#at least i remember reading about it once

[ooc-miqojak]

I'm just saying, the room should be empty, then. If you can't follow the tenets of your own faith, then why have a fucking Pope? Remember that time Jesus WHIPPED people for using a church as a marketplace? And that wasn't as egregious as hiding abuse of children in a House of God.

Anyways, Christianity at its core has a good message, but I've long since given up on any institutionalized religion, given the brainwashing and wildly false teachings that come out of the scum allowed to lead most of them, no matter the sect/church. It's sad what most of America has turned Christianity into, but I've got to say - for once there's a good law: report child abuse, and it's the church that's balking?

Sometimes I think about those awful, horrifying Left Behind books I was lured into reading as a kid... and wonder if they weren't at least a little real, given the state of the world at present.

Not to be too lapsed Catholic on main here but I do chafe seeing non-Catholics talk about the appointment of the head of a two thousand year old oppressive institution like an actual woke option was possible but overlooked. “The new Pope covered up sexual abuse of minors” if they removed every cardinal that covered up sexual abuse of minors from the conclave the room would be empty.

[allisonrw96]

Saw 8x17 and my hand slipped. Obviously there are spoilers here for Don't Drink the Water. Once I sleep and reread it, I'll decide if it should go on AO3 or not and add a link if needed.

Refined and posted to AO3! You can read the rough version below or click the title link to see it as it should be.

Heartbreak Like an Earthquake

The four of them play cards together after the dishes are done. It's a game that Buck only half knows how to play and the other three rib him about it before they play a face up hand so he can learn the rules and how to win. He doesn't win. But he knows how now. For next time.

He never bought a bed for Christopher's room because taking ownership of that part of the house felt different than taking ownership of the rest of it, but he still has the air mattress he hauled from house to house and the duct tape patch he put on the side seems like it's holding strong. Christopher puts himself to bed, reminding Eddie and Buck that he knows where it is still, but he doesn't snark at Eddie when he finds him waiting in the hallway to give him a hug after he brushes his teeth and he goes unprompted to the living room to give Buck one last hug too.

After that it's just Buck and Eddie, sitting at opposite ends of the couch that squeaks under their weight and that they slide on every time they try to lean back.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" Buck asks, handing Eddie the mug that Eddie doesn't need to know he stole on Eddie's moving day.

Eddie sips the tea to test it and exhales a too hot breath before answering, "Not really."

"Good," Buck replies.

They share a sidelong glance and then they both laugh, fussing with the strings of their tea bags and trying to get comfortable.

It feels like that's all Buck's been doing for a month now. Trying to get comfortable. Or at least, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt, doesn't take his breath away, doesn't make him want to sit down and never get up again. He doesn't quite manage it now either, but he feels... He's not hiding it. His grief is a beanbag chair that he's nestled into with no intention of getting up any time soon and there's relief in the surrender.

"I'm sorry that I didn't call you that night," Buck says to his mug but not missing the way that Eddie stiffens beside him. "And I'm sorry that I didn't call you any of the days after. Or answer when you did."

"You texted. I know you were busy."

Giving interviews to government officials. Endless interviews and statements that ranged from accusatory to perfunctory and that Buck can't remember at all now. He thinks he cried in at least one. He knows he cried with Hen at her hospital bed and with Maddie outside Chimney's. He knows that Ravi came over with a pizza and that Buck threw it all up later and the days passed, the days passed, the days passed. And then someone told him it was time to get back to work.

"I didn't- I couldn't say it. And I couldn't talk about anything else either. Those first couple days. I couldn't say anything. But I should have tried."

When Eddie answers, his voice is tight. "I should have been there. On the call, at the hospital, here with- I should have been here."

"Why weren't you?"

All their texts. One drunken voicemail that was just Buck's name and then a ragged, wet breath before the call ended. For weeks, Buck expected the next message to include flight details. None of them did. After Athena announced the date, Buck researched the flights himself, sending the cheapest and the fastest options to Eddie, half angry and half afraid that if he didn't do it, Eddie might not.

"I was going to be here for the funeral. Christopher agreed to stay with my parents and they agreed to take him and I packed a bag and waited for the call. As soon as I knew which days everything was happening I was going to head to the airport.

"And I kept waiting. Radio silence from you. Radio silence from Chimney and Ravi. I started thinking you were gonna have the funeral without me. Started thinking I deserved it. It was my fault I wasn't there anyway. By the time I starting getting pissed enough to realize I didn't need an invitation to get on the plane, you sent me the flights."

"You're here now."

For now. Buck thinks but stops himself from saying. It would be mean for the sake of seeing Eddie flinch and once he reaches past all the parts of himself that do mean it, he can get to the core that doesn't. It was never Eddie's fault that he had to leave. And he has every reason to already be gone now. But Buck sent him a list of one way flights and Eddie booked one and he stayed. He still hasn't booked another even though he has his offer and he knows what day he's expected to report. It's a hope that he's so angry to feel because it's going to hurt so much worse when it gets ripped away, but it's one that Buck can't help but cling to.

"For all the good it's done," Eddie says, sipping his tea like he wishes it was something stronger.

"Hey. You being here is doing us good. It's doing me good."

"Getting screamed at by a raging asshole in your own kitchen over who's the most sad is part of your grieving process?"

"No." Turning to face Eddie, Buck takes in the shadow cast over his body, the way the bitterness of his last words is still lingering in his expression. He looks and he remembers other shadows that he had to help Eddie fight back and he waits for Eddie to look over at him. It takes a while.

Slowly, Buck says, "'Getting to be there for my best friend when he finally tells me how he's really feeling after having to watching him walk around for weeks like he didn't just have his heart ripped out' is what's part of the process. I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner."

"I don't remember getting to that part."

"Well I had to get through the "Wanting to punch you in the face for spitting in mine" part out of the way first. I was going to try the talking part again this morning, but..."

Eddie winces and Buck finds he doesn't feel as guilty about that as he would have thought.

"But the asshole had to get one more shot in. Buck, I'm-"

"I know you are," Buck says. He doesn't know where Eddie got the money for another plane ticket and he doesn't know how he knew how badly Buck needed to feel something other than the feeling of bobbing in an open ocean beside a sinking ship, trying desperately to reach people who keep floating further and further away. But he supposes that Eddie's always been his anchor and maybe he shouldn't be surprised at all. "I forgive you."

In the dark, Buck can't see Eddie's jaw twitch like he wants to refuse the forgiveness like he usually does, but he knows it's there by the sound of the strong exhale that takes the place of whatever he wants to say and the way he looks back down at the tea.

"Did I really spit on you?" he asks, looking back at Buck with his eyebrows knitted together.

A laugh pops from Buck's mouth like double bubble bursting and he says, "Uh, you shouted like six inches from my face so yeah. I was in the splash zone. I kind of regret encouraging you to drink more water."

"Jesus," Eddie says, rubbing his hand over his face.

Still laughing, Buck plucks his teabag out of his mug and Eddie slides over a coaster to catch it, leaving his own to steep just a little bit longer. It's not everything that there is to say, but Buck can feel a part of himself snapping back into place. They're going to be okay. They're always going to be okay.

A memory bubbles up, one that he's surprised to even remember. He and Eddie had gotten into it on a shift one day. Buck can't even remember what the problem was but he knows he prayed they would catch a fire just so he could turn the hose on Eddie and blow him down the block. It had made Ravi nervous--he was still so green back then--enough that he worked up the courage to ask Bobby if he was going to do anything about it.

"If it interferes with the job, I'll separate them," Bobby promised. "But I won't have to. They'll be back in each other's pockets before we leave tomorrow morning."

"Before dinner," Hen had countered, holding up a ten for Bobby to call or raise, and Buck had been so furious that the stairs rattled under his feet as he stormed off. This wasn't like that. This was serious.

