#I pray they make it out as well as they can

[teaboot]

One of the biggest eye-openers for me back when a I went to church was that like…

Oh man how do I explain it.

There’s this prevalent idea I see a lot in Christian circles that if you pray right, if you follow God correctly, if you’re a truly virtuous person, your problems will be solved, right?

If you suffer, if you fall ill, if bad things happen, it’s because you aren’t good enough. You don’t need medicine because if you’re worthy, if you’re faithful enough, God will reward you by healing you. Right?

But like. Discussing this with my mother, and travelling out east with our pastor… Jesus didn’t spend all his time with perfect, virtuous people. Jesus didn’t seek out and heal well-to-do, faithful, perfect Christians. In fact, there’s a specific story in which he straight up doesn’t travel out to heal a believer’s dying daughter, because she’s already “saved”. Her earthy death is okay because she’s going to heaven already.

And like… coming from our Pastor, who is one of the best guys I’ve ever met- there seems to be an ongoing, underlying message of, “Jesus doesn’t care about you if you’re a good Christian”. If you’re a good Christian, if you’re living a virtuous life on earth, then any suffering you experience is only temporary- your ETERNITY is secure. Jesus goes out of his way to meet with sinners and the unfaithful because those are the people whose souls are in danger.

So like. In that perspective, being good doesn’t make your life better, it’s just good for others and good for your soul. Praying and doing good probably won’t cure your cancer, but it may mean you don’t have to worry too much about your death.

And like. I dunno. I wouldn’t call myself a Christian, but I find myself thinking about that concept a lot

Does suffering mean you deserve a reward?

Is suffering proof that you’re unworthy?

Or is suffering just an unfortunate facet of life that doesn’t reflect on your worth, that you still have to deal with as best you can?

Maybe suffering is just suffering.

Maybe the bad things you experienced weren’t about you

And maybe you just gotta try your best and be kind anyways, so you can rest easy when you go

[burningcheese-merchant]

"You and I... We are meant to be together." okay everyone pack it up. go home. it doesn't get worse than this. I fear all other ancient x beast is #cancelled forever because how the utter fuck do you compete with that. My god. Dark Cacao would die on the spot, his old fucking heart would give out processing a sentence that romantic. Golden Cheese would choke and die from the physical manifestation of her own pride and ego before she could ever utter a sentence that open and honest. Hollyberry is choosing to laugh it all off and pray she can drink away and not think about it. White Lily would fall into another witch pot of bubbling goo before confronting said feelings. Only Pure Motherfucking Vanilla is that clincally batshit and unburdened to spout his feelings 1000% unfiltered to a guy who just killed his friends and got his rocks off psychologically torturing him.

Mystic Flour being utterly repulsed by such naïve, meaningless sentimentality, still clinging to the remains of the apathy she so cherishes and champions even as it slips through her fingers like flour through a sieve; hating herself to her very core because somewhere within it, she KNOWS her heart beats and aches for that ridiculous man, but she would end her own suffering before she allowed the truth to poke its head out from the shadows of her subconscious for even a single second

Burning Spice knowing how he feels for Golden Cheese, reveling in it, LIVING for the way his heart thunders in his chest and his breath hitches at the mere thought of his little bird. Never being afraid to tell her so, to pour out the contents of his dark heart without any filter (and Witches know he needs one at times...), either through his mouth or through the blade of his axe. But... still knowing that it isn't quite enough. Not for her. Because there's still something missing from his confessions. That soft, sugary sweetness that took away enough of the edge to his overwhelming spice that even he himself noticed it. That raw honesty - a different kind than he's used to, not quite what he employs. The kind that well and truly leaves him vulnerable and open to judgment; things he hates himself for fearing, even if it's only in relation to her and no one else. The kind he simply cannot have, that he cannot carry out. He tells Golden Cheese how he feels for her the way he WANTS to, not the way he NEEDS to. For that, he must change. And damn it, he can't handle any more change. It'll kill him, and he doesn't want to die anymore. Not while she's there to make his life fun again

Eternal Sugar sighing, rolling her eyes before letting them flutter shut again, because she knows this song and dance. She once helped countless others perform it; such was her lot as Happiness. And she chooses to ignore it, tuck herself back into bed and retreat into the world of dreams once more. Letting laziness govern her actions, like always. Running away from everything again - including her feelings for Hollyberry, and the fears and doubts that shroud them. Choosing to do nothing with the fact that Hollyberry is a runner and a quitter just like her, instead of taking initiative with her life and emotions for the first time in ages and telling Hollyberry point-blank that they could run away from the world together if she truly wanted

Silent Salt secretly lamenting his condition more than ever before, for now more than ever can he truly say that it is a hindrance, a curse, a stain on the tapestry of his life. Because no matter how well he's trained himself to express his thoughts and feelings through his actions, he knows that there are times where words really DO speak louder - and he can't speak them at all. He can never look White Lily in the eye and open his mouth and allow his praise and adoration to leap freely from his tongue. She will never feel the warmth of his tone as his words embraced her. She will never shiver and swoon at the joy and passion that dripped from every single letter - and there would've been many, there would've been more than could ever have been recorded, for he would've sung his feelings from every rooftop on earth until his lungs gave out. But he can't. He never will. Does he try to pretend it's better this way? Does he try and fail to cope with his lovesickness like his comrades do with theirs? Or does he accept the bitter reality for what it is, no ifs, ands, or buts, only hiding the gloom and doom he knows is written all over his face behind his helm just so he doesn't have to see it for himself?

And, above all of these things, bundling up the other 4 Beasts' feelings and tucking them away... Above all else, they are angry. They are angry at Shadow Milk. Because he achieved what none of them could. He got everything he wanted. His Ancient admitted his love for him, with all of the raw sincerity one could possibly afford another. The other Beasts would do ANYTHING to hear their Ancients speak to them in such a way. To acknowledge and embrace their connection, to confess to loving and longing for them; for their countenance, for their voice, for their touch, for their very souls. Shadow Milk got to reunite with his other half - who chose him willingly, wholeheartedly.

And Shadow Milk chose to throw it all away in the end. Let it all go to waste.

If any of them ever see him again, they're going to let him know EXACTLY how they feel about it all. Maybe it can count as practice towards crafting a proper heartfelt confession.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

[weird-is-life]

hi! could you do a reader x hotch. where they give him like a lolly or some candy bc they've noticed how stressed he's been lately? ty! ❤️

Hi lovely, ty for this request! I hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, grumpy Aaron,mentions of lunch/food, assistent!reader, reader wears heels, (0.9k)

Being Aaron's assistent for the last 6 month means you know his moods pretty well by now.

He's hired you because the paperwork was getting too much, and it meant he had to bring it home as well. Which wasn't good for him, and neither for the time he meant to spend with Jack.

So here you are sitting behind a desk, looking at frowny and grumpy Aaron. He looks like he's gonna throttle the first person that walks into his office.

Even the team is doing everything, anything to look productive. So you decide to be the brave one, and go ask Aaron if he wants lunch.

You knock on his door, "Hotch?" You tentatively peek inside his office. You called him Mr.Hotchner the first 2 months when he finally had enough of it, and asked you to call him Hotch.

Aaron looks up at you, question why you are bothering him in his eyes. He's definitely in ripping off heads mood today.

"Do you want something to eat? For lunch?" you ask softly with a bright smile. You are pretty sure that when you smile at Aaron like that his grumpy heart melts a bit.

"No." He says groggily, and his eyes go instantly back to the paperwork. He seems to be more grumpy than usual. You send him a little frown of your own, and closed his office door again.

Your heels click against the bau floors as you rush to get the lunch. Thirty minutes later you walk quickly to get back to the office.

You go straight back to your boss's office. You come in with a swift knock, and hurried greeting.

Aaron's head is still buried in the paperwork as you put the lunch in front of him. The smell of broccoli soup with the pasta makes Aaron pause.

"What's this?" he asks. Putting his pen down, and looking at you. Finally really looking at you.

He hasn't realised before, but you look very lovely today. More than lovely actually. He would almost feel bad for being so short with you earlier if he wasn't stressed with work already. He will save his guilt for later when he has the time for it.

"Your lunch," you smile at him, "take a break, and eat it, please Hotch." You want to make sure to avoid any heated words from him towards some incompetent people. But also you want to make sure he's okay.

"Too much work," he tells you, reaching back for his pen. Your hand is quicker, and you snatch the pen away, hiding it behind your back.

Aaron just rolls his eyes playfully, it's not like he doesn't have an entire package of pens stashed away in the desk drawer. But somehow he agrees, "fine."

"Great! I'll be at my desk if you need anything-" you turn around on your heel ready to leave.

"Stay," Hotch blurts out, and mentally curses himself at the same time. He doesn't know what made him say it, maybe it was your soft smile or the thoughtful lunch, but he asks you to stay.

"When I have to eat, at least eat with me. I'd feel bad about eating instead of working. But with you here we can say it's a business lunch." Really Hotchner? That's what you are going with? He almost slaps himself across his face.

"Oh. Okay, Hotch."

You sheepishly go sit down on his couch with the coffee table, and Aaron joins you a few moments later. You didn't expect to eat lunch with him.

You eat the first couple of bites in quiet, awkward quiet. It's not everyday that you eat lunch with your hot boss. In his office. With closed door. Alone. You just pray that you don't make a mess all over your white blouse in front of him. You wouldn't survive that.

"How did you know broccoli soup is my favourite?" Aaron finally breaks the silence, curiosity getting the best of him.

"I've seen you order it everytime you are in the restaurant with the team and me," you murmur. You notice things. It's like your thing, maybe especially with Aaron.

"Hmm, interesting," Aaron responds, and the conversation starts to go smoothly from there.

You ask him about Jack, he asks you about your puppy, and so on. You kinda wish you had more food just so you could talk longer with him. Aaron, unbeknownst to you, feels completely the same.

"I should probably let you get back to work, Hotch-"

"Aaron, you can call me Aaron over lunch," he interrupts you to tell you this.

You giggle,"only over lunch?"

"Yes, y/l/n. I'm still your boss," Aaron tells you, but you can see the amused sparks in his eyes, and the light twitch of his lips upwards.

"Gotcha, Hotch." Did you just say Hotch just to spite him? Maybe.

You are almost out of the door when you realise one more thing. "Och, I almost forgot!"

You pull out a small box, and put in in front of Aaron on the desk.

"What's this now?" He raises his brows in question.

"Candy. I thought you might need it," you simply state, and leave his office with a satisfied smile.

For the rest of the day you can see Aaron munching on the box full of candy, his face ten times less tense then before lunch. It makes the small smile being glued on your face for the rest of the day.

Aaron feels much better. But it isn't thanks to the lunch or the candies. It's because of a certain pretty assistent sitting a few meters outside of his office.......

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IV

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... masterlist/chapter map

IV.

You’re a little alarmed, until the passenger side window rolls down, and you see Professor Wick behind the wheel. He’s dressed for a night out, driving gloves and all, and a wave of desire nearly takes you out at the knees. This man. 

Does he have to look so goddamn edible all the fucking time?

“I thought I recognized you,” he says with a half smile that nearly stops your heart. You wonder if he’s implying that he almost didn’t recognize you, with clothes on. The thought sends an unreasonable spear of longing right through your center. You press your thighs together out of self defence, praying that he will just think that you are cold.

You tilt your head, curious what he’s doing here, even while your heart clamors like a brass band in your chest. “Hi.” 

“Need a ride?” 

“I’m ok.” 

He frowns. “You really shouldn’t be walking around alone this late.” 

You shrug. Despite what the talking heads love to yell about on the news about the rampant violence in the inner city, you’ve never had a problem in your neighborhood before. 

When he sees you’re unmoved he sighs–you’re not sure if at you, or himself. “Humor me?” 

The fact is…you were more unsettled by how much you wanted to jump in his car from the moment he asked. 

“Alright.”

Ensconced in the buttery leather seat, you have to admit it’s a lot warmer inside the Porsche. You look around the interior. It’s an older model, but you can tell, lovingly maintained. “Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” 

You didn’t think professors got paid so well, but maybe he has other sources of income. One has to diversify in today’s economy, you know very well. There’s so much you want to know about him–you’re too shy to ask. 

He works the gears to pull away from the curb, and you feel yourself relax in the cozy atmosphere of the car at night. It’s intimate, but not uncomfortable, even if it feels surreal that he’s here, with you, like you conjured him purely out of the strength of your longing. 

