Did someone use your truck to rob a pumpkin patch?" you ask in a whisper. 

"It looks like Ms. Kaho is at it again," he sighs, shaking his head. And you immediately remember your conversation with the elderly farmer at her produce stand. 

"She said she has a gift for you," you say. "But I didn't realize that this is what she meant."

He laughs, "I should've warned you; she has a tendency to go over the top when giving gifts. One time, when I was a boy, I told her I liked a certain brand of seaweed chips, and she proceeded to give me a pallet of them for Christmas.

"Oh dear.." you say, imagining little ten-year-old Shinsuke unwrapping a mountain of chips. But looking at the sight in front of you brings you back to reality. "But there are just so many of them. Do you think we could bring a few back to her? I'd hate to take away her product."

He frowns. "That's not gonna happen; she's as stubborn as they come; when she puts her mind to something, there isn't much that will change it. Not to mention, her farm is the largest in the county, she grows so many pumpkins, this load isn't making a dent in her stores."

"So what are we going to do?"

"for now, we should get home; we can figure out what we're going to do with all these pumpkins there."

~

It was just before noon when you two pulled up the gravel driveway of Shinsuke's farm. The Sun peeks through the thinning clouds and shines off of the literal cornucopia in the bed of his faded blue truck.

Since Shinsuke insisted on unloading the pumpkins himself, you have busied yourself with sorting the various gourds into piles based on size and variety.

"88"

"89"

"Anddd 90." Just to be sure, you scan the room looking for any stragglers when Shinsuke slips off his boots at the door. "I think we got all of them."

"Not quite," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the smallest little orange and white speckled pumpkin you have ever seen. "This one was hiding in the back."

"It's so tiny," you say, taking it from his hand eagerly. And adding it to the top of the mini pumpkin pile on the kitchen table. "These little ones would be great for decorations."

"That's true," he muses, admiring all your hard work. "These Kabocha Squashes store really well, I can ask my grandmother for a few of her recipes so I can make them for you."

"That would be great," your mouth begins to water at the thought of trying another one of Yumie's family recipes. Glancing down at the next pile you see that these pumpkins are bright orange but are just a bit larger in size than a softball. "What about the others?"

"Oh, those are pie pumpkins, I believe," he says knowledgeably. "They are great for canning and making puree; the others can be used for that too, but there are just too many and not enough canning supplies, so he says that you can just use those and roast their seeds."

"I thought you had lots of canning stuff; what happened to it?" You ask, recalling the huge stash of supplies you stumbled across in his barn a few months ago. His cheeks turn a rare pink as he glances down at the floor. Apparently, this isn't the first time Ms. Kaho has surprised him with one of her gifts.

Glancing down at the last batch of pumpkins, you see they are the large, stereotypical kind that one associate with fall. "How about these ones? Do you think we have time to carve out thirty Jack o lanterns?"

He lets out a low chuckle at your little joke as he walks across the room to the pile and inspects them carefully. After a minute or two, he reaches through them, pulls out two perfect-looking ones, and places them on the counter. "How about 2 Jack o lanterns?"

"That would be fun, but what about the rest?" you ask, knowing that you still have too many pumpkins.

"Would you mind if I borrow you for the rest of the day?" he asks in a tone you can't quite place. "I have an Idea about how we can fix our little problem."

~

For the second time today, you find yourself sitting comfortably in Shinsuke's passenger seat; your boyfriend has a soft little grin on his face as he grips the wheel with one hand and fiddles with your fingers with the other.

Despite your best efforts, he will not tell you anything about where you are going or what you are going to do with the 29 (you counted) pumpkins in the back. But this little spontaneous adventure is thrilling nevertheless. 

"Will you please tell me where we are going?" you ask softly. Taking his hand, you raise it to your lips and kiss the tips of his fingers lightly, hoping that a little bribery with his favorite currency will get him to talk. 

He shakes his head and exhales lightly. "We are almost there, just a few more minutes." His tone is stern yet loving, and you know that no matter what you do, his resolve will not waiver. 

With a huff, you turn away and glance out the window, watching as houses and parks pass you by until he slows down and pulls in front of a familiar-looking house.

"Looks like he's home," he murmurs, and you try so hard to figure out who he is talking about. 

"Are you ready?" he asks, and you turn your head, but before you can ask him what he means, he is sliding out of his car seat. You follow his lead as he grabs two pumpkins from the back and hands one to you. 

Holding his finger to his lips, his eyes are alive with life as he creeps up to the front door of the house. Noisily, you see a package on the front porch and squint to look at the label. A. Miya, and it hits you; this is the home of your boyfriend's former teammate from Irizaki High School. 