And he still thought maybe it had been. He and Eddie still went out to breakfast the next morning anyway, unspoken apologies passing between them like the keys between their hands as they walked out the door.

It's not a bad memory, but it hurts all the same. Bobby knew all of them so well. Sometimes it seemed like he knew everything. But he can't have seen this coming. He can't have known what his death would do to all of them or he never would have trusted Buck to-

He draws in a shaky breath that gets Eddie's concerned attention immediately. He sets his cup down before he shifts closer to Buck, making sure both of his hands are free when he asks, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Buck answers, the same way he's been answering for weeks. But this time Eddie doesn't look away from him and Buck lets the second half of the sentence finally escape. "I'm just thinking about Bobby. I can't seem to stop."

"You don't have to stop. I think about him too."

In his eyes, Buck can see the part that Eddie isn't saying. He thinks about him the same way that Buck just did, the same way they all do, but he also thinks about what he would have done if he was there. What he might have said. What Bobby would have said. Worrying and worrying and worrying over the void that will always exist in place of a goodbye. Now that Buck knows, a little, what Eddie's gone through, he can't imagine how he's bearing up under it.

If Buck was the one with an empty place where a memory should be, he thinks it might kill him. They'd given him oxygen that night. A sedative. But having to hear it later, he thinks... Yeah. He might not have made it. It might be worse than the burden he's carrying now: a promise that's too heavy for his shoulders and one that he's closer and closer to dropping every day.

"He told me-" Buck starts and then stops. Is he making this moment about him? Should he be asking Eddie more questions instead? But he is who he is and Buck can feel the words slipping out of his mouth without any hope of stopping them. "I wasn't being a martyr by picking up paper towels and eggs," he says with more of an edge to the words than he intends.

"Buck-" Eddie sighs. "I know you weren't."

"I forgot," he shrugs. "I forgot you said you'd pick up the groceries and so I went and did it because that's what I always do when I have a Thursday off and because if I don't have something to do every second of every day I think I might go out of my mind. I stand in the middle of a room and I don't know how to move or where to go if I did. And I don't want to have to figure out what to do. I don't want to do anything at all. I want to lay down on the floor and stay there and I can't.

"So I did your laundry. And I could tell you were mad about it, but I swear I didn't give a shit about your socks on the table and I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty for making me clean up after you; I just had to do something or I..."

"Hey. Hey. Look at me." Buck hadn't realized he'd stopped, but when he raises his gaze he finds Eddie's warm brown eyes and more worry than he knows what to do with. "I never should have said that. I was mad and I-"

"I know. It's okay."

"No, it's not." Eddie lets out another sharp breath and moves closer still until their knees are touching and his hand slides off the back of the couch and onto Buck's shoulder.

"We've been worried about you. All of us. You think you're hiding how you're feeling but you are shit at it. Everyone can see that you are two steps away from exploding only you won't talk about it. You're too busy making the rest of us talk, giving out grief assessments like you're the department trauma counselor and we're not making it through the stages of grieving fast enough for you.

"So we've all been tiptoeing around you because no one wants to be the one to set you off and, yeah, I got pissed. Because you were the first person I wanted to tell about the gig in El Paso." Eddie gestures between the two of them with his free hand and Buck's face flushes hot with shame. "You and me, we're supposed to be able to talk about things, but since Bobby died, we haven't talked about anything. I know what it's like to be the one stuck in the middle of that room and I know you'd never leave me there alone. So why are you locking us out and pretending that's what we're doing to you?"

He's close again, breathing heavy again, one hand hot on Buck's shoulder and other finger burning where it taps against his chest with the last words of Eddie's sentence. This time instead of the urge to hit back, Buck only wants to crumple.

"I was there with him. When he died. Did someone tell you that?" Eddie nods and Buck says, "He made me leave. But before he did he told me- He said that I would be okay. And he said that the team would need me."

Tears prick at his eyes again and Eddie's grip gets tighter and before he can say something, Buck plows ahead and says, "But he was wrong. I don't know if he- he thought I was stronger or smarter than I am or if he was just lying so I'd have a reason to..." His throat catches and Buck ducks his head to cough, clearing the river of snot that will be unleashed as soon as he actually starts crying.

"I've been trying to be there for everyone, trying to make sure everyone is okay, but no one is and I don't know how to fix it. There was an earthquake and I thought Bobby would give me an answer but he's still just gone and I'm trying to hold everyone together, but they keep moving away or pushing me away and if I-I-I can't-" his voices hitches and Buck's shoulders shake with stuttered breath- "It's the only thing he asked me to do, but he didn't tell me how and I'm letting him down. I'm letting everyone-"

"No, you're not. You're not."

Buck's head his still bowed to his chest when Eddie takes the mug from his hand and then drags him into the fiercest hug he's ever received. It's too tight to be comforting and the angle is wrong and their chins and elbows and hands are all too rough and too sharp. The hug hurts and Buck twists his fingers in Eddie's shirt to keep him from pulling away.

"You're not letting anyone down," he says to the side of Buck's head. "Not Bobby, not any one of us. We all need you. Okay? Christopher needs you. I need you. I'm always going to need you."

Eddie's hands are fists at Buck's back and his knuckles slide over Buck's shoulders, a steady, soothing, grounding pressure that keeps Buck from drifting away as he lets himself cry for the first time since the funeral.

The whole time, he's aware of a gentle murmuring nearby. It never evolves into more reassurances or even any words at all, but the sound is one of safety. It's the kind of noise you'd make at an infant--the kind Buck sang to Jee-Yun when she was too small for words and the world beyond her parents was nothing more than a wide, often-terrifying confusion. Eddie hums like that to him now, rocking him back and forth, and Buck feels the comfort in the part of him that's still too small and terrified for words.

Once he makes it back to himself, Buck sniffs without pulling away and says, "I'm sorry."

"I know. It's okay."

"No, I was supposed to be there for you and I wasn't. I quizzed you, Eddie. Who does that?"

Laughter rumbles against his cheek and Buck sits up again, surprised to find Eddie's eyes wet and ringed with red.

"Did you ever think that maybe when Cap said we were going to need you that he meant the real you? Not superhero you, not expert you, not captain you, but just you?"

Buck doesn't answer. He doesn't think Eddie needs him to.

"You know when I saw your Jeep at the airport I think it was the first time in weeks I felt like I could actually breathe?"

Eddie's smile when he'd seen him had the same effect on Buck. A relief so sweet that it almost ached. When he'd gotten out of the car to help Eddie with the bags he definitely did not need help with, Eddie had pulled him into a hug and Buck had finally felt something other than numb. It was where he'd found the strength to start being the Buck he thought Bobby would want.

"And then after the funeral I saw you slip Athena a bottle of water. Heard you ask Ravi to keep any eye on Tommy. Watched you take the kids outside to give them a break from everything."

"None of that was a big deal," Buck says, squirming. "I was just-"

"Being you?" Eddie replies raising his eyebrows in that softly challenging way that wins Buck to his side every time. "I know. And I bet that's what Bobby was counting on."

Eddie holds Buck's gaze for a beat longer before pulling them slightly apart and reaching for Buck's mug on the table. Buck accepts it, but doesn't drink, curling his hand around the still warm cup and thinking that he never told anyone about the worst parts of his coma. There was a moment then where he thought Bobby's death might kill him too, but it hadn't. And it had been Bobby, even the Bobby who was a hurt, broken stranger, who had helped Buck look inside himself and find what he needed to live.

"Is that enough?"

Buck still isn't sure. But he figures he owes it to Bobby to keep trying until he is.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah, Buck."