“Big night?” he asks, maybe with a glint of teasing in his dark eyes, because it’s not even yet twelve.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “Just a drink with a friend. You?” 

“Dinner out.” He doesn’t specify if he was alone. Somehow, looking at this man…you doubt it. He’s dressed well, as usual, in a crisp shirt, dress pants, and a long wool overcoat, so handsome you could eat your hands. You think about this, a stupid jealousy stirring inside you that you know you have no right to. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, maybe because you have been quiet, watching the street as you zoom by, trying not to stare at the man beside you. 

“I think so,” you say absently, thinking about how you’re sure now that you invented the sight of him at the bar, and turned down a strapping young man to boot, all because of this silly forbidden longing for your boss you’ve managed to ball up like a tangle of barbed wire inside you. “It’s just…been a weird night.”

He frowns at this, a thunderous expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Did someone hurt you?” 

It startles you, how quickly he bristles in your defense. You're not used to anyone worrying about you so much. “No, nothing like that,” you quickly assure him. “I’ve just…” You don’t even know how to describe your problem, much less how to tell him in a way that doesn’t make you sound utterly pathetic. “I’ve just felt emptier than usual, is all.” You cannot meet his eyes as you say it, but he nods all the same. 

“I think…I know what you mean.” 

Hardly five minutes go by before you arrive at your apartment building, a blocky old brick structure from the turn of the century. You stare at your hands in your lap, pick at an imaginary pill in your tights. “Thanks for the ride. Do you…want to come inside for a drink or something?” 

You hold your breath in the eternity it takes for him to answer. You feel him look at you, the weight of that heavy dark gaze like a blanket upon your skin. Is it possible, to choke on desire? You feel like your heart has been replaced by an angrily pulsing sea urchin covered in merciless little spines.  

“I do want to,” he finally answers, staring fixedly at his eloquent gloved hands upon the leather wrapped steering wheel. “But I shouldn’t, y/n.” 

You nod, knowing he’s right, heartbroken anyway. You’re so good at doing that to yourself that you should receive a trophy, and you suppose there is an amusing karma in this mirrored situation with young Matthew. 

It sucks, to say the least, to be on this side of rejection. Now all you want is to go hide under your covers–and maybe not emerge for ten years. 

“Ok. See you in class, then.” 

“Goodnight, y/n.” 

He waits until you’ve made it through the security door before he pulls away. You watch with your cheek pressed to the cool glass, as red tail lights disappear into the night with a growl. 

It slips your mind, that you never told him where you live.

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[lovedontjudge535]

“Please please” KK was begging Paige to keep the stray puppy they just found. They were walking back after a Crumbl trip and found it stranded in a box near the woods.

“You know we can’t keep dogs in our places or I would” Paige had fallen in love with the dog at first sight but she needed to be responsible, Genos already on her ass about every single thing. KK had matched the dogs puppy dog eyes and was not making it easy. Of course she caved.

“Fine she can come with but no one can know AND she stays with me.”

“Ok fine but all nighter tonight so I can be with her too” KK knew she had no room to argue as she was just happy the puppy wasn’t going anywhere.

Timeski

Paige and KK snuck the puppy in with no problems. They doordashed the supplies they’d need and had her set up in Paige’s room so she could get settled as soon as possible.

“PAIGE ARE YOU HERE YOU HAVEN'T ANSWERED YOUR PHONE ALL DAY” Paige and KK looked at each other wide eyed. Azzi. How could they have not thought about the girl who spent almost every night in her bed. KK went and locked the bedroom door quickly knowing she’d be walking into the room any second.

“How is that a solution?” Paige sharply whispered to her. “Quick call her and say you need her in your room so she’ll leave” KK blindly reaches for her phone and dials Azzi contact. Once Azzi answers KK freezes and can’t get a word out. Paige tries to mouth words to her to help but it does no good.

“Azzi. Room. Help.”

“What kamorea what’s wrong are you ok, I can call your roommates to help till I get there”

“NO” Paige and KK yelled at the same time. Covering there mouths with there hands in shock. They heard Azzis footsteps getting closer to the door. She tries the doorknob and realizes it’s locked.

“What the fuck is going on” she exclaims “open the door and don’t think I didn’t hear you in there Paige”

KK went and opened the door enough for one eye to look at Azzi. “Heyyyyy girl what’s up” stick to basketball. Azzi shoves open the door pushing KK back. She catches sight of the dog supplies first.

“Explain. Now.” She was now looking at Paige’s back which was facing her. The dog was between her and the wall and Paige was silently praying she’d not bark. Nope.

“Paige Madison I know I didn’t just hear a dog. You have two seconds to turn around.” Growing impatient she grabs Paige’s shoulder to turn her. What she sees warms and breaks her heart. Paige was clutching the puppy like her life depended on it and immediately went in protective mode.

“You can’t take her from me-“ “Paige” “No Azzi she needs me, needs us. Someone left her in a box. Who fucking does that.” “Paige” “ You can’t take her from me I won’t let you. KK attack” KK immediately jumps onto Azzis back. Paige took that time to run out the room with the dog. She then realized that her car keys are in the room, which has now turned into a WWE ring of Azzi trying to get KK off.

Luckily her car was unlocked still and she sat in the car with the dog on her lap. “It’s ok I’m gonna figure this out little lady” the dog excitedly licks Paige’s cheek “you like that name little lady huh, don’t worry that beautiful girl who came is your other mommy. She’s amazing ya know. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know I disappointed her with keeping you so hopefully she will come around. I have had a bad habit of doing that recently.”

“Shut up.” Is what Paige heard scaring the shit out of her. “Let me in. Now Paige.” Paige immediately unlocks the car and let her climb in. Azzi immediately faced her.

“What are you doing, A DOG?!” “Please don’t yell it freaks Little Lady out. KK and I found her earlier today. I’ve gotten everything for her and she actually has a vet appointment tomorrow. I’ve been so stressed out with the season, she’s actually been a good distraction.” As she says that Little Lady starts licking away the tears Paige didn’t even notice had fallen.

“Well seems like you’ve been handling the whole thing correctly. But paige you know the rule.” Azzi wanted to be upset but seeing them together took any emotions away except for her love for the girl. Paige went to talk but Azzi cut her off “You’ve not disappointed me nor will you ever. KK told me everything and I won’t lie I would’ve done the same thing. Except better” she jokes causing the tension in Paige’s shoulders to deflate.

“So I can keep her”

“We will see what we can do and baby?” Paige nodded for her to continue.

“Don’t ever doubt yourself especially when it comes to us. You have never once been a disappointment and you will never not make me proud. The grace and patience you’ve given me, you need to give yourself some. The only reason I know what love is and what it feels like is because of you. You are the one person that made me risk everything for a future worth having. It's like my life isn't even real to me unless you're there and you're in it and I'm sharing it with you. We are a team and now” laughing a little at the end she added “we are a family”

[prentisssbxtch]

An experience. pt. 2

summary: the woman you slept with the night before, ends up being your boss.

relationship: wanda x fem!reader

warnings: swearing and smut (think that’s it)

wc: 2k

pt 1

an: sorry this took so long😭 - also i’m not all that good at writing smut so i’m sorry!!

not proofread + not very good…

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

ever since you found out you'd be working for wanda, or i guess Miss Maximoff, you've make sure to stay clear of her. avoiding her like the plague. which you'd done well up until now…

your day started the same as everyday since starting your internship a month ago. you got ready, grabbed a taxi, and walked into the giant building everyone knew of.

you stepped into the elevator just to the left of the secretary's desk. clicking the number four, you grabbed your phone from your pocket feeling a vibration. just as the doors were about to close you heard a faintly familiar voice, but were unable to put a face to it.

"hold the doors," the voice yelled grabbing your attention just in time for you to stick your hand out and stop the elevator doors from closing.

the first thing you see are beautiful, most definitely expensive, black heels. looking up from the floor, you're greeted with wanda.

you can see the realization cross her face for a split second, but as you blink, it's gone. she says a quiet thank you as she steps in beside you.

giving a small smile in response, you awkwardly look down.

"floor six please," you almost don't register her speaking. quickly looking over towards her to see her looking from you to the rows of numbers.

"oh, right sorry," you say feeling your cheeks heat as you turn to press the six. you faintly hear her chuckle in amusement at you before you go back to staring at the floor.

you begin to silently pray for the elevator to hurry up and get you out of here. paying she doesn't try to make conversation.

apparently your luck has already ran out.

"how do you like working here so far?" comes from beside you.

"it's been alright," you respond after a moment, slowing nodding your head as you answer. the idea that her tongue was down your throat just a month ago, making you uneasy.

you can feel eyes on you which causes you to turn your head towards the taller woman, seeing her already looking at you. "i had fun that night."

you stare at her for a second not knowing what to say or think. opening and shutting your mouth, trying to form words. "so did i," you feel your cheeks heat up as you turn to look away. "but it can never happen again."

you glance up to see the doors should be opening any minute now. suddenly wanda moves and hits the giant red button with the words 'stop' above it. abruptly stoping the elevator before the doors can open.

"and why's that?" she questions hand moving back to her side, but she was now standing closer to you.

"you're my boss now. doesn't that go against regulations or something?" you question looking up to her. she was already a couple inches taller, but now with the heels she is a good 4-5 inches taller than you.

she gives a slight smirk before speaking, “i make the rules love,” her right hand moving to push hair over your shoulder, “but i suppose you’re correct.”

once again at a loss for words you stare up at her, feeling your cheeks slightly heating up. hoping she doesn’t notice, but based off her facial expression, she does.

she moves her hand to the stop button again, quickly pressing it causing the doors to open. glancing from the now open doors, back to her, you give a small awkward smile before walking away. quickly.

——

it’s been two weeks since the “moment” you had with wanda. if you could even call it that. you’re walking into the building for the sixth time this week, only getting one day off a week. you’re in black dress pants, a white tucked button up, and some black heels.

heels that are similar to the ones wanda wears, but not nearly as expensive.

ever since you were in that elevator with her, the tension between the two of you has increased. she’s been requesting your help more than any others. each and every time you two are speaking, she’s always closer than most people would stand by someone.

today is no different as you walk into work. getting to the fourth floor, you step out of the elevator, only for the receptionist behind the desk to tell you wanda asked for you.

confused as to why you’d be needed so early, you turn and get back onto the elevator. clicking the sixth floor, you pull out your phone checking notifications.

once the elevator dings, you step out walking towards wanda’s office. quickly adjusting your hair out of habit, you reach your arm out to knock on the big door. waiting for an invitation in.

you faintly hear a soft voice form the inside telling you to come in. you enter the room to see wanda behind her desk not looking up from her computer. you take a moment to look around the room, having been up here before but never taking the time to appreciate how nice it is.

there was full wall windows behind wanda desk, tinted for the outside. along the walls are bookshelves full of law books, pictures, plants, and even small trinkets. the walls have wanda’s achievements and plaques. as well as some painting. off to the left wall, there’s a nice couch with a coffee table in front of it.

turning your attention back to wanda you speak, “you called for me?” she slightly nods her head, clearly doing something that needs her attention. after a few seconds she turns you with a smile.

“i did, yes.” she says while moving to shut her computer. “take a seat.” she says pointing to the chairs in front of her desks.

moving to take a seat, you sit down not fully moving to put your back against the back of the chair. putting your hands in your lap you look once again to wanda, who has been watching you the whole time.

without saying anything; she stands from her chair coming to lean against her desk in front of you. making you have to raise your head to look her in the eyes.

“you know, i’ve been thinking. do you remember the night of the bar?” she questions looking at you intently. nodding your head, you feel your stomach flutter at the memory. “i’m going to be honest with you y/n, that was some of the best sex i’ve had. in a while, maybe even ever.”

you stare at her in shock, but know deep down it’s the same for you.

“i want you see you again. in that aspect i mean.” being the only words she continues saying.

“me too.”

——

you don’t know how it happened. it all being a big blur, but here you are sitting on wanda’s desk with her between your legs. her tongue is practically down your throat while one hand is gripping your waist tightly between her fingers, while the other is massaging your thigh.

she pulls back from the kiss looking at you, feeling herself getting wet just from the look of you. cheeks flushed, kiss swollen lips, hair mused. she needs to have you now. her hands move to the buttons of your shirt, looking to you for consent to unbutton it.

after giving her a small nod, she quickly moves to unbutton your shirt. being greeted by the white lace bra cupping your breasts.