Shinsuke diligently sets the pumpkin on his friend's porch, and you smile; seeing this playful side of your boyfriend is rare, but you love it just as much as his diligent, serious side. Crouching down, you set it carefully on the professional volleyball player's front step. "Get ready to run."

"Run?" you parrot, watching in confusion as he raises his fist to the door and raps loudly on the wood. Without skipping a beat, he spins around and grabs your hand as you run back to the truck. Even in his haste, he opens the door for you before zipping around to the driver's side. 

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck as you drive around the corner, stopping a safe distance away from the house. 

"This. Was your plan?" you pant, placing your hand on your chest to feel your racing heart.

"Yes…" he says, looking at you with pink cheeks. "What do you think?"

"I think…" you pause, letting your lips curve up into a sly smile. "I think I want to know where we are going next."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[catenary-chad]

Thrifting/antiquing/flea market shopping headcanons, continued. Ft. basically everyone else in the cast.

Other engines:

Greaseball buys a lot of used car/other machine parts, he gravitates towards overbuilt 50s equipment that’s easy to modify and repair so he goes to the used market a lot.  He’s relatively “typical” size and tends to have an easier time than many others finding used clothes. The Gang are his flying monkeys looking for stuff for him… to mixed results.

McCoy and Rusty collect old prewar/postwar era toy and model trains.  Whenever they see electric ones they get confused and call it a “trolley”, alien artifact, or “sci fi revisionist nonsense”.  

The Nationals are not opposed to doing a little shopping while abroad, it can be really fun to thrift/vintage shop overseas.  Caveat: there’s probably even funnier answers to this section based on what people actually like buying abroad irl but I don’t know enough about that so I’m going off vibes.  Very open to suggestions if you have fun more cultural ones.  

Ruhrgold gets excited by American amusement park and carnival stuff (merch, models, etc) because Germany has a strong culture of them that’s very different from the US so they’re a real novelty to him.

The British Engine likes miniatures.  Cartoonishly tiny versions of things because they are tiny by train standards due to the British loading gauge.  

The Japanese Engine LOVES the New York subway system and thinks New York is way cooler and more glamorous than it really is.  Buys all kinds of stuff related to the romantic ideal of the city and especially its trains.  Goes nuts for any kind of subway stuff they’ve seen in movies and associates with exciting foreign cities.  (This bit is based on actual sentiment among some Japanese railfans and 80s city pop) 

Coco/Bobo- god help me it’s hard to think of anything for these two, I just imagine them shaking their heads in disappointment.  I could see them being bafflingly excited by anything involving the Milwaukee Road since it was an early influence on early French rail electrification.  

Turnov will quietly get banned or hard to acquire music and media to smuggle home, probably skewing towards punk rock

Espresso and Electra are often into the same Italian designers but they are very different sizes and thus have a mutual truce. 

(Not doing the Wembley engines because I just don’t know enough about them and they don’t have strong real-life inspirations to draw from)

FREIGHT

Dustin knows what to look for in terms of used workwear and will point it out to the other freights (and other people in general).  Poor guy tends to leave disappointed since big and tall tends to be very hard to find used, but he loves to help others.  

Especially Flat-Top, who’s newer to it and doesn’t really know what to look for for his DIY projects.  If they find something good that just has some damage/needs repairs, he loves patching stuff up in typical punk fashion.  

The Rockies and Hip Hoppers follow Dustin around like a line of ducklings when he goes to mineral society shows.  You can get some great deals on Cool Rocks at them since a lot of the sellers are just rockhounds selling off their extras or selling deceased members’ collections off vs more commercial vendors.  Morbid side note: nothing makes you feel more impermanent than buying a dead guy’s Cool Rocks, knowing they have been here for millions of years and will outlive you by orders of magnitudes unless something truly catastrophic happens.

Rockies tend to look for lightly used sports equipment.  Hoppers go for the logomania brands Electra rejects and try to convince them that they’re actually cool. 

CB always goes for old radios and electronics of course, often teaming up with Electra to look for stuff to cannibalize for parts.  Evil Twink Caboose is into tinplate toys and often successfully convinces Rusty that they’re cool.  It’s always something that secretly has lead paint or sketchy ancient electronics though. Post 2018 Caboose likes novelty piggy banks and will hide evidence of his crimes inside things he sells/donates to rid himself of it.

Slick is excited by unusual plastics, especially collectible/rare stuff like Bakelite.  I think she would enjoy plastic dinos and old gas station merch.  

Porter hangs around Dustin and the Rockies/Hoppers at rock shows looking for coal and hand tools for rock collecting

Lumber views all wood in terms of burnability and everyone goes out of their way to keep him away from nice old furniture.  He WILL chuck that nice old hardwood in a fireplace even if it’s a bespoke artisan piece.  It’s been very hard to shake him from his ways.