"Bobby asked about you all the time. He kept calling Ravi "Eddie" for like the first month that you were gone. It was an accident at first, but after that I think he just wanted to rile Ravi up. He wanted me to convince you those caffeine drinks were going to kill you. He sent me articles." As he speaks, Buck watches Eddie go still, then watches grief fill his eyes even as he manages a wet laugh at Bobby's hatred of energy drinks.

"He tried to tell me it counted as driving under the influence."

"Yeah, I think that was one of the articles," Buck laughs. Licking his lips before speaking again, he says, "He loved you, Eddie. And he was so proud of you. Not- not just for going to get Christopher, but for everything. And I think. If you had been there. He would have wished you weren't. He would have wanted you to be safe. He would have wanted you to keep living.

"There wasn't anything you could have done."

Sitting back, Eddie sniffs back his emotion and wipes harshly at his eyes before turning to Buck and saying, "I know."

"I know you weren't there and I can't imagine what it would be like not knowing, but I promise-"

"I do know," Eddie croaks, his eyes wide and heartbroken and as honest as Buck has seen them since he's been home. "If there was anything that anyone could do, you guys would have done it. And so would he."

This time when they embrace, they fall into it together. Eddie's arms are tight around Buck and Buck's face is buried in the crook of Eddie's neck. Feeling Eddie exhale and his body soften and relax under Buck's touch, Buck feels something in himself unwinding too. And there, just for a moment, it feels like Bobby is in the room with him, looking in from the doorway, and smiling.

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X Reader)

Series Masterlist

Part Four

Your dull eyes flicker to the door as it swings open. You recognize the person who enters as the man that was wearing the flashy armor on the jet. He looks a lot different without the armor on yet he still carries an air of confidence. His eyes are glued to the tablet in his hand for a moment before he finally tosses it onto the table and gives you his attention.

"So, Hannibal, if I remove your jacket are you going to play nice?" You quirk a brow at the name, unsure what it means or where it came from. Once you give him a slow nod he moves towards you, moving behind you to unclasp the multiple buckles. The jacket slides off easily, revealing that you're wearing nothing but a tank top underneath it. Despite being free of the restraints, you keep your arms wrapped securely around yourself as if you're still wearing them.

"I've got a few questions for you but first I need to know if you know sign language." When you shake your head he sighs. Of course those Hydra bastards wouldn't teach you a way to communicate without talking. "Alright, do you at least know how to write?" This question is met with a shrug which makes him purse his lips. Regardless, he pulls out a notepad and pen from his pocket and sets the items on the table in front of you.

He moves away from you after that to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. "Let's start simple. What's your name?" He already knows the answer to this, of course, but he wants to see what your answer is.

You sit there for a few moments simply staring at the paper in front of you before slowly reaching forward to pick up the pen. Your hand shakes slightly from lack of use as you try your best to write down your answer. The word is understandably written with shaky lettering. Once done, you push the paper closer to him so he can read it.

He leans forward to read it, frowning slightly. Cursed is what you wrote down in very wobbly letters. At least it's spelled correctly which shows that you at least understand how to read. Hydra must've figured writing wasn't a necessary skill for you to learn.

He had hoped you would have remembered your name since the files said you showed signs of remembering things a few different times. Maybe with time your memory will return. "Do you know how old you are?" You shake your head. "Do you know anything about yourself?"

You hesitate before pulling the paper back towards yourself to write your answer. While you had heard Natasha read out some of your file, you didn't actually pay much attention to what she was saying. Even if you did, you likely wouldn't believe the information given. 

Tony watches as you scribble the words, pausing occasionally as if trying to think of how to spell specific words or maybe to think of more things you know about yourself. Once you're done you slide the paper back towards him.

'Killer. Cursed. Hydra operative.'

He sighs, running his hand over his mouth before holding his chin in thought. It's obvious that any questions he asks will lead to him receiving answers that they already know from the files. He highly doubts you'll know more than he does about yourself. Hell, right now you seem to know less.

He decides to stop the questioning for now in order to go talk with the others. He'll need their opinions on some things. Plus, he's almost certain you'd feel more comfortable with either Natasha or Cap talking to you rather than him. After informing you that he'll be back, he exits the room.

"What's the plan?" Natasha questions Tony the second he enters the room on the other side of the mirror.

"Honestly? I don't know." Tony shrugs as he crosses his arms over his chest. "We know she's willing to answer questions but there's no way of knowing if she'll be a threat if we release her."

Bucky stares at you through the glass, taking in your tired appearance. "I don't think she'll be a threat to us if we can show her that she can trust us."

"Do you think we should remove the device from over her mouth?" Steve questions, brows furrowed as he looks at his best friend.

Bucky shrugs as he turns towards the others. "We'll have to remove it at some point so she can eat. Whether or not it stays off is the real question."

"She hasn't given us reason to not trust her yet. The entire time she was with us at the Hydra base she cooperated and didn't lash out at all. We even had our backs to her at one point and she didn't do anything." Steve points out as Natasha nods along.

"Granted, her arms were restrained but she still could've tried running. I think she knows that she'll be safe with us even if she doesn't know who we are." Natasha looks to Tony. "We should give her a chance. Maybe put her under someone's watch who will be able to handle her."

"According to her files, using her ability on strong opponents tears her throat up. That and using powerful demands. We don't know who will be able to handle her based off of that information alone. The notes didn't have specifics."

"Thor would be the best choice but he's currently off world." Natasha runs a hand through her hair as she thinks. "I'd say Hulk could handle her but there's no way Bruce will let him out for something like that. I think our only options are the two super soldiers or Wanda."

Tony nods along in agreement. "Steve was one of the first people she met so she might trust him more than the others. However, Barnes also knows what she's been through and could bond with her through that. Then again, she might be more comfortable with Wanda since she's a chick."

"Why don't we let her decide?" Clint cuts in making the others look towards him. He had been standing silently in the corner simply observing everyone and they all forgot he was even there. "Or maybe put them on a rotation so not just one person is watching over her."

They all easily agree with the plan since it's the best one they've got at the moment. They don't know enough about your powers yet to have a more permanent solution. For now, you'll just have to be stuck being watched over by different members of the team along with Friday.

Taglist: @desiree-lee @seventeen-x @svtbpbts @that-b-word-lol @keshet2k @cl0u-dy @randoes-world

[amuseintime]

Scriptfrin: Town Limits

After an extended camping trip, the party finally leaves the forest and goes to the next town over. Everyone is excited to be out and about, sharing plans for what they'd do now, when Odile notices Siffrin hasn't said his. A seemingly simple task, now more complicated. Set after Line, Please, but probably before Midnight Snacks (... never did specify how close together those were... or said there was only one woods... shhhhh, I'll make the timeline work somehow)

CW: Disability, a smidge of internalized ableism from Siffrin, typical Scriptfrin issues :3. Also, a less than ideal place to have a chat but y'know.

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

Odile was more than pleased to finally have arrived at an inn. She’d been understanding as long as she could of Mirabelle feeling overwhelmed—her anxiety medications took some time to build up—and Siffrin needing some time and space with just the party, but food had started running low, they probably needed to at least mail a letter to Petronille to let her know Boniface was safe, and, frankly, she was sick of sleeping in a tent. Besides, unless they intended to disappear into the wildlands of Vaugaurde to live out their days as cryptids, they’d eventually have to face society again. Gems, even if they did try to do that, they’d probably still have half the country clamoring about the “legendary” saviors who’d saved Vaugaurde and disappeared.

For the sake of their two quieter party members, they opted not to get the Savior’s discount, but she suspected the innkeeper might have also suspected, because the rate was suspiciously low. That, or the rush of misplaced travelers was no doubt moving outward, and this would’ve been the last places effected. They likely would take whatever business they could.