“so pretty,” she says rubbing her thumbs over your peeking through nipples. “d’you wear this for me?” she speaks with a small smirk, eyes moving up to you’re face.

with a small nod you look up to her. “knew you’d like it,” you spoke not knowing where the confidence came from. you look over her body seeing her completely clothed, moving your hands to the ends of her button up you look to her eyes for permission to remove the cloth. your eyes meet her darkened eyes before your given an ok.

lifting her shirt, you’re greeted by a black bra cupping her breasts perfectly. the air in your lungs leaving you at the sight. almost like the first time you’ve seen her.

her hands move to the clasp of your bra, eyes meeting yours, asking for permission. once granted, she un-clasps the offending garment. she lets out a small groan at the sight of your breasts. nipples peaked from the cool air, begging for attention.

without any warning; her lips are wrapped around your left nipple as her hand fiddles with the right. your lips part to let out a startled sound of shock before being taken over by pleasure.

the hand moving down your stomach reaches the top of your pants, fiddling with the buckle. she lets go of your nipple with a pop before turning her attention to your face. “can i take these off pretty?”

without hesitation you agree moving to help shimmy your pants off quicker. causing wanda to let out an amused laugh.

once your pants are off, you’re left in just your panties as wanda takes in the sight. letting out a small groan she speaks, “i’m taking my time with you this time.” she runs her pointer finger over the top of your covered mound. noticing the obvious wet patch from arousal. “what’s got you so worked up, hm?”

“y-you,” you manage to stutter out, beginning to grow desperate for attention.

as if reading your mind, wanda uses one finger to slip your panties to the side, getting a full view of your arousal. “such a pretty pussy.” you hear her mumble before feeling a pressure on your clit.

letting out a small gasp at the stimulation, you buck your hips up wanting more. wanda smirks as she runs her thumb over your clit, adding more pressure when she decides.

with no warning she shoves her middle finger right into your opening, making quick work of moving in and out. not adding another finger until you’re begging.

once she has both middle and ring finger working you up, she continues her ministrations on your clit. throwing your head back in ecstasy, you miss wanda moving down to wrap her lips around your clit. letting out a loud moan as her fingers curl up to find the spot that will make you cry out.

she knows she’s found it when your hips buck up and your hand flys to her head. tugging her hair, wanting to keep her in place. you move your other hand to cover your mouth, remembering you're still at work.

you feel yourself building closer and closer to the edge, you know wanda can too as you squeeze her fingers. almost like she takes your cumming as a challenge, she speeds up her movements, helping to bring you closer.

“i- mm… i’m gonna cumm,” you finally got out as you climbed higher and higher. feeling your whole body tingling.

“cum for me baby.”

her words were the only thing it took for you to fall over the edge with a loud cry. wanda refusing to stop until you were a whimpering mess trying to get away from the stimulation.

wanda pulls back, slowly removing her fingers from inside you, moving them to her mouth to clean off. with a hum she speaks, “just as good as i remember.”

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

i was gonna tag everyone who wanted another part, but it wouldn’t let me😭

[ur-sick-and-married]

HOME AWAY FROM HOME • ELLIE WILLIAMS

CONTAINS: angst, homophobia, reader’s parents are terrible, hurt/comfort trope, Joel and Jesse are alive!

SUMMARY: after getting kicked out of your house, you know where to go; Ellie’s house…well, Ellie’s garage.

A/N: I came up with this when I was like half asleep so sorry if it’s bad!

It was hard to hide things from your family in an apocalypse. It was silly to think you might be able to. Word traveled fast in Jackson.

That’s how your family found out about Ellie. She was your girlfriend, an incredible one. You’d been keeping things quiet. Only close friends, like Dina and Jesse knew. Well, Joel Miller knew, too. He’d caught you kissing. Ellie made him swear not to tell anyone. He had kept his promise perfectly.

Somehow, someone else found out, then you were the talk of the town. You’d think that people wouldn’t gossip in an apocalypse, but no.

Your parents heard about it, and confronted you one night. You didn’t confirm their suspicions, yet you didn’t deny it. Soon enough, it was obvious you were queer.

You were kicked out of the house.

Apparently, even zombies couldn’t stop homophobia and the cruel acts it caused.

With only the backpack you took on patrol, you quickly started walking through town. It was freezing cold, making your eyes more glassy. You tried not to cry; the tears would freeze on your face.

When you got to Joel’s house, the lights were off. No one was home.

You went around the house, towards the garage in the back that had been converted into a home for Ellie. It looked so inviting, with the outside light on. You knocked anxiously, praying she was in there.

“It’s unlocked!” Ellie called, making a wave of relief crash over you.

You let yourself in, the warmth hitting you strongly.

“Oh, hey!” Ellie said excitedly from the couch. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…” You muttered, closing the door.

She was starting to see the distress on your face, the tears forming in your eyes. She rushed over.

“What’s wrong?” She asked hastily.

“I got kicked out.” You whispered.

Her eyes widened, jaw dropping a little. She pulled you into her chest, causing you to drop your bag so you could cling to her. She held you so tight. With your face buried in her shoulder, you began to cry, hard. You were scared. Sure, you were lucky to have a place to go, but you didn’t want to need a place. You wanted to be at home, with your family.

“Let’s sit down…” Ellie said softly. “C’mon, you’re freezing.”

She led you over to the small couch, and wrapped an arm around you.

“Tell me what happened.” She insisted.

You explained everything brokenly, tiny sobs and whimpers escaping your throat. She rubbed your back the whole time, listening intently. Her face was full of emotion; anger, sympathy, sadness.

“I’m sorry, honey.” She sighed. “You don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t want them to hate me…” You sniffled.

“Oh, baby, they won’t hate you,” She cooed. “It’s impossible to hate you.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You said, wiping your eyes.

“You don’t have to know tonight.” She reassured you. “Let’s focus on something else. Do you want to put on something comfy? You can stay the night. Joel will understand.”

“I don’t have any clothes with me.” You admitted.

Her heart was slowly breaking for you. “That’s okay. You can wear something of mine.”

She went over to her dresser, and pulled out a t-shirt and pajama pants, then set them on the bed.

“You change, I’ll get you a warm drink.” She said.

She gave you some privacy by going over to her tiny kitchen, where she started making some hot chocolate. She came back once you were done, two mugs in hand. ���You wanna get in bed?”

She set the mugs down, and pulled the sheets back. She tucked you in, making sure you were comfortable. She slipped in beside you, and put an arm around you again.

“Here.” She offered you one of the mugs. “It’s gonna get cold.”

You gratefully accepted. The flavor of the hot chocolate was immediately consoling.

You’d had sleepovers with Ellie before, but never for such a dark reason. Usually, they were fun. Now, it was too diluted.

“I can’t believe you got kicked out just because of us.” Ellie muttered.

“Don’t think this happened because of you.” You said quickly.

“I’m not.” She shook her head. “It’s just…how do your folks know?”

“The grapevine.” You shrugged, tracing the rim of your mug with your index finger.

“People are talking about us?”

“I guess so. How do you feel about that?”

“I mean, it’s total bullshit you got kicked out. But…I don’t really mind people knowing.”

“You like it, don’t you?” You nudged her.

“Maybe.” She said, and took a sip of her drink. “I like people knowing your…mine.”

You nodded, understanding.

A sadness hung heavy in the air after her blush faded. It made your eyes ache with more tears begging to be let out. A few more sips of hot chocolate soothed the painful lump in your throat.

“It’s okay to cry.” Ellie whispered.

“I know.” You whispered back. “But I already have a headache.”

“Let me help…” She guided your head to her shoulder, and started massaging your scalp, her nails scratching deliciously at your skin. “I think you need some rest.”

You drank the last bit of your hot chocolates, then Ellie put them on her nightstand.

“How am I supposed to simply go to sleep now?” You mumbled.

Ellie sighed. “I don’t know, babe. I wish I could make it all better. Let’s lie down…”

She shifted you two so you were laying down, with you on her chest. She kept her hand in your hair, continuing the massage.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” She commented.

“Shut up.” You muttered, blushing. “I want to sleep.”

“I know.” She grinned. “I’m just saying.”

She turned off the bedside lamp, making the garage dark, besides the fairy lights over the couch.

You tried to sleep for a while. Ellie even dozed off multiple times. Your mind was preoccupied, full of anxious and sad thoughts.

When Ellie realized you were struggling, she shifted you again.

“I know you love being the little spoon.” She murmured. “And I know you love when I sing.”

She cuddled up to you from behind, spooning you. Her warmth and comforting scent surrounded you, putting you at ease. She started singing one of the songs she had written, while rubbing your head again.

Soon, your eyes felt heavy, and your breathing was slowing. She smiled to herself as she felt you drifting off. She was happy she could make you feel safe, and give you a warm place to stay. She was your rock that night, and would be through the whole situation with your family.

[iamsebastiansstan]

diary of a fuckdrunk little love 🖤

drabble - One day, in a hundred year’s time, they’ll find me in the earth and spot his fingerprints on my bones, his teeth marks along my jaw, the sliver of his soul wrapped around every single cartilage that makes up my spine, around the very structure that has held me upright my whole entire life, they’ll ask if that is what it was or another force entirely, and they wouldn’t be wrong to question it.

this is very unlike my usual work which is why I won't format it as such, I won't use my usual taglist or anything like that because this was 10000% self indulgent and 1000000% driven by delusion. warnings for heavy BDSM dynamic and empty poeticism. very rushed and even more nonsensical, it is almost 3 am, after all. dedicated to those who listen to me empty my head about this obsession on a daily basis, @hoffmansgirl & @urlitttlevenicebitch 🖤

My body isn’t mine, not really, not when a man like him exists in this world, not when the sight of his hooded eyes makes my heart flutter, just a look at his sinful lips makes my stomach clench, the mere thought of that body makes me want to claw at my throat until it’s raw and open, the way it is when I’m on my knees in front of him. Worship doesn’t even begin to describe it, not when every beat of my heart is dedicated to him, not when every cell in my body calls out to him. With shaking hands I build a shrine from the broken pieces of my soul, I cement it onto my willing flesh and offer it to him, beaten and bruised, hurt me for I am yours to hurt, love me for I am yours to love, fuck me for I am yours to ruin for every man that ever dares to lay his eyes upon me. 

I don’t let him fuck me, I beg for it, pray for it every night, sigh a deep breath of relief when I feel his strong hands touch me, possessively because of course he is, unnecessarily so because who else could I possibly want but you, my sweet? He is rough when he feels like it, when he needs it, fucks into me with reckless abandon, snarls meanly when I cry because he doesn’t care if it hurts, I was made to take the pain as long as he’s the one delivering it, I bear it like I bear the cross of loving him until my heart fails me. No color looks as good on me as the red of his handprints, no sound sweeter than his groans as he carves a space in my body that belongs to him only, his hard cock pushing my organs into place, so he’ll fit whenever he wants to, for the rest of time. He looks so good when he takes and takes and takes, takes from my pliant body as I give and give and give until I can’t give no more, until my tears run dry, and my voice becomes hoarse and my grip on his godlike body turns into a gentle hold of desperation. You’re mine to use, he says, mine to abuse if I want to, all you do and all you are is for me, for me only, I fuck you and you thank me, I make you cry and you thank me, I pull orgasm after orgasm from your weeping cunt and you worship me for what I turn you into.

And what he turns me into is a brainless girl drooling after the man of all men, chasing his praise and crawling after the strength of his presence, ready to serve at all times. 

He often comes home tired and there I am, leading him into a sitting position so I can crawl between his strong legs, nuzzle at his crotch while he pets me like his little kitten, like his well-trained little lapdog, like an animal he had to break in before its rightful use. The smell of him soothes me- my favorite cologne of his, the faint smell of cigarette smoke, the manly musk that’s always an undertone- and with shaking hands I pull his zipper down, look at the man of my dreams as I free his cock, stare into his loving gaze as I hungrily lower my mouth onto him. It’s the closest thing to God I’ve ever known, being on my knees for him, tasting him so unabashedly. His groan comes deep from within his chest as I lick his cock, savor every taste of it like a starved woman, breathe him in as not to forget this moment for the rest of my life. Taking it all is a difficult task, burns in the back of my throat and behind my nose, but the clench of his jaw and the heat in his eyes could bring me to bear full bodied pain if it meant I could get his attention on me like that forever,  and so I spit and gag and choke and moan and let him push me down until his full balls are hitting my chin, until my eyes roll so far back into my head I fear missing even a second of his visible ecstasy. The pull of his hand is a welcome burn, the push of his strength a welcome motivator, his cum down my throat a goal I chase with unhuman vigor. When I do earn it, feel the taste of it hit my tongue, the heat of it slip down my throat and the sensation of it settling deep in my stomach, it’s like my brain short circuits and I have to resist the urge to pant like a bitch in heat, stare up at him wide-eyed as if to ask did I do good, tell me I did good, please tell me how good I did, please give it to me again, please give it to me more, please please please-

When he slides into me, it feels like he touches parts of me that nobody has ever been to before. 