Hydra likes airship and zeppelin related stuff.  Sketchy old chemistry sets that may or may not have actual uranium or instructions on how to make things explode too.

COMPONENTS

Volta is always looking for stuff to mod in her typical gothy DIY projects. She often comes out with a baffling assortment of clothes but somehow makes something cool from them.  Also drawn to VERY warm winterwear and will go on and on about what produces the best insulation.  And snowglobes.  I could see her being into snowglobes.

Joule always manages to find stuff with sketchy chemicals, asbestos, or other toxic things in them from back in the day when that was accepted.  She has to be lured away with cute ceramic animal figurines.  

Purse is always looking in pockets and compartments for money and money alone.  He’s probably the only one who’s actually a reseller and goes for items he knows he can flip for a lot.  If the cashier takes too long to calculate things he’ll often whip out a sheet of paper and do the math by hand at light speed. 

Krupp looks for more of the obscure/European tool and electronic brands that Greaseball doesn’t know and Electra is kind of sketchy on.  Also Kraftwerk media.  He will inspect any CD/record/etc looking for rarities.  Also excited by unusual hardware regardless of true usefulness.

Killerwatt pretends to know what Krupp is talking about and silently judges display cases based on security. 

MISC

The Marshalls are always on the lookout for skate and scooter parts

Control hates clothes shopping with their mom no matter where they go but can be bribed by the offer of getting a new toy train at the end

[adarkrainbow]

Fairytales of France: The Little Horned Men

Henry Carnoy, in his collection of oral tales and stories from the Picardie region, wrote a section called "The Small Horned Men" or "The Little Horned Men".

Once upon a time, there was a species of tiny men that some called Dwarves and others called the Little Horned Men. They always had one foot in height, a very long beard and very long hair. They lived under the earth, into the rocks, beneath the mountains, wore red-clothes of outdated fashion, and were armed with steel swords and silver spears. While they looked somehow like men, they were not of humankind - for it was said they would only die when the world came to an end and no other living being is around, and when they'll die "they shall not resurrect for the Judgement Day". Their main feature, however, are their horns - they all have two pretty small horns on their forehead, like those of a young ram, and it doesn't make them ugly or unpleasant in any way.

These Dwarves are not evil: in fact they often help those they meet. Whenever a little boy or a little girl is lost in the woods and encounters them, they will take pity on their tears and lead them back to their home. The only way to make a Small Horned Man angry enough that their face will turn blue is to say "Coua! Coua! Coua!", which is a cry similar to the one of geese - they hate these birds, which try to beat them and bite them every time they see them. However, to please a Little Horned Man, you just have to say "Ric, rac! Ric, rac! Gai! Gai! C'est aujourd'hui la paix!" (Ric, rac! Ric, rac! Gay! Gay! Peace is today!). But nobody can tell you why this sentence makes them happy...

"Back when grandma was still a little girl, and grandpa still wore a dress" [a reference to how little boys use to wear dresses and robes before getting their "boy pants" as they grow up], the Small Horned Men showed up to humans from time to time: they went to the fair, to the markets, to buy red cloth, thread and needles. Sometimes, when it was a feast ay, they secretely danced in the garden of the school-teacher, or at private gathering organized by fiddle-players. Today, they are only heard about at rare occassions... Are they too shy and shameful to appear to humans? Or are they angry at them? Nobody knows...

Do they eat and drink, these Small Horned Men? Yes they do. They have their own harvest, but it does not rely on the seasonal cycle we humans follow. They perform their harvest not from month to month - but during one night of the year. The 24th of June, "la nuit de la Saint-Jean", Saint John's Night, aka Midsummer Night. As humans make huge bonfires and dance around it while singing, the Little Horned Men prepare themselves for their yearly harvest: their wheat and their grapevines grow to full maturity from the setting of the sun to midnight, and so from midnight to the sunrise the dwarves must quickly do their harvest, to get their grain and their grapes. It is an especially hard work since Midsummer night is the smallest night of the year - so these little horned men worked "with sweat and blood", harder than any slave, all while singing "Toutes les herbettes / Qui sont dans les champs / Fleurissent et grainent / La nuit de Saint-Jean". "All the small herbs / That are in the fields / Make flowers an grains / On Saint John's night".

And when the sun rises, their work is not done yet, for one hour is left - one hour during which they will carry their yellow gold coins to the sun, shaking it by the first rays of the morning. This gold is usually preciously kept within the rocks where they live, but if this yellow gold doesn't see the light of the sun at least once in the year, it will turn red and start rotting, in which case the Little Horned Men throw it away as if it was trash.