Regardless of why the price was cheap-but-not-free, Odile slept well in a bed that night. Gems, she’d missed these. Apparently everyone agreed, given that even Boniface and Isabeau slept through breakfast. Gems, look at them, out here acting like Siffrin.

Though speaking of which, as they met up for lunch in the inn’s dining area, everyone spoke of what plans they had except Siffrin. It was halfway through Boniface asking Isabeau to help them carry food in the market that she realized their little rogue hadn’t said a word. Mirabelle had already said she planned on getting some new clothes—partly for the weather, partly just for fun, and partly in penance for not wearing her Change pins(?)—and Odile herself had been considering simply window shopping. Siffrin though, he hadn’t said anything.

This wouldn’t do.

“And what about you, Siffrin?” Odile asked.

Siffrin jolted as though caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Though he lacked his hat, he still buried his lower face in the collar of his cloak. “Oh, um. I’ll just do what I normally do.”

Uh huh. “Which is…?”

“Oh, you know,” he said flippantly. But try as he might, he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought. The smile was off, eye scrunched in pain.

“SECRET?! MISSION?!” Boniface yelled.

“I mean, if you just want to take it easy for a day, I don’t think anyone would blame you,” Mirabelle said. “Stay in, read a book!”

Though it hadn’t been the focus of their efforts, Siffrin had been noticeably less energetic than beforehand. Restless at times, but not as alert, not as fast. Even after recovering from the worst, craft exhaustion had taken its toll. He was better than he’d been leaving Dormont, and in short bursts, he cut through Sadnesses like warm butter, but it wasn’t sustainable as it’d once been. Maybe he’d build himself back up to the level he had before, maybe not. Gems, he’d been through too much. Both physically and mentally… And here was another issue, one she wasn’t content to let fester.

“Siffrin, do you remember what you’d do before the loops?” she asked.

They flinched. “Sorry. I…” He trailed off. That was evidence enough.

And Isabeau reached over, gently setting his hand over Siffrin’s even as their rogue flinched at first. Isabeau said, “Hey, it’s okay if you don’t. Or, well, I guess it wouldn’t be, I can’t imagine what it must be like, but you don’t have to hide it.”

“Well put, Isabeau,” Odile said. She looked at Siffrin. “We used to go antiquing, sometimes. I’m not sure if this city has a good shop for that, but you’re welcome to come window shopping with me.”

“A-Are you sure? I don’t want to slow you down.”

Odile raised an eyebrow. The look on her face must’ve been suitably pointed, as Boniface swooped in and said, “But Dile’s the SLOWEST, Frin! You can’t have forgot that! You were walking with us all the time!”

“Yeah, well-!”

The group was silent, waiting for an answer. Instead, Siffrin decided to stuff his cheeks with some chicken. This effectively rendered Isabeau useless as their dear Defender was too busy staring to form sentences. However, it didn’t work so well on everyone else.

“Was there something else you did want to do? If you’d like to keep it secret from certain parties,” Odile said, eyeing Isabeau, “Then I understand, I just—”

“Want to make sure I’m not going to destroy the world again.”

“Siffrin, no! I’m sure she wasn’t thinking that at all!” Mirabelle said.

She might’ve been thinking it a little bit.

 “Hey, Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni,” Isabeau said. He squeezed their hand in his. “Maybe we are worried you’ll get upset, yeah, but that’s because we care about you. That’s, like, a normal friend thing. And boyfriend thing! And family! Really basically a thing in any positive relationship. So sorry, that will keep being a thing because we love you.”

“NNNN?!”

“Pfft, oh no, he’s gone full turtle!” Mirabelle said.

Odile chuckled along, watching as the rogue sunk below the table, pulling the cloak over his head. Even that didn’t make them safe though, not with Boniface around. The littlest one hopped out of their own seat, running over and deciding they were also wearing Siffrin’s cloak now. In other words, Siffrin got surprise hugged. Then he squeaked and—

THUNK!

“Oops! Sorry Frin! I didn’t meant to make you hit your head on the table!”

Isabeau was clearly fighting not to snicker as he helped the cloaked pair back into the seat, and Mirabelle walked over to apply a little bit of healing magic to the newly formed bump. Cute.

After a few seconds, Siffrin reemerged from their hideout, Bonnie still holding tight to them like a particularly determined little bear cub, “No escaping, Frin!”

Siffrin glanced around. The inn’s dining area wasn’t the busiest, but wasn’t abandoned either. A small band played music loud enough that the crowd wasn’t entirely subjected to each other’s conversations, but…

“Do we have to have a feelings talk here?” Siffrin said.

They all looked between each other. It was, honestly, a reasonable request, but it’d be all too easy for the little rogue to wriggle away. Siffrin was already cornered now, so…

“A small one,” Mirabelle said. “Not even a real feelings talk! N-Not if you don’t want to! We just, um… We just want to make sure you aren’t going to be here all alone when you d-don’t want to be.”

“Just tell us what you’re feeling, okay Sif?”

“Yeah! Don’t be stupid, Stupidfrin! Tell us what you want!”

“I’m just looking for some new clothes!” Mirabelle said.

“This place has food! I can wait one more day!” Boniface said.

“I’m just helping Bonnie,” Isabeau said.

“And I’m literally just browsing to have something to do,” Odile said. This whole conversation felt strangely familiar, actually…

“So tell us!”

“Tell us!”

“Just tell us!”

“Tell us what you wanna do!”

Siffrin had graduated from hiding in his own cloak to hiding in Boniface’s hat. Maybe they’d pushed a bit too hard there. But she could see the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his chest expanded in a familiar rhythm around Boniface.

They looked up, even if they didn’t quite meet anyone’s eye. “I, um… I was thinking of going to the library. Seeing if they had any books from…”

Odile wasn’t sure why they trailed off, but she couldn’t help but sigh. “Really? Gems alive, Siffrin. You’ve got at least two bookworms in the party.”

“Three,” they muttered.

Odile continued, “I don’t see why you need to make this big of a deal of going to the library.”

Siffrin huffed, giving her a half-hearted glare. “You guys already had plans.”

“I’m window shopping!”

“You shouldn’t have to go with me!”

She was missing something, she had to be. “Then go alone?”

“I can’t! What if- what if…” He gritted his teeth, fists balling in Bonnie’s short sleeved shirt. “Clocktower, sleepover.”

“You’re afraid you’ll start scripting,” Isabeau said.

Siffrin nodded, and Isabeau pulled him gently into a side-hug, running fingers through their darkless hair. “That’s gotta be frustrating, but it’s a library, right? Talking isn’t super required there.”

“Yeah! You can just walk in there and not say anything for hours!” Mirabelle chirped.

“Yeah, but…” Siffrin nestled into Isabeau’s side, pulling Boniface closer. “What if- what if before that…?”

Of course. It was a city, and Vaugaurdians were exceedingly friendly. While most were also very understanding, Siffrin’s issues were both fairly recent, and fairly unique. Plus, this would be their first time in public since beginning scripting, and honestly, the first time in any town except Dormont in what must’ve been several months from his point of view.

Gems, that was hard to remember sometimes, no matter how crucial. For them, it’d been what? One, maybe two months since they’d seen another town? And a good deal of that time was either celebrating in Dormont or recovering in the forest! But for Siffrin, it’d been all that time and several months in the loops. Several months of repetition, dying, and isolation. Several months with their entire world narrowed to a meadow, a section of an already small town, and the King-twisted House of Change. Maybe the surrounding woods, but it didn’t sound like he’d taken much excuse to slip away and explore, and the curse had been encroaching, but at least he was familiar with the trees. This? Gems, it was a bit of a shock to her, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to them.