Sometimes it’s relentless, like when he makes me ride him, veiny hands on my full hips as he heaves my body up and down, stares up at me with reverence as I cry silent tears because for sound, I’d need air, and for air to fill my lungs, his cock would have to not be punching into them, and when he fucks me like that, it feels like that is simply not possible. He loves me enough not to care when I beg him to go easy, because he knows me better than I know myself, and the day my cunt is satisfied with easy is the day hell freezes over. He keeps me naked always, says it’s his favorite way of me being, undresses when he can, when we’re in our bed and time doesn’t exist in our realm of depravity and his only goal is to make me cum until I am close to passing out, by which point he would- after many conversations and many instances of me begging begging begging for it- just continue if he felt like it, take what’s his no matter the state I am in. I am vessel for his pleasure and he is to take what is his, who am I to deny him? When it needs to be quick and dirty he unzips his fly and has me bounce on his cock just like that, balls out for my clit to rub against with every move, adorns my ass with gorgeous marks as he goads me to go faster, that’s my girl, you love this shit don’t you, don’t slow down now, fuckin’ move, work for it, work that cunt, you’re gonna make me cum baby, fuck yeah, you’re gonna make me- 

Sometimes it’s sweet, face to face and chest to chest, him buried so deep in me that I don’t know where he starts and where I end, I only know that he will be my end, a pleasurable demise on the most addictive cock I ever had the fucking honor of experiencing. He kisses me, then, coaxes my tongue out of my mouth so he can lick at it, suck on it, no lips involved when he wants it nasty like that, slick and spit filled. When he kisses my lips, he bites at them, makes them bleed and soothes them lovingly, a reminder to carry with me for days to come. I open my mouth wide and he spits into it, makes me keep it in, sometimes, just because he can, makes me show it to him before he allows me to swallow it, and he has to allow it, I do not operate without his permission. Strong forearms on either side of my dizzy head, my angelic face in his capable hands, his weight on top of my willing body, suffocating me from all sides, from the inside, just the way I need, sweet talking me until I go dumb. My gorgeous girl, all for me, cry so prettily, can you feel me baby?, feel how deep I am?, fuck my cock is splitting you fucking open, ‘m gonna make you cum again and again, pump you full with my seed while I make love to you, gonna breed you so you’re full with my babies, so they know they were made from love as Daddy fucked Mommy until she cried for mercy on his cock.

Sometimes, it’s a devilish mix of pain and pleasure in a way only he can deliver, drilling into me with my legs on his muscular shoulders, holding me and making me take it, just a fucking fleshlight, stop fuckin’ crying, what the fuck you crying for, imma give you something to really cry about, my own body not giving me a choice but to take it, my heart bursting from how well he’s making use of me. When it’s from behind, face down ass up for him to play with as he pleases, if he pleases, I feel like all my three holes are stuffed even if it’s just one of them, the heady slapping of skin against skin as he takes me in the most primal, animalistic way. It’s not like he’s ever been shy with it, from the get-go his hand has found its place in my hair, pulling my head back when he wants to lean over and spit on my face, rub it in nice and rough and blush my cheeks with skilled palms, from the get-go he’s known how to grab at my ass and spread it so it’ll feel like he’s about to split me in half, just to watch me squirm and cry, only to let him anyways. Always, always let him anyways. Thaaaat’s right, he’d husk, then, take it, my dirty fucking girl, I’ll ruin these holes baby, you’re all mine, you wan’ it so bad, desperate little slut, let me hear you, let me hear you.

Sometimes I’m dumb for it, laying on his chest while keeping his cock warm in me, keeping it in so his cum would stay in me, not ready to let go of it yet. I mouth at his chest, lick the sheen of sweat off his pecs and revel in the salty taste on my hungry, bury my face in his neck and breathe him in until my lungs are filled with his scent. Gentle bites along his hardened muscles, sucking bruises into his skin because he is mine as much as I am his, what is a God without his most devout believer, whining when I feel him harden again within the clutch of my heat. It rarely happens that he doesn’t fuck me through at least one other toe-curling orgasm, doesn’t position me how he needs me to give it to me good, whether it be on my back with my hands behind my knees so he can gut-punch me with the sensitive tip of his cock or on our sides with my leg at an angle so he can make me feel the slow, wet drag of his thickness, stretching me out, sure to leave a gape when he’s done wrecking me for his amusement.

Sometimes, he cums inside of me and tells me about how he wants to pump me full of his babies, throws my legs behind my head, so it can’t leak out, so it’ll take. What he also likes is to pull out, cover my aching clit in his hot seed, fuck it with his hand until I scream myself mute, or decorate my spasming stomach with tasty white ribbons, or renaissance paint my face to compete with Michaelangelo’s accomplishments while I keep my tongue stuck out, eyes open to witness his pantie-dropping orgasm face and gladly risk a painful shot in the eye for it, eagerly licking his seed off his fingers when he feeds me so generously. And feed me he does, always, whether it be from what he wipes off my body, or what he pulls out when he sticks his fingers into my full pussy, makes me push it out or watches it drizzle out slowly when he spreads me wide, drives his hand through it and makes me lick it off like his eager little puppy, grateful for a treat. 

Sometimes, he breeds me before he buries his gorgeous face between my trembling thighs, eats my pussy until I give up another shaking orgasm, sucks his cum out of my used hole and spits it straight onto my awaiting tongue, makes me keep it while using my eyes to beg him to let me swallow, that cocky asshole enjoying my neediness for him. That’s one of my favorites, proves to me that there are no bounds for the nastiness he’ll put me through just to prove to me the one thing I’ve been craving to know: that I really was made for his pleasure, that I really do exist to be his plaything, and that he loves every little fiber of my dirty little being. 

One day, in a hundred year’s time, they’ll find me in the earth and spot his fingerprints on my bones, his teeth marks along my jaw, the sliver of his soul wrapped around every single cartilage that makes up my spine, around the very structure that has held me upright my whole entire life, they’ll ask if that is what it was or another force entirely, and they wouldn’t be wrong to question it.

My body isn’t mine, not really, not when he reminds me of it so often by claiming me, owning me, using me, loving me until all I am is his cockdrunk little love.

[mistress-skywalker]

Worlds Collide: An Anakin Skywalker love-story

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

☄︎ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 - 𝐀 𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ☄︎

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

CW: Mentions of injuries and a little bit of blood from minor wounds. Use of y/n (gasp!), implications of a fem reader

AN: I’m so excited to write a multi chapter fic! Obviously some things are changed from the canon Star Wars lore to better fit what I write. I’ve got about ten chapters as of now, it’s possible it’ll change as I edit and proofread things though. This might be a little long. I’ll try to regularly post chapters as well. Hope you all enjoy! <3

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　

"Kriff! C'mon, pull up pull up!" Anakin exclaims in a panic as he tries last minute attempts to not crash, monitors and sensors beeping loudly with error codes. His efforts are futile and his ship plummets down through the atmosphere, through the treetops and crash lands in a small clearing of trees.

The loud sound is able to be heard clearly from where you lay in bed watching tv. Looking out your window, you can only see smoke. It might not be smart but without thinking, you slip some shoes on quickly and a sweatshirt on over your pajamas, grabbing your phone to use as a flashlight and set out towards the source.

The ship starts to smoke from it all. He manages to unbuckle himself, crawling out of the rubble. He's dealt with worse injuries but Maker is he dizzy and not so steady on his feet. He sinks down to sit on the ground, sighing as he rests his head against his compromised ship.

"What am I gonna do?" He huffs.

Getting closer you can make out what seems to be some sort of ship of some kind. And then you hear groaning. You peek around a tree at the clearing and see a man there. You take another step to see better but your foot lands on a on a branch and makes it snap.

Anakin's head snaps up from the sharp and distinguishable sound of a branch snapping.

He tenses and his hands shift down to his waist to grab his lightsaber but finds it missing. He must have lost it in the commotion.

"Who's there?" He calls out, staring hard into the trees to try and get a gauge of where the noise may have come from.

You gasp softly hearing the voice. He heard you. Quickly you hide behind a tree without answering.

His eyes scan his surroundings warily, taking in any small movement. He gets to his feet, taking a few steps across the clearing, a soft wince escaping him as the movement makes all his muscles protest.

"I know you're out there. I know you're hiding." He calls, taking another small step closer, using a tree to steady himself.

Your breathing gets heavier and you contemplate your options. You worry that he could hurt you, your heart jackhammering in your chest. You turn the flashlight off of your phone and hold it to your chest, praying to whatever deity is up there to keep you safe.

"You're really not making this easy on yourself." He huffs, taking another step closer. He can vaguely see a figure through the shadows. He senses your fear and tension with ease.

He had grown to be very adept to sensing people's emotions as he was a powerful Force user after all. He takes in a breath, inhaling the air, the adrenaline in your body obvious to his senses.

"Come out. It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you." He says slowly, voice soft and steady but still firm, as he keeps shifting closer to you, the grass under his feet crunching faintly with each step.

You take another shaky breath before stepping out from behind the tree. Finally you can take in everything and him. Oh. He's...gorgeous. Almost unreal. Ethereal. You swallow thickly, shaking before him.

He finally gets a good look at you as you step out of the shadows. He pauses once you step out, eyes falling over your form, and he feels his mouth dry. His gaze roams over your features; the freckles dusted across your cheeks reminding him of the constellations he’s seen in person. He lets out a shaky breath as he processes that kriff you're beautiful. He'd never seen a someone like you before, not in all his 27 years of life.

In fact, he'd never seen a human on Earth at all. He can literally feel a tug from the connection between you and him. There's an inexplicable force that draws you both together to be together. Like a string tied to the ends of your hearts, pulling you towards each other.

He holds up his hands, palms facing you in a placating manner seeing your fear hasn't eased. "Easy, take it easy. I'm not going to hurt you. Can you come a bit closer?" He coaxes, tone gentle and eyes searching you closely.

That some pull he feels, you feel but the Force isn't a thing on earth. Nobody knows about it even so you can only assume it's some kind of weird anxiety. You take another small and shaky step closer towards him like he asks. Being this close though you can see the various cuts and bumps on his face.

"You're hurt.." you observe, breathing out.

His gaze softens as he notices how nervous you appear. He hates that you seem so scared but what does he expect? He landed in your backyard in a burning ship from the sky, which is something you likely have never witnessed in your life. He notices you looking over his injuries, and he lets out a scoff, waving a hand to downplay them. "This? It's nothing." He replies back, a lopsided smile gracing his face, and he ignores the slight throb in his side, which likely has a couple broken ribs.

You shake your head, watching as he sways on his feet now that the initial adrenaline of the crash and hearing you is wearing off.

"You look ready to pass out. Let me help you." You offer. Is that stupid? Only two seconds ago you came across him and are already willing to help him?

He leans his back against the tree behind him to keep himself from toppling over. He can feel himself getting more lightheaded by the second and your small form offering to help him is more than welcome. Although, he's a little confused why you aren't running away from him screaming or something. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, running a hand through his hair before opening his eyes to look at you again. "I don't suppose you'd have anything to fix my ribs?" He asks, tone a bit sarcastic.

You chuckle a bit at that but shake your head.

"Unfortunately no, but i can call an ambulance or drive you to the hospital myself. They can call whoever you need to pick you up too."

He blinks at your statement, a wave of confusion going through him but he quickly recovers and shakes his head. "No, no ambulances or hospitals. I'll be alright.”

The last thing he needs is anyone else to find him or getting poked around at a hospital for the next several hours. He just needs a place to rest and have some peace. "Listen, I don't suppose you would be willing to give me a place to stay for the night, would you?" He asks, looking down at you.

You blink up at him in confusion almost. No hospital? After falling out of the sky? You tilt your head in question.

"Are you sure that's all? I really don't mind taking you to the hospital to get you checked out and sent home?"