All these precious informations came from the tale of one Jean Noirot (Blackish John), who was the blacksmith of a given village. He was a man who had so many children, boys and girls, that in the village people said "John the Black has more kids than a sieve has holes!". It was a lot of mouthes to feed, a lot of bodies to dress, a lot of people to take care of - and one day, "Misery came knocking at the blacksmith's door". No more bread, no more wine... What to do? Jean Noirot thought that he could go start hunting rabbit by the neighboring forest at night, to sell the beasts at the market.

So each night, after a hard day of working at his smithery, Blackish John went to the forest to capture the rabbits. And he was a very talented rabbit-hunter, who knew how to use well all sorts of hunting tactics, and who could spot a rabbit even by the blackest, moonless, starless night. Every year he caught around a thousand rabbits that his wife and daughters sold at the neighboring cities and villages. This brought back wine and bread into his house.

One night, on the eve of Midsummer, as his children came back from the village's bonfire, Jean Noirot decided to go hunt a few rabbits in the forest, hoping to offer them to a land-owner they rented a field from, and who had to be paid by the following day. He took his rifle and went into the woods, promising to go back home as fast as he could.

It was a fresh night, as a cold wind blew from the North. The moon shone bright in the sky and there were many stars to see. As the blacksmith came by the Roches-aux-Fées (The Fairy Stones), he decided to stop here to hunt the rabbits. He hid between two blocks of granite, but as he waited for the rabbits, he heard a voice insulting "lazy people" and telling them to get ready for midnight... And he heard the song "Toutes les herbettes/Qui sont dans les champs/Fleurissent et grainent/La nuit de Saint-Jean". He stayed there, not moving, no making a sound, and saw the Little Horned Men preparing themselves for their yearly harvest, led by a whip-armed master who kept telling them to work harder and faster, while the others kept singing their song. He saw an uncountable amount of Little Men go out of the rocks and holes in the ground, with their scythe, their blades, their baskets and their rakes.

As all the Dwarves went away, the master of the Little Men saw the blacksmith. He carefully looked at him and offered him some money if he agreed to help the Dwarves do their work, for he looked "as strong as a hundred of my men". Jean asked what type of job he would be paid for, but the other answered "Wait one hour, when my men return I shall tell it to you". One hour later, the Little Horned Men returned with their baskets and carts filled with wheat, hay, oats, maize, grapes, apples, pears, abricots, nuts and fruits of all sorts. They also brought back with them cattle, but the strangest one: there were black cows and red bulls as small as tiny dogs, and there were rams and sheep no taller than squirrels. And Jean Noirot was taked with helping them gather around all of these plants, fruits, harvest, cattle - all of this food inside the dwarves' domain, so that all would be gathered and stocked for the year. He helped them work, between the whip of the master and the song of the workers, until the sun rose and all of the Dwarf-harvest was under the ground.

The master of the Dwarves offered him the promised money, and offered him more if he agreed to help them in their second task. Jean agreed, and the Dwarves got out of their underground home with enormous and numerous bags of shining, yellow gold coins. The master whipped them and insulted them, as he did before, so that they would get out of the gold, shake it under the sunrays, warning them to not let any gold get red or rot. Jean Noirot helped them empty the bags so they could "shake the gold" by the sunrise, and once it was done the Dwarves quickly brought it back underground. After one hour, the master offered Jean Noirot the promised money, but he promptly complained about how the "laziness" of his men caused them to lose three quintals of gold coins - "Now our pretty gold is red and rotten. Quick, lazy bones, throw these bags out of the earth or they will stink up the place!". And so the Dwarves threw away the bags containing the three quintals of gold, and then they disappeared with their master in the holes of the ground and in the heart of the rocks.

Jean Noirot was not a foolish man, and so he took the bags for himself. He buried them secretly, only taking a handful of the red gold coins. He promptly returned home: his wife was surprised to see had had caught no rabbit, but his man answered him "I've got no time to explain, I got something far better, I must go to the city!". There he went to sell his red gold and returned with his earned money, to immediately have something to eat and drink. His wife still was confused about what was going on, by her husband told him to wait still. The three following nights, he got out to the forest, and each night he brought back one of the bags containing a quintal of red gold. And then he told his family of his adventures in the woods.

Jean Noirot and his family became very rich, so wealthy they left the village and lived in the great city of the country. Jean Noirot bought a small forest all for himself, alongside several farms, a water-mill, and a beautiful castle. The farms and the mill were offered to his children, while he stayed within his castle, still going into the forest each day to hunt hares and rabbits.

The end.