What to do about it, on the other hand, she had no idea. She could sympathize with the frustration, but had no idea how to fix it. Offering to walk him there like a child would be an insult to his independence, but leaving him to go alone could be dangerous. Suddenly deciding she wanted to go to the library would be as transparent as window glass, so that was out as well…

And given the miserable look on Siffrin’s face as they held Bonnie, nestled against Isabeau, he already knew. There was no good answer. No way to satisfy both his need for independence, and the safety of himself and all around him—neither of them were stupid, Siffrin was incredibly skilled, more than enough to maim by accident if left unchecked, and he likely knew it.

Wait.

He’d been saying he wanted to look for a specific type of book, right? Hah, how the tables turn. “Well, I could probably ask to borrow something for you, if you’d wish. Just tell me what you’re looking for.”

“NO!” Siffrin snapped. All eyes were on him, and he sunk into Boniface’s hat.

“Sif, Siffy, Siffarundo, um… What?”

Knock knock knock.

“Oooookay, guess we can leave that for later,” Isabeau said.

There was a tense silence at the table, a poor match with the more upbeat music playing from the nonexistent stage. Barely audible, Siffrin muttered, “Sorry. Private.”

One by one, they started picking at their food again, if only for something to do. Even as they tried not to stare at Siffrin, their eyes kept flicking back to him. Odile stared down one rude stranger whose gaze lingered a bit too long.

Apparently, the space was what Siffrin needed most, as he eventually sighed and looked up to her, “Odile, um… Walk with me?” The way he said it somehow sounded fragile, like he was asking for some grand favor, or perhaps admitting to a horrid secret. Like if she answered wrong, he’d simply fall to pieces, nothing left.

So she just gave a small smile, “Of course, Siffrin.”

“Thank you.”

----

That's it for now! Might or might not continue. I'll also be crossposting on AO3 soon.

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

I think of this line a lot in terms of scenarios where Siffrin has higher support needs post game. Oh, they're gonna be so pissed when the disability is disabling. How dare they need help with anything ever.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 34: In the Wake of Almost

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: The sun had barely risen before the cracks began to show. A confession was spoken to stone, a truth buried for years finally unearthed. Upstairs, chaos brewed over croissants and jam as a love letter unraveled not hearts — but egos. And in the quiet that followed, one question echoed louder than the music yet to play: what do you do when the thing you feared the most turns out to be nothing… but still ruins everything?

The morning sun cut low across the grounds, soft and gold, gilding the dew-laced grass in silence. Aubrey Hall was behind Anthony, its stone silhouette softened by distance, the murmured sounds of siblings and laughter drifting faintly across the grounds. Preparations for the Hearts and Flowers Ball had already begun to hum through the halls—footsteps rushing, ribbons unfurling, nerves fraying.

But not here.

Here, under the ancient oak where the earth stayed undisturbed, where the world still remembered him—Anthony stood alone before his father’s gravestone.

He hadn’t come here in years.

He hadn’t brought flowers.

He hadn’t come to mourn.

He had come to confess.

He had come because last night nearly ruined him.

Not because of what happened in the library—but because of what didn’t.

Because even with you standing inches away, demanding answers, holding his gaze like you could see through every wall he’d built... he still hadn’t said the one thing that mattered.

Not that he loved you.

Not that it was always you.

But that he was terrified.

“Anthony.”

The voice was soft. Familiar.

He turned slightly.

Violet stood a few paces behind, her expression unreadable, though her presence, as always, was inevitable. She had a knack for appearing when he least wanted her to and most needed her.

“I wondered if I’d find you here,” she said gently.

Anthony looked back at the gravestone. “You always do.”

She stood beside him in silence for a moment, her eyes flicking to the sky, then to her son’s face.

“You’ve barely spoken all morning,” she said, not unkindly.

Anthony’s lips tightened. “There’s been little worth saying.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“You didn’t bring flowers,” Violet observed softly.

“I didn’t come to mourn,” he said, voice low. “I came to ask forgiveness.”

Violet looked at him carefully.

“For what?” she asked.

Anthony exhaled, gaze fixed on the stone.

“For already letting her go.”

Violet’s throat moved, but she said nothing.

“I watched her the other night,” he said, voice raw. “On the terrace. She was laughing again by the end of it all. I realized I had never given her that. Not truly. Not freely. And he—Blackbourne—he does. With ease. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t doubt.��

Violet’s eyes softened. “And you think that makes him better for her?”

Anthony turned to face her fully, jaw clenched, expression tight.

“No,” he whispered. “I think it makes him safer.”

Violet tilted her head.

Anthony ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step. “I watched you after Father dies,” he said, quieter now. “You disappeared. You smiled. You hosted teas. You taught Eloise to curtsy and Gregory to read and kept everything running. But you were gone.”

Violet closed her eyes.

“I lost him too,” Anthony said. “But I lost you at the same time. And no one ever talked about that. Not once.”

Violet’s voice was barely audible. “I did not mean to disappear.”

“I know,” Anthony said. “But you did. And I told myself that if I could just keep control—of the estate, of the title, of myself—I’d never be the reason someone else had to survive that kind of love.”

HIs voice cracked slightly, and he forced it steady.

“I never let myself love her because I knew if I did—truly did—I’d never survive it if something happened. And worse…she wouldn’t survive it either.”

He turned away, breath shaking.

“I couldn’t be the cause of that kind of ruin.”

Violet stepped closer, placing a hand gently on his arm.

“And do you truly believe,” she asked softly, “that love ruined me?”

Anthony didn’t answer.

Violet continued, “Yes, I grieved. Yes, I shattered. But Anthony—I was not broken by love. I was broken by loss. There is a difference.”

He looked down, the ground suddenly the only thing he could bear to face.

“If I hadn’t loved him,” Violet said, “there would have been nothing to mourn. No beauty. No warmth. No legacy.”

She turned toward the stone, her gaze tender. “Do you think I regret loving him? Even knowing what it cost me?” Anthony swallowed hard.

“Do you think she would regret it?” Violet asked, turning back to him.

His jaw clenched. “If something happened—if I left her behind—she would carry that pain forever.”

“And if you walk away,” Violet said gently, “she may carry a different pain. One that lingers just as long. One you placed there yourself.”

Anthony closed his eyes.

“She looks happy with him,” he said finally. “Freer. Lighter. I don’t want to be the reason that changes. I don’t want her to become like you…after.”

Violet’s voice was firm, loving.

“Then don’t become like me…before.”

That landed like thunder. 

“You still have a chance,” she whispered. “Don’t let it slip away just to protect her from something that hasn’t happened. If she loves you—even still—she is not asking you for guarantees. She is asking you to try.”

Silence stretched between them.

“She thinks I sent her a love letter,” he continued, voice low. “She asked me about it. Brought it to me like a blade and demanded the truth. And for one terrifying moment… she believed I wrote it. That I could feel those things. Say those things.”

He ran a hand down his face. “And then I didn’t correct her quickly enough.”

“You didn’t lie either,” Violet said.

“No,” he agreed. “But I wanted to.”

He looked up at her then, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t seen since he was a boy.

“What if I can’t be what she needs?” he asked.

Violet reached up and touched his face gently.

“Then she will be glad you tried.”

She stepped back, gave his hand a soft squeeze, and began to walk away. 

“Anthony.”

He looked up.

“She is still yours…until the moment you decide she isn’t.”

Then she was gone.

And Anthony was left standing in the morning light, alone with his father’s name, his mother’s truth—and the weight of a future he was still too afraid to claim.

Meanwhile, at the breakfast table…

The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Aubrey Hall’s dining room, casting warm golden light over a table already half-emptied of scones and scandal.