Again Anakin shakes his head, dismissing your concern for him. He didn't have time or energy to be sitting at a hospital and waiting to be treated. Plus, what was he supposed to say if they asked questions about him? ‘Well, you see, my ship was attacked and shot down here and I'm stranded on your planet from another galaxy.' Yeah, that would go great. Instead, he just gives you a small lop-sided smile, leaning further into the tree. "I'm sure. The most I need is some rest."

You sigh a little and shake your head, noticing how he continues to lean against the tree as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. "I really think you should get seen by someone. The most I can do is clean you up a little." It's a protest not an offer.

He can feel a soft pang in his chest when you fret over him. He wasn't used to being taken care of and it wasn't very common for him to have anyone care about him either. Yet you were a complete stranger and you seemed to be genuinely concerned for him and his wellbeing. He lets out a soft scoff with an eye roll at your protest. "Fine, fine. You can at least clean me up a bit. That's about all I'll agree to."

Your eyebrows pull together and you start to shake your head again. "I...that wasn't really an offer but an attempt to sway your decision."

He raises an eyebrow at your answer, crossing his arms over his chest, before he instantly regretted doing the small action as his ribs ached in protest. He lets out a quiet huff and leans his weight against the tree again. "And I'm going to say no again. No hospitals," He replies firmly. Although, his tired look and the obvious pain he's in says otherwise. "I just need someplace to get cleaned up and rest for a while. That's it."

You sigh softly. It wouldn't do much good to stay here and argue with him. You nod your head. "Alright alright fine. Let me help you back to my place okay? No hospitals, I promise."

He lets out a deep sigh, somewhat glad you're giving in and dropping the hospital thing. He nods slowly before taking a stumbling step away from the tree, immediately feeling his body protest at moving. "Kriff, I feel like hell." He winces as he takes another step.

Instinctively you reach for him when he winces. "Here, hold onto me. It might help a bit at least." You say reach for his hand and placing it on your shoulder.

Slowly you start to lead him through the trees and to your place. Was this stupid? This was probably stupid. A random man emerges from a crashed ship and you bring him back home? This isn't one of your fantasy romance novels.

His hand rests on your shoulder, and he tries to not lean all his weight on you as you guide him with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. He feels the need to protest you helping him, to tell you he doesn't need it, but your form is helping him a lot. Plus, being so close to you and having some sort of contact with you does provide him with a certain relief as something deep within him tells him that you're safe and he can trust you.

You don't know what it was but something was telling you that he was safe to trust as well. Was it his aura? It's a warmth you haven't felt before and it's kinda tingly even? The trek doesn't take too much longer before you’re leading him up the porch and into your small home.

You lead him over to the couch, "Easy," you help ease him onto it, having him lay back because of his ribs. He shuffles over to the couch with your help and sinks down into it, letting out a small breath as he lets his muscles finally relax on the soft cushion. "Sorry I wasn't expecting company today." You say moving a couple items out of the way.

He glances around at your home, looking at the various trinkets and decorations that fill the small home. He watches you shift some items out of the way and he lets out a scoff. "Trust me, I wasn't expecting to be here either." He replies back, a small hint of humor laced in his words.

You let out a bit of a laugh at that and nod once. Not too many people would expect to crash land. You go to your small kitchen that's visible from the living room and get him a glass of water.

You come back and hand it to him with some pain killers. "I'll go find a first aid kit."

He thanks you softly and tosses back the painkillers, washing it down with the water. He sets the glass down on the small side table next to couch before glancing over at you as you wander off. Despite the exhaustion he feels, his eyes wander over your body, taking in every soft curve and every perfect angle, his eyes lingering on your hips and rear before he glances away quickly, feeling a little guilty for letting his thoughts go to such places so quickly. He still couldn't believe how nice and kind you were being to him. A total stranger. One that literally landed from the sky. He couldn't fathom why you were so willing to help him.

You reemerge from the bathroom after a couple moments with a first aid kit. His gaze lands on you as you emerge from the bathroom with the first aid kit and he can't help but notice your nervous expression.

You walk over to him on the couch, hesitating for a moment. "I uh...you mind if I sit...so I can clean you up..?" You ask nervously gesturing towards the edge of the couch.

He gives you a gentle and reassuring smile before shifting to make room on the couch. "Go right ahead," He encourages, giving you a small nod.

You nod once and thank him softly before perching on the edge of the cushion. He watches as you perch on the edge of the couch, so close to him. He feels his heart skip a beat just from your proximity to him but he tries to push down the feeling.

You set the first aid kit on your lap and open it, rummaging through it for everything you’ll need.

You put some antibiotics on a cotton ball and start to bring it towards the cut on his forehead. "Um...this might sting a bit." You warn before starting to dab at the wound.

Anakin nods his head once to acknowledge your warning but he can't help but wince slightly when the cotton ball dabs at the cut. He lets out a soft his as the stinging pain spreads through his forehead and he tries not to jerk away from your touch.

He takes a deep breath to help ease the pain a bit and lets his eyes flutter shut. He feels your small, soft hands on him and he has to fight the urge to lean into your touch. He can't remember the last time someone touched him so gently.

"Sorry..." You murmur knowing it stings. You blow softly on that spot to help ease some of the stinging. "Good news though...it's not deep enough for stitches," You say before removing the cotton ball and picking out one of the butterfly suture bandages and place it on the forehead wound.

A shiver of warmth runs down his spine as you blow on the cut on his forehead, almost like a soothing salve to the burn of the medicine. He feels the pressure of the butterfly bandage against his skin, and he opens his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at you.

He studies your features intently as you work on him. He notes the small wrinkle that appears on your brow as you concentrate and the little pout of your lips when you're focusing. How could one person be so beautiful? So...perfect?

You don't notice his eyes studying you as you reach for a new cotton ball, putting fresh antibacterial on it and dabbing at a cut on his lip.

He lets out a small breath as you dab the cut above the corner of his mouth, shifting a bit as he tries not to flinch from the stinging pain once again. Despite the stinging though, he relishes as your touch and he can feel his heartbeat pick up slightly at your proximity. He can't help but be mesmerized by how focused you are on tending to his cuts and injuries, and how your eyes are concentrated on the task at hand. He can't help but notice your own plump lips as you focus on your work.

When he pulls back you instantly reach back out with your other hand to cup his chin and keep him in place. It's firm but gentle. You keep focused on tending to his cuts on his face. "I know it sucks but you gotta stay still unless you'd rather the hospital." It's a mostly empty threat.

He is slightly taken aback by how quickly and firmly you place your hand on his chin and keep his head still. He lets out a soft sigh, his eyes meeting yours momentarily as you continue to tend to his injuries. He can't help but notice the hint of possessiveness in your touch and he has to fight the feeling of warmth that spreads through him at your grip.

He lets out a gruff chuckle in response to your empty threat. The last thing he wants is to end up in a hospital. "I think I can stay still if it means not having to go to a hospital."

The corners of your lips quirk up in a small smirk, chuckling softly. "Glad to hear it." You finish taking care of his facial wounds before pulling back.

He watches as you lean back, your hand removing itself from his chin, which leaves him feeling strangely cold and empty without it. He can't help but let out a soft huff at being deprived of that contact and he silently hopes you'll touch him again soon.

He clears his throat softly, breaking the silence. "I gotta say, you're pretty damn good at patching someone up. You a nurse by any chance?"

You start putting everything back into the first aid kit and shake your head. "No...just have experience patching myself up." You answer casually. "As for your ribs, there's not much I can do for those."

His eyebrow quirks in question as you mention patching yourself up, his eyes searching your face to see if you're joking or not. When he can tell you're serious, his face softens slightly, sympathy filling his expression. He mentally debates whether he should ask or not about your past injuries. His focus shifts to his ribs and he nods his head slightly in acknowledgment when you say you can't do much for them. His hand gently brushes against the tender area, eliciting a wince from him. "Yeah...l figured as much."

You look over at him, your face changing to one of concern hearing him wince. "I can get you a cold compress at least?"

He nods his head at your suggestion of a cold compress, thinking that it would help ease the pain at least a little bit. He shifts awkwardly on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, but failing immensely because of his ribs.

He lets out another wince before running a hand down his face in frustration. He glances over at you, giving you a small, half-hearted smile, trying to play off how much he actually hurts because he could see how concerned you were for him despite being a complete stranger. "Anything would be appreciated at this point."

You nod, still concerned and set the first aid kit down on the coffee table before pushing to your feet and going back to the kitchen.

You come back a few moments later with a bag of frozen peas for him to use as a compress. "Here, lay back and then use this."

He accepts the bag of frozen peas from you when you return and glances between it and you, realizing that you used it as an impromptu compress. He can't help but chuckle softly, thinking about how absurd this whole situation was.

He does as you say though and lays back, shifting a little to get more comfortable before gently placing the bag of peas over his ribs, letting out a soft sigh of relief as the cold helps soothe the throbbing pain a bit. "Much better, thank you."

"Of course, not a problem. Just glad I could help in some way." How were you this concerned for a stranger and willing to take care of them? Either way you felt comfortable with him already, his presence alone was warm.

He can't help but chuckle softly, amused by how naturally caring you were to him despite him being some stranger that suddenly crash landed in your yard. Maybe it was just your nature to help people.

He glances up at you, noticing the way you fuss over him and make sure he's as comfortable as he can be in his current condition. A pang of something unfamiliar fills his chest when he thinks about the fact that you're such a caring person, but it's not like he’ll be hanging around for too long once his ship is fixed.

You refill his glass of water and set it back down on the coffee table in his reach. "I uh... is it alright if I ask your name?"

He nods once in thanks as you refill his glass with more water and he takes a long sip from it, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat. He glances in your direction at your question and he hesitates for a moment. He thought it was a bit surprising that you hadn't asked his name yet when he was crashing on your couch in your living room.

He sets the glass of water down before answering you, a slight smile on his face. "It's Anakin. Anakin Skywalker."

His name was unique. Definitely. "Anakin..." you repeat his name, testing it out. "I like that. It's unique...but I gotta say your last name is wrong. It shouldn't be Skywalker. It should be SkyFALLER." As soon as it leaves your mouth you regret it and cringe. "Sorry that was awful. I'm (Y/N). And bad jokes are my strong suit."

He can't help but bark out a laugh but wincing immediately from his injured ribs, clearly amused by the joke, bad or not. To him it was funny and he couldn't help but be amused by your sarcastic sense of humor.

He grins at you, his eyes sparkling in humor now as he recovers from laughing. "That's a good one."

He repeats your name in return, just like you did. It was just as unique as his. "(Y/N)."

The corners of your lips quirk up as he laughs. At least he appreciates your awful joke. Hearing your name on his tongue gives you goosebumps. You nod. "Yep. That's my name.”

He can't help but notice the small, subtle sign that he had an effect on you, the way your skin prickled at the sound of your name on his lips. It sends a small shiver of satisfaction down his spine and he has to hold himself back from saying your name again, just to watch the reaction. He doesn't though, trying to be respectful of the fact that you are practically a stranger who is simply being very gracious to him.

He smiles. "Well, it's nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

You fight off the shiver that threatens to run through you hearing your name on his lips again. You smile back at him. "It's nice to meet you too, Anakin."

He smiles, his gaze lingering on your face for several moments, just studying your features. Your eyes, your nose, your lips. He could think of several more colorful ways to describe you such as beautiful or striking, but they sounded so simple and didn't quite do you justice.

He shifted slightly, wincing again from the pain in his side and he cleared his throat softly. "So, this is gonna sound weird, but... where am I? I mean, what planet am I on?"

Your eyebrows furrow at the question. He could remember his name but not the planet? Because the idea of someone coming from space, let alone a completely different galaxy, is absurd to you and not the first assumption. So you figure he has a concussion. "Um…..Earth…..you're on Earth," you stand up and place the back of your hand to his forehead checking his temperature. "You might have a concussion if you don't remember what planet you live on."

He's a bit taken aback by your reaction at first, expecting you to laugh at him or tell him that he's crazy. But instead, instead you actually think that he has amnesia or something, checking his temperature for a fever. He swallows at the feeling of your hand against his skin. He frowns and moves your hand away from his forehead, shaking his head. "No, I know what planet I live on. I'm not concussed."

Your lips downturn into a frown of your own at his response. Signing you look at him inquisitively. "I don't understand...l definitely think we need to get you to a hospital now. You might have a concussion.”

He lets out an exasperated huff, clearly annoyed by the fact that you keep trying to force him to go to a hospital. He wants as little to do with a hospital as possible. "I don't need a hospital. I'm fine," he replies irritably. "Just...answer my question. Is Earth in the Mid Rim or Outer Rim? Or is it part of the Unknown Regions?"

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion. "What? I don't know what any of those are, you aren't making sense. Earth is in the Milky Way Galaxy and the third planet from the sun."

He lets out a grunt of frustration as he realizes that you don't even know what the Mid Rim, Outer Rim, or Unknown Regions are. He's beginning to doubt that you know of anything beyond your own planet. He rubs his temples in irritation, trying to think of how to explain things to you.

"Have you ever heard of the galaxy being divided by something called the 'Core Worlds', the 'Mid Rim', or the 'Outer Rim', or the 'Unknown Regions?"

That only serves to add to your confusion, your eyebrows drawing together even tighter. You shake your head slowly. "No. Absolutely not."

Anakin lets out an exasperated sigh, running a hand down his face. How was he supposed to explain to you that he's from a completely different galaxy when you didn't even have a concept of what the galaxy was or how it was divided? He's almost dumbfounded that you've never even heard of the different sections of the galaxy before. A small part of sections of the galaxy before. A small part of him wonders just how isolated your planet actually is from the rest of the star systems out there. This was going to be a very long night it seemed.

He decides to try a different approach, speaking slowly and as calmly as he could muster given the circumstances. "This might sound crazy, but...do you believe in the existence of aliens?"

You chuckle a little at that. It seemed like such an outlandish question. "I think the universe is too big to only have life on one planet. So I believe in the concept of life on other planets. Aliens I guess. But do I think they're little green men with black eyes? No."

He huffed and rolled his eyes at your answer. You clearly had no idea just how advanced and diverse aliens in the other systems of the galaxy were. He could think of dozens of different alien species he'd come in contact with that would give you a heart attack simply based on their looks alone.

"They don't look like little green men with black eyes," he replies, "They look like anything you can imagine and more. All different species. Different sizes. Different skin colors. Different appearances. You name it."

You nod your head among slowly. "I figured if they exist that they'd be diverse," you respond with a shrug. Not too many humans concern themselves with the thought but you’ve always found it interesting. "Hang on. What are you getting at?"

He can't help but give a bitter laugh at your question. Of course you'd find the whole situation and idea of aliens interesting. But he had to be careful and choose his words strategically so that it didn't sound like he was insane.

"I'm getting at the fact that l'm not from your galaxy. At all. I have no idea where Earth is in relation to what you know of the galaxy. I'm actually not sure how you've never heard of any of the galactic systems either."

Your eyes widen a little at that revelation and you blink at him. "Huh." You exhale, taking a couple steps back to sit in the armchair. Suddenly you’re the unsteady one. It's absurd but for some reason you don't think he's lying. What reason does he have to? "If that's true...how did you even end up here then?"

He leans back a bit on the couch, a look of mild annoyance on his face as he struggles to explain all this to you in a way that won't make him sound insane or too complicated. He watches you take a few steps back to the armchair, noticing that the revelation of him not being of your planet had clearly rattled you a bit. He could hardly blame you though. It was a tough thing to believe. "I was on my ship, minding my own business, and I got caught up in some kind of...energy storm. And then my whole ship shut down." He frowns as he recounts the events from earlier. "Next thing I know I end up crash landing in your backyard."

"An energy storm..." you repeat back quietly, letting this all sink in, trying to process it all mentally. "But why were you all the way out here if you don't even know where in the galaxy you are?"

He can hear the doubt and skepticism in your voice and he can't help but scoff at the question. He doesn't appreciate it at all, being doubted by a citizen of some backwater planet who knows nothing of galactic systems or the Jedi Order.

"I was on a scouting mission. Exploring an unknown system for resources for the Republic," he replies bluntly, his irritation very apparent as his annoyance begins to slowly grow.

You don't mean to upset him, you’re trying to understand it all. You’re not doubting him. "And that system was this one?"

He lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. He's not angry at you, but more so frustrated by the whole situation. It only makes him wish more and more that the crash hadn't ever happened. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

"No, obviously not. This system wasn't on any of our star charts," he mutters with an irritated huff. "But the storm ripped a hole in some part of space and now I'm stuck on your planet until my ship's engine is repaired."

You nod slowly as it processes. It's quiet for a moment. You believe him. "Is that why you're wearing a dress?"

Surprise and confusion washes over him at the sudden and abrupt change in subject from aliens and galaxies to dresses. His eyes widen and he looks down at his clothes, realizing that you must be referring to his Jedi robes.

"This is my Jedi attire," he responds, gesturing down at his clothes. "It's what the Jedi wear to honor our order and traditions."

"Oh...'m sorry.....Jesus Christ..is that your race? I didn't mean to offend you." You quickly hurry out, your cheeks turning pink.

He can't help but let out a surprised snort of laughter at your question. He watches your cheeks turn pink as you attempt to apologize to him for offending him. He's definitely amused but mostly by the fact that you're actually concerned for offending him. "No, it's not my race," he replies, shaking his head and still chuckling softly. "I'm human, just like you. I'm a jedi, a member of the Jedi Order. An ancient peace keeping order."

It all sounds so out there, surely you’re dreaming and that's why you’re rolling with it. "So you're a solider?"

He nods, feeling a small stab of irritation at being thought of as a mere soldier. He's a General, one of the youngest and most respected and powerful Generals in the entire Republic, but he doesn't bother correcting you. He's not sure how you'd react to knowing that he's responsible for hundreds of thousands of men and has basically been a war hero for the last 3 years of his young life. "Yes, of sorts. A high ranking General for the Republic."

Your eyebrows raise. At least you know he could protect you if need be. Maybe you smoked too much and passed out and this is some weird weed induced dream.

"Wow..." you breathe out, pretty impressed. "So then you aren't an alien? Or are you still?"

He can't help but roll his eyes internally at your question unable tell if you're being serious or not, or if you're just completely delusional and still having a hard time grasping the concept that he is a human from a different galaxy with different planets and systems than you do. "No, I'm not an alien," he repeats with a huff of annoyance. "I'm human just like you like I already said. The only difference between us is the fact that I'm from a much more advanced civilization."

Jesus. This was so cool and fascinating at the same time but also quite intimidating. "Sorry for asking so many questions...I’m just trying to understand this all... always believed the universe was bigger than what Earth scientists have discovered so this is just...wow..."

Anakin can see the awe and fascination on your face as you try to process, understand, and make sense of it all. Despite the situation, he can't help but find it rather endearing in a way. You're so innocent and clueless about the galaxy and everything he's seen and know. He can't help but feel almost protective of you. He can't help but shake his head and laugh a little. "It's fine, ask whatever you want. I know humans are still incredibly primitive at this point and don't know a lot about the galaxy. Especially not the different systems and other planets out there. Besides l'a ask questions too if I were in your position."

You nod your head in thanks, letting out a breath. You think for a moment. "I have many questions but I don't want to bombard you like this so soon and especially in your state."

He sighs softly, leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes for a moment as a wave of exhaustion washes over him. He's been running on adrenaline and stubbornness up until now but he's starting to feel the effects of the crash and the exertion of the day. "Don't worry about 'bombarding' me. If your questions are sincere then I don't mind answering them. I... probably won't get much sleep tonight anyway."

You sigh softly and shake your head, pushing yourself up from the chair. "Let me at least help you get more comfortable."

He raises an eyebrow, looking up at you as you stand from your chair. He feels a pang of guilt over the fact that you've been so welcoming and kind to him when he's a complete stranger from another galaxy and he's been kind of rude. He doesn't feel he deserves your kindness. He doesn't even protest though. He's too tired and sore and too much in need of someone's touch, even if he won't vocalize that he's craving it. As stubborn and prideful as he is, he can't deny the fact that he wouldn't mind some gentle, caring reassurance. Especially from you.

"Fine," he mumbles, letting out a silent sigh, clearly exhausted.

You get up, heading down the hall to the linen closet and dig out a couple extra pillows and a blanket.

He watches you as you walk down the hall, feeling weirdly vulnerable and dependent in a way. He's not used to this. He's a high ranking General in the Order and the Republic. He doesn't have to need anyone for anything. Yet he's sitting here on a civilian's couch on a primitive planet, depending on you to get him comfortable and even going so far as to change out of the clothes that he'll be sleeping in. He swallows his pride as he mentally chides himself.

You come back out with the extra pillows, "Do you have layers on?"

"Yeah, there's layers," he mutters.

"You can take everything but your under layer off and I can wash the blood and dirt from your robes so they're clean in the morning."

He contemplates your suggestion for a moment before letting out a small huff of resignation. You were right. His clothes were dirty, his robes needed to be washed. He was in no condition to protest or argue. He nods his head and stands from the couch, swaying on his feet for a moment as his head spins and dizziness washes over him. Damn, he really was more weary than he'd realized.

"Fine," he mutters, as he attempts to remove his outer layer and belt.

You notice how he's still unsteady. "I-would you like help?" You ask gently not wanting him to feel forced.

He huffs softly, a wave of embarrassment and irritation washing over him at the thought of having to ask for your help. His pride is taking a real beating tonight. He's a damn General, he shouldn't have to ask for your help. But on the other hand he's so tired and the events of the evening were catching up to him, making him dizzier by the second. He sighs and looks up at you, feeling his resolve crumble a little. "Yes," he mumbles, reluctantly.

You step towards him. "Just let me know if I hurt you at all or if you get uncomfortable." You say softly before starting with his belt first that's over everything.

He looks down at you, watching as you step towards him. It takes everything in him to make himself stand there still, allowing you to remove his clothes. He hates this feeling. Feeling weak in front of you and needing your help. He can't remember ever being this vulnerable and dependent on someone else. It's strange and he doesn't like it. But at the same time, your hand brushing against him, your touch being so gentle makes him shiver a bit. He swallows thickly and nods, trying to push aside that shiver. "Okay..." he mutters.

Oblivious to his reaction, you keep going feeling almost as awkward as he does. You try to just focus on getting it done. You set his utility belt down on the coffee table and then slip his leather lapels off before getting to his main robe. You ease that off of him before slipping his long sleeve shirt off gingerly, taking care to not over exert him or brush against his ribs. You leave him in his pants and his under compression shirt before helping him out of his boots.

Despite his internal struggle at feeling weak, he can't deny the fact that a wave of relief and gratitude washes through him as you gently take off all of his clothes. He shivers again as you slip the last layer of clothing off, as he's only in his pants and compression shirt.

"There," you help him to lay down again on the couch.

He lays down on the couch, letting out a little sigh as you help him lay down. "Thanks," he mutters, feeling his eyelids grow heavier as you pull a blanket over him.

You nod gently, feeling better that you were able to help him in some way. As if cleaning his wounds and giving him a place to crash wasn't enough. After pulling a blanket over him, you help work a pillow behind him.

"I brought you a couple extra pillows just incase you wanted to prop yourself up more."

He watches you as you pull pillows over for him to prop up or rest his head on. He can feel the exhaustion really setting in now like a ton of bricks. His body is sore all over and his eyelids are getting heavier by the second. He's honestly ready to pass out but he fights it, stubbornly trying to stay awake for a few more minutes while you're still here with him. "Yeah, 'll probably need those..." he mutters, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Again you nod, about to gather his dirty clothes to leave him be. But before you’re able to leave your cat jumps up onto the couch with him. The first time he's seen a cat.

He almost jumps in surprise as your cat jumps up onto the couch and climbs all over his lap. He looks down at it in confusion, his eyebrows arching slightly. The animal is purring loudly and rubbing its head against his legs and hands. He's never seen anything like it. He reaches his prosthetic hand out to touch it gently.

"What is this..?" he asks, looking up at you, clearly completely bewildered at this animal on his lap.

You turn back to look at him, eyebrows quirked up slightly as you gather his dirty clothes into your hand. You chuckle softly seeing his confusion over your black cat. "That's a cat. My cat. His name is Loki."

He's still completely bewildered, letting out a huff of annoyance as you chuckle while he's clearly clueless about this animal on his lap. But the annoyance doesn't linger long as the cat starts to paw at his prosthetic hand, sniffing it and licking it curiously. To be honest he's a bit amused at the little animal's antics. He looks back up at you as you tell him the cat's name. "Loki..? What kind of a name is that?" he grumbles, running his gloved metal fingers gently over the cat's back.