Hyacinth was buttering her toast like it owed her money. Eloise was absently reading the back of the jam jar. Daphne was pouring herself a second cup of tea, while Simon appeared to be nursing a subtle headache—likely the lingering effects of last night’s truth-fueled drinkathon. Edwina and Kate sat quietly near the middle, discussing the upcoming Hearts and Flowers Ball in hushed tones. Lucien was stirring his coffee lazily, looking entirely too smug for someone who had barely slept. And you were trying very hard to focus on your breakfast and not on the fact that Anthony still hadn’t shown up.

Then Gregory, with all the casual chaos of a thunderclap, tilted his head and said:

“Did anyone find a letter yesterday? We seemed to have lost one.”

You froze.

“…What do you mean we lost one?” you asked, the words sharper than you meant, a little too fast, your fork still halfway to your mouth.

Simon blinked. Daphne’s cup paused midair. Lucien, across the table, raised a brow in slow curiosity.

Gregory, oblivious, shrugged. “Benedict and I wrote a love letter.”

“A very dramatic one. It was an artistic experiment,” Benedict said proudly.

“We were bored and figured we’d mess with Eloise,” Gregory clarified.

“I’m sorry—what? I was meant to receive a fake love confession?” Eloise deadpanned.

“You were supposed to read it aloud!” Benedict added, reaching for the jam. “Dramatic. Anonymous. Dripping with poetic torment. It was going to be hilarious.”

“I didn’t get any letter,” Eloise said flatly.

“Well, the footman swore he slipped it under your door,” Gregory argued.

Gregory frowned. “Then where did it go?”

“Oh dear,” Hyacinth chimed in sweetly, “has your prank collapsed under the weight of its own idiocy?”

Gregory ignored her. “It’s gone. Vanished.”

“Maybe Newton ate it,” Eloise offered.

“Newton has better taste,” Kate murmured, sipping her tea.

Hyacinth narrowed her eyes. “Well then. Where did it go? It couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.”

There was a flicker of movement across from you—Lucien lowering his cup slowly, eyes narrowing just slightly. He was still smiling, still relaxed, but there was something new behind his gaze now. Sharp. Curious.

“I don’t suppose you wrote it under your name?” he asked dryly, glancing between Gregory and Benedict. “Because I’ll be honest, it’s terribly misleading. Someone might take it seriously.”

Benedict looked far too pleased with himself. “That was the point.”

Lucien chuckled—but his gaze didn’t leave you for a second. You were staring hard at your plate, suddenly too warm, too aware.

Simon and Daphne were both silent. Entirely too silent. Their expressions said everything.

Simon: Oh no.

Daphne: Of course it was a prank. Of course.

You: A fucking joke. I spiraled for twelve hours over a prank letter from GREGORY?!

Kate, ever practical, offered, “Perhaps it was delivered to the wrong room?”

Edwina nodded politely. “Or one of the maids might have picked it up, thinking it was for someone else.”

Lucien leaned forward a fraction, resting his elbows on the table, chin in hand.

“You alright, Angel?” he asked you lightly. “You’ve gone very quiet.”

Your smile was brittle. “Just… marveling at how much chaos a single letter can cause.”

Hyacinth let out a delighted gasp. “Wait—you got the letter?!”

You, Simon, and Daphne, in perfect synchronization: “No.”

Lucien kept watching you. A beat passed.

Then he reached for the marmalade.

He didn’t know what had happened, but the curve of your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes this morning. And Lucien Blackbourne was not a man who missed things like that.

Gregory shrugged and reached for another croissant. “Well, if it turns up, let us know. It was quite a masterpiece, if I may say so.”

“I swear, if you rhymed ‘passion’ with ‘ashen’ again—” Eloise began.

“—She never even got to read it!” Gregory protested.

Benedict laughed. “A true tragedy. Our finest work… lost to history.”

It wasn’t lost though.

It had detonated a series of emotional implosions last night that almost destroyed two people.

And it was supposed to be a joke.

You met Simon’s gaze. He raised his brows.

Daphne looked ready to strangle both her younger brothers.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The letter hadn’t been from Anthony.

It hadn’t been from Lucien.

It hadn’t been from anyone.

Just Gregory. And Benedict. Bored and ridiculous. And somehow, they’d set fire to an entire week’s worth of emotional turmoil without even knowing.

You would absolutely kill them.

Later.

With something dull.

A while later…

Breakfast had ended in chaos. Emotional devastation, delivered courtesy of Benedict and Gregory’s creative idiocy, still lingered in the air like the scent of too-strong tea.

Now, the house shifted.

The hum of conversation gave way to purpose. Servants hurried through the halls with garlands of fresh flowers draped over their arms. Candles were trimmed and lit, flickering to life one by one in the chandelier above the ballroom. Long tables were extended beneath gleaming windows. A quartet rehearsed in the music room, tentative notes rising and falling as sunlight spilled through the lace-curtained glass.

Aubrey Hall was being transformed.

And its inhabitants were scattering accordingly.

Colin and Hyacinth had vanished—presumably to snoop through the drawing rooms and spy on the earliest arriving guests. Eloise was seen dragging Gregory by the collar toward the stables, likely under the guise of threatening him into silence before he caused any more emotional carnage. Benedict retreated with a sketchbook and a very smug expression.

You, however, quietly slipped away.

No fanfare. No dramatic exits. Just the soft excuse of “a short rest before the festivities.”

No one questioned it.

But rest was the last thing on your mind.

Your room was cool and dim. A breeze stirred the curtains. But your pulse had not slowed since the letter reveal.

It still sat on your desk—creased now, handled too many times. You stared at it from across the room, as if the paper itself might explain how it had unravelled so much in so little time. You didn’t know what disturbed you more: that it had been a prank, or that you had let it mean something.

Lucien had made you laugh that night. He had walked you to your door, and he had kissed your hand with honest affection. You didn’t regret that.

But you regretted what came after.

What happened in the library.

What almost happened in the library.

And now… you weren’t sure what you wanted anymore.

A knock at your door pulled you back into the moment.

“Angel?” Lucien’s voice was soft. “Just checking in.”

“I’m alright,” you called back after a beat. Too fast. Too bright.

A pause.

“Alright,” he said eventually. And then, “I’ll see you tonight.”

You closed your eyes after the sound of his footsteps faded. You weren’t sure if you were grateful or disappointed that he didn’t push.

Downstairs, the doors opened.

Anthony stepped through the threshold of the house just as the first carriage turned onto the drive.

His jaw was tight, the lines of his face carved deep from a morning spent breaking open truths beneath the oak tree that still held his father’s name. His cravat was barely re-tied. His boots tracked in a faint dust from the field.

He barely noticed.

Because he saw the carriages.

The guests.

The impending performance.

And the one woman he hadn’t been able to forget.

He straightened his jacket.

A servant passed him with a vase of roses.

Another carried a silver tray of wine glasses.

He barely moved.

And just like that, the estate was no longer just a home — it was a stage.

The curtains were drawn.

The players had arrived.

And by tonight, every mask would be tested.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach @ifilwtmfc

[writingpandagoth]

I hope you still take a request, because i have one. 😁

Severus x fem reader. They've been together for a while, Severus never undressed in front of her because he was embarrassed. One time she accidentally walked into his bathroom when he was undressed and saw all his scars. From his father, from the Death Eaters and she saw his dark mark. At that moment, she realized how he must have suffered everything and how much he deserve to be loved.

Hey!

I still do take requests.

I have been just putting them off a little since I started to work on my new story but now that I am taking a small break from it to clear my brain I am back to writing the Requests.

Here here it is I hope you all enjoy!

Underneath Your Skin

You arrived at Hogwarts with ink on your fingers and the scent of parchment clinging to your clothes. The library had always been a kind of home for you, and now it was—at least in the hours between breakfast and curfew. Madam Pince had finally retired or self-exiled to a remote, book-protected cottage, as one student whispered, and you were her replacement.