Your cheeks turn a little pink over his question about the name, feeling a little embarrassed. But it's sweet watching your cat take to him so quickly and easily.

"It's a character from a comic book series." You answer him. "He seems to like you though... and he doesn't like new people. Especially men."

He watches as the cat kneads its paws against his lap and nuzzles its head against his prosthetic hand, clearly trying to get comfortable. He can feel the animal's purring and he has to admit it's pretty soothing. The way the cat seems to be so comfortable around him is actually strangely reassuring He looks back up at you as you confirm that the cat doesn't usually like new people, especially men. He raises an eyebrow in mild surprise at your words. Interesting...

"Is that right?" he asks, still running his metal fingers over the cat's soft fur.

You nod in confirmation. It was an endearing site. "Mhm, it is. But if he's bothering you I can keep him in my room for the night?"

He shakes his head almost immediately, surprising you and himself in the process. He actually doesn't mind the animal on his lap, in fact he finds its presence strangely soothing. Despite the fact that he's a little sore it seems that Loki is claiming ownership of his lap, almost like the cat has completely taken over. "No, it's alright. You don't have to move him. It's... fine," he says quietly, refusing to admit that he actually likes the cat's presence.

Your eyebrows raise slightly in surprise but you nod. "Okay...just making sure..." you respond gently. "Um...is there anything else you need?"

He shakes his head, shifting on the couch a bit to rest against the pillows propping him up. He can feel the exhaustion getting heavier and heavier with every passing minute. His eyes are slowly falling shut as the cat on his lap purrs and makes itself comfortable and cozy, nuzzling its head into his metal hand. He's surprised at himself how much he's enjoying the little creature's presence. He lets out a low huff, his eyelids slowly fluttering closed.

"No...I'm fine," he mutters tiredly, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper.

You nod again just once, watching as he seems to relax significantly. "Alright...well holler if you need anything, the bathroom is the second door on the left..."

He nods his head, trying to give you some sort of response to let you know that he heard you but it's becoming obvious that he's fighting a losing battle against the exhaustion. He's completely exhausted to the point where he's already nodding off to sleep. The only thing keeping him partially awake is the cat on his lap and the fact that you're still there in the same room as him. He lets out a weary sigh as he struggles to keep his eyes open. "Yeah...will do..." he mumbles, his eyelids already dropping shut again.

You feel guilty and like you’vebeen frustrating him all night despite helping him. "Right..goodnight." You respond quietly before flicking the light switch off and heading down the hall. You throw his clothes in the washer before going to your own bedroom for the night, shutting the door.

With the lights out, the little home is quiet and peaceful, he suddenly feels a bit of disappointment wash over him. The realization that you had just left him all on his own in the living room, even if with the company of your cat on his lap, suddenly hits him like a ton of durasteel. His eyes open wide for a moment as the realization settles in. Was he really disappointed that you left him all alone?

That's weird and completely unexpected, especially considering the fact that he doesn't even know you.

His breathing eventually slowly grows steady and even as he falls asleep for the first time in days. It's not the most comfortable sleep either, considering that he's lying on someone else's couch and he's still in constant pain because of his wounds and the injuries he sustained from the crash. But at least he's finally asleep. He doesn't know if it helps or not, but before he falls asleep he finds himself wishing you were still with him, in the room with him.

“Focus, Anakin,” He mentally scolds himself. “Fix the ship and leave as soon as possible.” He huffs and tries to get comfortable. It wasn’t the first time he was stranded on an alien planet so it shouldn’t be anything new this time, right?

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[somepsychopomp]

Cracked out AU where Telemachus was born very sickly so he was kept concealed from the public for the first 10ish years of his life. When the suitors start showing up once everyone presumes Odysseus dead, Penelope knows with certainty that these men will inevitably view her child as competition for the throne. They might end up hurting him or doing even worse in order to eliminate her son.

So she comes up with the only solution she can think of to keep Telemachus safe- she starts dressing him up as a girl and makes an announcement that in actuality, her son has always been her daughter! It’s just that she lied about having a son in order to protect her sickly daughter from curses or ill will or whatever. (Because duh, you can’t curse someone if you don’t know their real name. Ex. Odysseus) Now that her only child is healthy, “Theophila” will live as a young girl the way she was always meant to.

And all the suitors r like “oh shit we’ve been bullying a little girl. Well okay then.”

Penelope knows that, since the suitors only want her and the throne she can give them, they’ll ignore Telemachus entirely. After all, why settle for second place by pursing a skinny little princess when you could be king?

Telemachus is a tiny, underweight thing so his flat chest doesn’t draw in much suspicion over the years. Penelope puts him in dresses that hide his body and at most, sews some padding into his clothes to mimic the subtle shape of breasts and hips. Mostly people pity the “princess” because with such a thin body like hers, there’s no way she’ll survive childbirth. That is, if she can even get a husband to begin with.

Either this or one night, Penelope prayed to the gods for some way to protect her son and they said “ok” and turned Telemachus into a girl for real. You get what you pray for, I guess

[ellfucksup]

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Girls Night

Cho Sang Woo x reader

Request: anonymous

Summary: A spontaneous girls night is interrupted by an unwanted guest.

Warnings: kissing?

I couldn’t remember the last time I actually went out and let my hair down. Work had been relentless—non-stop, brain-numbing torture just to scrape by paycheck to paycheck. It was exhausting. Soul-crushing, even.

So, I messaged the girls. We need a night out.

Thank god they all agreed. Friday. Drinks. Dancing.

It was in the calendar, and nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to get in the way of me losing my mind on the dance floor, ten shots deep.

Well. Almost nothing.

Just as I was halfway through getting ready, a knock sounded at my door. I groaned, annoyed at the interruption. Wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair dripping onto my shoulders, I yanked the door open, fully prepared to tell off whoever thought now was a good time to bother me.

Then I froze.

Sang Woo.

He stood there, hands in his pockets, dark eyes flickering over me in amusement.

“Nice outfit,” he said, smirking.

I scowled. “What do you want?”

He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “Missed me?”

I exhaled sharply, my night already getting more complicated than I’d planned.

“What are your plans tonight?” he smirked, still leaning against my doorframe.

I huffed, turning around and leaving the door open for him to follow me in. “Why do you ask, Sang Woo? We haven’t spoken in over a week,” I sighed, feigning disinterest.

“I’ve been busy. Let me make it up to you,” he smiled.

“No can do. Girls' night. And you’re very much not invited.” I turned around, hands on my hips, praying to dear god the towel stayed up.

- - - - -

Safe to say, he wasn’t bothered by my clear instructions to stay behind.

Now, walking down the street, Sang Woo strolled casually beside me, cigarette in hand, dressed annoyingly well.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy his pestering. It had been a while since I’d seen my on-and-off-again friend with benefits. I mean, I guess you could call it that—it was an interesting arrangement.

I had met Sang Woo through a mutual friend. Gi-Hun, the absolute sweetheart that he is, introduced me to this infuriating man. Sadly, Sang Woo didn’t share his friend’s cheerful nature.

Hearing the loud music as I approached the strip, I suddenly heard my name being called out.

The girls were huddled together in their mini skirts, waving at me excitedly. I ran over, giggling, and pulled them all into a hug.

As soon as I let go, they opened their mouths, ready to say something—until their eyes flicked behind me. Eyebrows were definitely raised.

“I’m sorry, girls, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Trust me, though, let’s just pretend he’s not here,” I whispered—loud enough for Sang Woo to hear.

I heard him chuckle behind me.

“Oh, please, Y/N,” one of the girls giggled. “We all know you’re gonna struggle to ignore him.”

Walking into the bar, the group definitely garnered some looks. Can’t blame them really, the girls looked incredible. Trust them to go all out. Heading to the bar, I start to order a very strong drink.

“Hi, can I get a double—“ you were rudely cut off.

“Rum and coke—make that two, please, on card.”

I turn to see I hadn’t managed to lose Sang Woo in the crowd. He stood behind me, smug smile, hand ghosting my hip.

“You’re infuriating.” I mutter.

“Only for you.” His whispers into my ear.

I happily take his drink, making full eye contact, gulping it down. A bit of the drink dribbles slightly down my chin. I watch his eyes follow the droplet, hand raising to swipe it with his thumb, catching my lips ever so slightly.

I blush, turning my head, looking for the girls—finding them giggling, looking my way, mocking the lip swipe and swooning.

Ignoring Sang Woo, I rush over to my closest friend, grabbing her hand and yanking her to the dance floor. If he was going to be a menace, I’d be much worse.

I sway my hips to the music, base thumping as the alcohol shoots straight to my head.

“Girl, he’s looking at you like he’s going to eat you alive,” my friend shouts over the music with a grin on her face.

“Let him look,” I giggle, alcohol giving me some liquid courage.

After a few more rounds of shots, each one of the girls taking their turn to pay, I was definitely feeling the liquor in my legs.

I stray off to the dance floor, feeling the music, waiting for the girls to join.

I feel a hand on my waist—thinking it’s one of the girls, swaying with them to the music. Whoever the hand belongs to grips me slightly tighter, hand wandering further towards my ass.

Turning around to make a joke to one of my friends about being a perv, only to find a complete stranger.

Shocked at first, I stop dancing and move away, spotting the girls coming towards me.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty?” he says, giving a slimy smile.

I ignore him, weaving through the crowd, only to be grabbed by the wrist.

“Not a chance. You were just grinding on me—I want you to finish the dance,” he growls, pulling at me.

This guy was truly gross.

“Get your hands off of her now.”

I hear a voice boom through the crowd.

The creepy guy turns to see Sang Woo walking toward us, a scowl on his face.

“Now, why would I do that, old man?” he laughs, clearly feeling cocky.

Before I can open my mouth to tell the guy to fuck off, Sang Woo swings for him.

Before I could scream, they’re both on the floor. Sang Woo pins the guy as he pulls his fist back, ready to strike again.

“Fine, keep your whore,” shouts the perv, trying to save himself from the coming onslaught of punches.

The girls gather around me, asking whether I’m fine. Honestly, I’m more than okay—truthfully, slightly turned on. Seeing the usual well-kept Sang Woo with messy hair, looking feral, did things to me.

The crowd starts to open up around the fight. Chants begin, alerting the bouncers.

“Apologize to my girl,” Sang Woo growls.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Jesus, please get off me, man!” the guy pleads.

They’re both pulled apart and escorted out of the club. With some boos from the crowd they go back to the usual antics of the night.

I turn to look at the girls, mouths open—speechless, to say the least. They all look at me with smiles, some with their arms crossed.

“Girl, just go. You’re clearly gonna get laid to the high heavens; that’ll at least be a good stress reliever. We can always go out tomorrow night,” one of them giggles and gives me a wink.

I roll my eyes trying to hide my blush, saying my goodbyes.

Heading outside to find Sang Woo sorting his jacket out, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He spots me, strolling over and pinning me to the wall. Luckily, the streets are quiet, as it’s on the later side of the night.

He says nothing but brings his lips to mine. Giving me a rough kiss, clearly riled up by the fight.

“I hate it when they touch what’s mine,” he whispers into my ear as he leaves hot kisses down my neck.

- - - -

OMG my first fic! Hope you enjoy, please be nice I’m new to this!

[venturelovebot]

Fluffy February Day Eleven: Crush

A/N: Prompts by @fluffyfebruary, written in headcanon format. Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated but not necessary!

Warnings: None! Pure fluff!

🩷 Once more, they stare longingly at you from their desk.

❤️ Their notebook is filled with little doodles of the two of you together. Holding hands, hugging– even kissing if they were feeling particularly in the mood.

💄 They're extra careful not to let anyone see it. They huddle themself close to the paper and place the finishing touches on their newest drawing.

💋 It was you: just you this time. A study that they had done while you were waiting in line at lunch the other day.

🪽 By no means did they consider themself an artist. In fact, their skills were rather lackluster in their opinion.

🌹 All they notice is their mistakes. Yet, even in shoddy pencil, your presence seems to make their heart all aflutter.

🍫 "Okay, class!" Mrs. Ziegler speaks up. "Today begins our month long group project, let's start by splitting into groups of two!"

💒 Oh! Two? Only two?

🧸 Sloan's hazel eyes flash towards your figure sitting two seats in front of them.

🩷 Students begin to pair themselves up one by one. The number of options were quickly dwindling.

❤️ Surely, if the universe had ears... they silently pray to end up with you.

💄 The remaining few people choose to partner up with their friends.

💋 Being the lonely nerd they are, they had no real people to call friends.

🪽 Not that it bothered them at all. Their nose was always shoved inside a book anyway, who needs conversation when you can have knowledge?

🌹 Or... something like that.

🍫 They zone out harder than expected. They're only interrupted by the sound of a desk turning and facing them.

💒 "Looks like it's just us!" You smile.

🧸 Oh. My. God.

🩷 You are ten times cuter up close than you were far away.

❤️ The sparkle in your eyes, the glossy appearance of your skin, the glowing halo floating above your perfect hair– wait a minute, maybe that's just their imagination. Regardless, you looked so soft and precious that they practically forget to breathe.

💄 "Are you feeling okay?" You ask. "You look red..."

💋 They slam the cover of their notebook atop the page they were on.

🪽 "I'm f-fine!" They stutter, struggling to keep themself composed.

🌹 A piece of paper is handed out amongst the groups containing information about the project.

🍫 A presentation about your favorite Shakespeare play.

💒 "Aww man." You sigh. "They're all so boring, though."

🧸 They have to agree on that– while history was a big favorite, literature made them want to fall asleep.

🩷 "Well, I guess we have to pick one." You shrug. "Which one should we do?"

❤️ "Romeo and Juliet–" They suggest. "Get it? Because I have a crush on you–"

💄 They stop themself. Their pupils dilate in absolute terror. A scream gets stuck in their throat as they seemingly choke on nothing.

💋 You look up at them with a soft blush on your face.

🪽 At first, you're confused. You thought you misheard them– but according to their reaction, you heard them correctly after all.

🌹 Their heart stops inside their chest. Tears form in the edges of their eyes and they begin blinking rapidly to dry them up.

🍫 Then, you laugh. Not in a hurtful way, though.

💒 "You do?" You prod them further.

🧸 "NO–" They squeak, clearly lying.

🩷 "Oh? So you wouldn't be interested in coming over to my house to work on the project?" You playfully tease them.

❤️ "OKAY. MAYBE." They admit, voice still five octaves higher than normal.

💄 You giggle once again. Their heart restarts at five hundred beats per second.

💋 "You're cute. Come on, let's get to work." You tell them.

🪽 "SURE." They huff, barely breathing from everything that just took place.

🌹 It was going to be a long, long month.

🍫 But... at least they get to spend it with you!

[imsogonesposts]

The Odds are Never in Our Favor

|| ao3 || Finnick masterlist || requests are open!! || an: angst angst angst angst ||

summary: Finnick worries that you may be reaped for the Hunger Games during your final year in the reaping bowl. (wc: 1450)

Finnick was used to things not going his way. If things ever were to go his way, then he certainly wouldn't have been forced into the Hunger Games at the age of fourteen- and be one of the youngest to win the games. He also definitely wouldn't have been forced into some of the things that many victors were forced to do after winning their own games. 

Regardless, Finnick was thankful for many things. He had many great friends, his family was still alive and well, and he had an amazing girlfriend. A girlfriend who, thank the heavens, has yet to be reaped for the Hunger Games. 

Finnick wasn't sure what he would do if you were ever to get reaped for the games. He didn't think he could handle being your mentor, helping to train you only to lie awake at night, praying to any god he could think of that you'd make it out of the arena. It was already hard enough leading strangers to their deaths, he couldn't imagine having to do the same with you- the love of his life, the girl of his dreams. 

"Stop worrying so much," you reassured him with a smile, morning of the reaping, "it's my last year in the reaping pile, I doubt they'll pick me." 

Finnick wanted to believe you. He wanted to smile and admit that you were right, the chances of you getting picked were slim to none, and yet, he knew in the back of his head that many kids got reaped during their last year, the girl tribute from his year was eighteen, for example. He remembers her telling him how happy she was to finally have to stop worrying if she was next, only for her to end up getting called up her last year. No matter how much the Capitol wanted to say it, the odds were simply never in the favor of the citizens of Panem. 

"You're right," he replied with a false smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "There are other kids with their name in the bowl far more times than you," like Coil, Finnick's childhood best friend. On top of worrying for you, Finnick was also worried for his friend Coil, whose name was in the reaping bowl forty times. Like you, this was his last year in the reaping bowl, and like with you, Finnick was worried that the odds wouldn't be in his favor and that Coil would get reaped. Finnick wished he could rid these thoughts from his brain, but alas, worry got the best of him. 

Just a few more hours until the reaping is over and you can celebrate, he told himself, though he wasn't sure how well the mantra was working for him. He couldn't help but have a knot in his stomach, a small part of him knowing something would go wrong, he just wasn't sure what that something was yet. 

"Exactly," you told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm only in there seven times, that's basically nothing." 

Yes, but when Finnick got reaped, his name was only there three times, and he still managed to get picked. 

"Yeah," Finnick whispered, giving you a short but sweet kiss. "Nothing."

***

Through the corner of his eye, Finnick caught you waving at him through the throng of potential tributes. He always liked to think you would always be the first thing he'd spot in a room, no matter what. He gave you a small nod, wishing he could smile back, but he had an image to upkeep for the Capitol. One he hated, but if it kept the people he cared about safe, then he could make do. 

He watched as Coral Steelwater, the District 4 escort, made her way across the stage. As she reached the microphone, she made the same speech she made every year. Speaking of the "importance" of the Hunger Games and talking about the past victors. Truthfully, it was going in one ear and out the other for Finnick. He could only stare at her bright blue wig as he prayed and prayed and prayed that you'd be safe. That you and all his friends would be safe another year, and that none of you would have to worry about the Hunger Games ever again. That none of you would have ever experience what he went through at such a young age. 

"Ladies first," Coral announced, finally breaking Finnick out of his endless trance. He watched as she made her way across the stage, reaching a hand into the big glass bowl as she pulled a name out from the top. 

And suddenly, Finnick felt himself go white as the entire crowd went silent before a hushed whisper fell over the crowd. He began pinching his side as you made your way up to the stage, the color lost on your face. He kept pinching himself, hoping this was all a stupid nightmare and that when he woke up, he could go to your house to see you alive and well. 

But he wasn't waking up. And you were finally on the stage, looking out into the crowd. Finnick felt a knot in his stomach grow. He didn't think he could do this- train you, try his best to get you out of the arena. He couldn't watch you die, he knew that would be the thing to finally break him. Years of pain and torture from the Capitol to keep the people he loved safe, and now you were getting thrown into the lion's den. Nothing about this was fair. Finnick felt like he was going to be sick. 

"And now for our boy tribute!" Coral said in an all too excited tone. Nothing about the Hunger Games was ever exciting, certainly not to him. Not with you in that arena, fighting for your life. But, he knew the people in the Capitol were eating this up. Your and Finnick's relationship was never much of a secret, he knew the Capitol was probably going crazy over a past Victor's girlfriend going into the arena. Especially with the fact that he would have to mentor you. He wasn't sure he had the stomach for this. 

Coral made her way across the other side of the stage, towards the bowl with the boy tribute names, and yet, he could barely keep his eyes off you. He couldn't let you die, he knew that. He just wasn't sure how he could protect you when you were in the arena and he was in the Capitol. 

The name Coral called suddenly pulled Finnick out of his thoughts. He could feel himself get sick all over again as he looked out into the crowd, seeing a look of shock and horror on his friend's face. 

"Coil Oceanway, dear, please come on stage," Coral announced in the microphone as he slowly made his way towards the stage. Finnick wasn't sure how he hadn't managed to throw up all over the stage. Not only was he to mentor you, the girl he had been crushing on since he was a little kid, that he finally got to be with, but he was also to mentor his life-long childhood best friend. And not only that, but the both of you couldn't make it out of the games alive. If he ever wanted to see one of you again, he would have to give up the other. He would have to watch one of you die. 

Finnick tried his best to keep a look of composure as you and Coil shook hands, the tributes of District 4. But he wasn't sure if he was doing a very good job. He wouldn't be too surprised if somehow, President Snow had something to do with the reaping this year. It certainly would make for a great story, it'd help keep people invested in the Hunger Games. "The Capitol Darling forced to mentor his girlfriend and childhood best friend, and watch one of them die!" He felt nauseous. 

The Capitol truly was a sick, cruel place. Finnick watched as the peacekeepers took you and Coil away, to the Justice building so you could say your final goodbyes to your family- they had done the same thing with him when he played his games- and he could hardly find it within himself to move. He didn't know how he could face your family, nor Coil's. He didn't know how he was going to be forced to mentor the two of you. He didn't know how he would be able to stomach watching either of you die. 

One thing was certain though, the odds were never in his favor. 

[dancing-dawn]

Also for me this seems like the most plausible explanation for that line. It hasn't crossed my mind before, but it makes so much sense when you put it in context and consider Aku's character. And I can't help but consider that meta knowledge in the back of my mind that we somehow need to build up to the S5 post-credits scene, and that seems absolutely impossible if Atsushi needs to start giving summaries of who they are to Aku and he goes "ah yeah, my rival for whom I have sacrified myself to guarantee his safety because I care so much and trust him with my greatest weakness because he's the only one who can show me the light and the worth of my own cursed life but my only way of showing is through action, yes Iiiii remember now!" Like yes it sounds ridiculous and something like this would completely and utterly undermine all of Akutagawa's character growth (and I believe out of the whole cast he's had the most interesting and in-depth development; yes I am very biased too but shh). Unless Asagiri pulls off some crazy plot twist and straight up returns his memories, IF they're truly gone, in like 2 hours. But considering the painfully slow pace the manga is currently going at, I'm fully converting to your theory now.

The only thing that could sway me from this train of thought is how when Aku said it, his eyes seemed so empty and liveless, as if he's being born anew and really doesn't remember all of Atsushi’s influence that has been slowly bringling the light back into his eyes. But yea, I still can't imagine how that tiny little problem could resolve itself before the epic Singularity fight, so I'm just praying whatever happens is gonna be well thought out, and they get their special moment together like we've already seen.

I've been thinking about Akutagawa's "Who are you?" for HOURS and I'm begging- hands and knees -for this to be a "get your shit together atsushi" moment and not actually "whoops brain wipe because of vampire shit" moment.

Like, these two goobers know each other better than they'd like to admit- particularly when it comes to combat because of how they've fought side-by-side so many times. So, it would make sense for Akutagawa to see Atsushi's current state and go "I don't know any pathetic losers like you" because he doesn't have time to deal with Atushi's current state at the moment and also because he's just that kind of blunt asshole (in the most affectionate way possible). The weretiger he knows always fights back and never gives in and is constantly fighting to live- to prove he deserves to live -no matter who the opponent or how powerful. Yet, the person before him is begging for death and on his knees before a foe, crying and sniveling. That person isn't someone he recognizes. And as we all know, Akutagawa isn't someone to mince words or give platitudes, especially to someone like Atushi who he regards as his rival in a sense, so he'd never say anything like "this isn't like you" or crap like that. And this goes double since he's now also busy facing pretty much a god and doesn't have time to dissect whatever's up with Atsushi.

So, of course, the natural thing for him to do is be his usual, straightforward, and somewhat mean self. "Who are you?" Not a simple question of identity but a statement of disappointment (for lack of a better word here at 1AM). A challenge directed at Atsushi to get it together and remember what they're doing here. Obviously, Atsushi's behavior is the result/has been heavily influenced by- y'know -literally everything that's happened in the last few chapters but regardless of whether or not Akutagwa even knows that (betting on not at the moment, me thinks), what he does know is that this isn't the time to be letting Fyodor have his way and that he needs to fight. He's telling Atsushi to stand up and be the weretiger he knows and has fought beside every time and, in terms of SSKK, his other half.

And now, we're all just waiting for that moment when Atsushi gets back up and Akutagawa gets his partner back and then they bully (AKA flirt) with each other in standard SSKK fashion while they beat up Fyodor and his god best friend.

Of course, I've already seen a couple other people mention this idea as well because A) we're all coping together and B) it would be a clear and interesting narrative line to take (in my personal opinion). A show of how these two enemies/rivals truly see each other and that they are a team despite appearances. A moment that reminds us, and potentially even them, that they know each other better than they think.

Probably just stating the obvious here or doing a longer-winded version of what everyone's already been thinking (especially since I'm like 3 days late to the party) but whatever lmao. Just needed to yell into the void a little bit and put the manifestation of this scene into the world.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

God. This is so heartwrenching.