It wasn’t an easy post—not with students who treated books like tissue paper and a castle that sometimes shuffled its own shelves out of spite. But you handled it with grace. Quiet firmness. A gentle hand.

He noticed you almost immediately.

You weren’t loud. You didn’t try to be charming. But you spoke to the books like they were people, like you believed they had their own quiet magic, too. And when you smiled, it was soft, not showy. The kind of smile that lingered, like a page you didn’t want to turn just yet.

Severus Snape wasn’t known for his warmth. Or his curiosity about people. But he came into the library more often after your arrival. At first, he claimed to be looking for rare alchemical texts. Then for teaching reference. Eventually, he stopped pretending.

You always had a stack ready for him.

One afternoon, you found him standing in your usual reading nook near the restricted section, thumbing through a worn copy of Ars Poetria in Potion Theory. You approached quietly, holding out a mug of tea.

“I noticed you never finish yours at dinner,” you said.

He looked at it like it might bite him. Then looked at you.

“It’s always cold by the time I remember it,” he said.

“This one’s not,” you offered. “Not yet.”

That was the first time he smiled at you. Barely—a flicker. But it counted.

After that, things shifted.

You spent time together. Not planned, but frequent. Shared hours cataloging books that had magically duplicated themselves. Quiet chats in corners of the library, comparing passages from old texts and rolling your eyes over particularly pompous authors.

He was sharp, sarcastic, occasionally scathing—but never with you. With you, he was... careful.

And when your fingers brushed as you passed him a book, neither of you pulled away.

You weren’t in love. Not yet. But it was something. Something soft and slow and growing between the pages.

He left things for you sometimes. A rare pressed flower between the pages of a herbology tome. A handwritten note correcting a detail in one of your catalogs—with an added "You're still more accurate than any of the students." 

And once, a copy of a novel you’d mentioned offhand as a childhood favorite. The inscription inside said nothing more than: Figured it belonged here.

He wasn’t subtle, but he was shy in his own way. Guarded. Careful not to cross lines he assumed were there.

And still, you found yourself watching him too long across the Great Hall. Lingering near his office under the excuse of delivering returned books. Smiling when he offered his arm to walk you back to your quarters after staff meetings, even if he said nothing on the way.

It was like courting without confession. A push-and-pull of two people terrified of naming something already alive.

Then, one evening—when spring had started to warm the halls—he lingered in the library after hours. You didn’t ask why. You were cataloging donations. He joined you. You didn’t speak much, but it was comfortable.

When you finally put down your quill, he cleared his throat. “May I ask you something... personal?”

You nodded, heart suddenly loud in your chest.

“I was wondering,” he said, smoothing the edge of his sleeve with practiced tension, “if you would... like to have dinner. With me. Outside the castle.”

You blinked, then smiled. “You mean a date?”

His jaw tensed. “Yes.”

“I’d love to.”

It was awkward, and lovely.

He picked a quiet place tucked into a wizarding neighborhood you'd never heard of. You both dressed a little too formally. He opened every door. Pulled out your chair. Looked almost painfully uncomfortable until you reached across the table and said, “You know you don’t have to perform, right?”

That made him exhale—like he'd been waiting for permission to relax.

The conversation just happened. Easy, natural. You told him about your childhood obsession with magical fairytales. He told you about an old Potions journal he’d written in as a student that had since vanished—probably devoured by the Room of Requirement. You both laughed more than you expected.

He walked you back through the quiet castle corridors, hand brushing against yours like he wanted to hold it but couldn’t quite bring himself to ask.

When you reached your chambers, you turned to him and waited. He didn’t rush.

“I don’t usually do this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said.

He paused, then: “May I kiss you?”

You nodded.

And when he did—careful, reverent, like he thought you might vanish—it felt like the end of something old and the start of something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The relationship didn’t burst into flame. It glowed.

Slowly. Steadily. Night after night, moment after moment, building something that felt... sacred. You spent your free time together—always in quiet spaces, always just the two of you.

He brought you rare books and careful compliments. You brought him tea and silence when he needed it. There was something unspoken between you, but never uncomfortable. Just... waiting.

When he touched you, it was gentle. When he kissed you, it felt like he was learning the shape of your mouth by heart. But there was always a line he wouldn’t cross.

He never undressed in front of you. Ever.

Not a shirt off in the dark. Not even a sleeve rolled past the elbow.

Not even when things got heated.

You didn’t question it at first. Maybe he was shy. Maybe he wanted to take his time. You respected that. You didn’t need him bare to feel how much he cared for you.

But as time went on, it stopped feeling like modesty and started feeling like an unspoken rule.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you—you felt it in the way his hands lingered at your waist, in the way his breath hitched when your lips ghosted over his neck.

But when things began to build—when your hands trying to slip under his shirt, if your hands lingered at buttons, he caught your wrist and he’d kiss you, distract you, pull you under until your mind was blank with want.

To make you forget the question you hadn’t asked out loud.

Weeks passed. Then months.

One night, you tried to push gently. Just a little.

You were in his quarters, tangled in bedsheets, half-dressed and breathing hard. He was kneeling over you, still fully clothed.

His mouth was on your skin, hands steady, touch familiar. You reached for his shirt and undid the first button.

and just like all the times before his hand caught your wrist—soft, but firm. Absolute.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

You looked up at him. “Why not?”

His eyes met yours, and in them was a flash of something that looked like panic—before he dropped his gaze and leaned in to kiss you before moving down your body, using his mouth for distraction instead of answering your question.

But it didn’t go away.

You started to notice the way he always made you feel seen, but never let himself be. The way he touched you with complete devotion, and yet never let you return it. There was love in it. But also a kind of shame.

You didn’t push again.

But a part of you started to ache—not from rejection, but from the sense that he couldn’t believe he was hiding from you.

And that hurt more than anything.

You’d thought about what to say. Rehearsed it, even—quietly, as you walked the familiar corridor toward his chambers. Not to confront, not to demand. Just to talk. To ask him to let you in, really let you in.

You knocked gently, as always, and let yourself in when the door opened with the usual charm keyed to your presence. His rooms were dim but warm, familiar in their quiet scent of herbs and aged parchment.

You stepped in further, brow furrowing. The main room was empty. His armchair, half-drunk tea still steaming faintly. The bedroom door cracked slightly open. Light spilled from under the bathroom door.

“Severus?” you called, voice soft.

Then—a crash.

Glass? Porcelain?

Followed by a sharp, muffled, “Bloody hell—!”

You moved quickly, heart leaping.

“Severus?” you said again, crossing the room. You knocked once on the bathroom door before opening it. “Are you—?”

He stood barefoot on the tile floor, wearing only a pair of dark trousers, torso bare, a shirt clutched in his hand like he’d been about to put it on. His eyes met yours instantly. Wide. Stunned. Terrified.

Scars covered his body like a map of violence—some sharp and surgical, others jagged and brutal, carved long ago and never healed right. Some faded, some angry. Some you couldn’t name. Across his left forearm, the Mark stood dark and unmistakable.

You’d known it was there—of course you had—but knowing was different than seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but no sound came out. Slowly, almost without thinking, you reached out.

He flinches like your hand would burn him alive.

“Don’t—” he rasped, voice shredded. He turned away from you, curling inward slightly, shirt clenched against his chest like a shield. “Don’t look at me.”

You saw the tension in his shoulders. The way he braced for the sound of the door. For your retreat. For confirmation of every terrible thing he believed about himself.

“Severus…”

“Please.” His voice broke on the word. “Just leave.”

“How—No. I can't just leave,” you said, tears stinging your eyes now, voice shaking.

His back rose and fell with shallow, panicked breaths.

“You don’t understand I'm broken,” he said hoarsely. “You shouldn’t have seen this. I didn’t want—you weren’t supposed to see me like this.”

You stepped forward, carefully. “But I would have never judged you. I want y—”

“Stop,” he said, almost begging. “Please, just… go. Don’t make this worse.”

The shame in his voice hit you harder than anything else could have.

“I’m not leaving you,” you said softly, stepping forward.

You reached out again, fingertips brushed the scar at the back of his shoulder, and again he flinched, hard.

“Please, just leave so we can forget this happened,” he said.

You stepped in again, close enough for him to feel your breath and leaned in.

Kissing the scar gently.

He went completely still.

You kiss another—one that ran across the curve of his upper back, just beneath his shoulder blade.

“I will not forget this. I don't want to. You are not broken, and you never need to hide yourself from me,” you whispered.

He let out a rough breath, like it hurt to hear.

“This body,” he muttered, voice low and bitter, “is a record of everything I failed at. Everything I am. My father. The Dark Lord. My choices. It's ugly and this—” He gestured at the Mark. “This is not something you should ever have to look at. Everything about me is unworthy of you.”

You reached down and slowly, gently, traced your hand along his arm. “Severus. I love you. Nothing can change what I see when I look at you.”

“And what is that?” he asked, almost mocking. “What do you see?”

You kissed the base of his neck. “I see someone who chose to protect others despite being treated badly by them.”

Another kiss, just above one of the deeper scars. “Someone who has never been granted kindness but still gives the kindest and most purest form of love in return”

Your hands slowly urged him to turn—he resisted for a moment, and then let you. Let you see all of him.

You kissed a jagged scar near his ribs. “You are not ugly.”

You kissed the Dark Mark. “You are not your past.”

You placed a kiss right over his heart. “And you will never, ever be unworthy of me. It's me who is not worthy of you.”

His breath hitched hard, and his hands hovered at your arms like he didn’t know whether to hold you or push you away.

“How could you say that,” he said, voice shaking.

Your fingers brushed one of the older scars on his side—a long, thin line that looked like it had been made by a curse he never dodged in time.

He tensed slightly, watching you.

You traced it gently. “These scars…aren't just yours.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You looked up at him. “Some of these weren’t from your own mistakes. They are what you took on for other people. For the ones you protected. The burdens you carried so they wouldn’t have to.”

He opened his mouth to object—but nothing came out.

“These marks,” you whispered, “aren’t just wounds. They’re proof of what you’ve endured. Of what you chose to endure. And when I see them, I don’t see failure, Severus. I see someone who stood in front of the fire, again and again, because no one else would. So how could you ever be unworthy?”

His eyes met yours then—wet, wide, full of fear and disbelief. But also something else.

Hope.

And then, finally, he dropped the shirt. Let it fall to the floor like something that didn’t own him anymore.

You stepped into him, wrapped your arms around his bare skin. He clung to you like he didn’t know how to stand otherwise.

He wasn’t crying, not exactly. But his breath trembled, uneven and frayed like fabric pulled too thin. He looked at you like he didn’t know how to stay in his own body. Like being seen was something he wasn’t built for.

You reached up and touched his face. Gently. Just your fingertips to his cheek.

“I'm here,” you whispered.

And he nodded—but just barely. Like even that much agreement cost something.

So you didn’t ask anything of him.

Instead, you stepped back, laced your fingers with his, and guided him—slowly—out of the bathroom. He followed. Silent. Shirtless. Barefoot. Stripped down in every way.

You brought him to the edge of the bed and sat, pulling him down with you. He hesitated. Looked at his own hands like they didn’t belong to him. But then he lowered himself beside you, stiff at first, unsure what to do.

You shifted. Pulling him gently back into your arms, letting his head press against your chest. Let him feel what it was to lean without being left.

Your arms came around him, steady and warm, and slowly—slowly—his body began to soften.

Your lips brushed his forehead.

“You’re safe.”

Another kiss, on his nose. “You’re wanted.”

You pushed him gently, slowly, so he was facing you more. So he could see your eyes, and you could see the way his were fighting to believe you.

You kissed the space over his heart.

“You’re loved.”

His arms came around you then—not hesitant this time, but full. Gripping. Not because he thought you would disappear, but because he finally believed you wouldn’t.

You stayed like that for a long while. No rush. No need to move beyond this. Just holding. Just being held. Letting your hands trace the lines of a body that had never been treated like something to be loved.

Eventually, he leaned his head against yours, breath slowing, fingers loosely tangled in yours.

“You really still want me?” he asked quietly. Not accusatory. Not sarcastic. Just… fragile.

You nodded. “More than ever.”

And for once, he let that truth settle. Let it fill the spaces that shame had hollowed out long ago.

[remussaggressivedogspecialist]

Frenemies

Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Smut, not great writing, it's my first time, I guess risky sex cause it's in a hallway😭, MDNI but I can't control what y'all read, so I warned you

A/N: If you like it, at least comment to lmk, for all my stories, Hogwarts is a university, everyone is 18+ and fully consenting

WC: 2k

Your relationship with Remus was complicated, to say the least.

You were friends in the sense that you belonged to the same group. You hung out together as a group. You ate meals together as a group. You went out on trips to Hogsmeade together and had drinks at the Three Broomsticks as a group.

In the eyes of the Hogwarts’ student body, you and Remus were mates.

That was bullshit of the highest degree.

Despite sharing a mutual friend group, You just so happened to be the one he never seemed to click with. He would try to be polite, and you would be snarky in response. He would try asking about your life, he would shut you down. He would try and make a fucking effort, and you wouldn’t be interested.

He had given up eventually, seeing there be no use in him being anything beyond civil when it came to you. He assumed it had something to do with the fact you were a pureblood Zabini, and he was far from sophistication such as yours, but you'd shut that down. You never outright told him why you hated him, but you had assured him it had nothing to do with status. And that was something, in his eyes.

Until you were paired up together for prefect rounds every Wednesday night after curfew, that was when things changed between you.

It turned out that "meddling about", for better lack of terms, was a much healthier way of taking your anger out on each other. Who would have thought?

"Someone's going to see us, Zabini," he murmured between kisses, his lips unable to completely pull away from you.

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

It took a few seconds to come up with a reply in your state, his lips attacking your neck with ravenous bites and licks of consolation.

"No, but-" he sighed, lips back on yours.

"We're going to get caught. You remember what happened last time. I don't fancy another detention," he mumbled through the kisses, his hands on your thighs.

“Then stay quiet. Problem solved,” you snapped. He always found some way to be difficult.

"That’s easier said than done with you around, you know,” he grinned against your neck, his hand sliding up your skirt. You mumbled something under your breath about him being a pervert before leaning into his touch.

"Ah, because you’re the picture of innocence, aren’t you?" He smiled softly, bringing his head back to look at you, fingers tracing along the inside of your thighs. "Just remember you started it,” he murmured, his index finger rubbing slowly against you.

“Of course, you’re wet,” he sighed dramatically, moving his finger in circles. “And to think a few months ago you could barely look me in the eye without rolling them,” he tsked.

“Fuck off,” you ground out, not without effort, considering he was gradually getting you soaked solely by touching you through the fabric of your knickers.

“I remember you telling me to fuck off more than once, too,” he chided, slowly speeding up his movements. “And now look at you. So close to crumbling and I'm not even properly fucking you.”

“I'm not-” You started, ready to tell him off again, when his finger pushed your panties to the side. "Oh, this is a much better view," he praised sarcastically, running a finger through your folds. "And this is just from my fingers. I can only imagine what you'd be like if it was my mouth or my-”

“Shut. Up.”

"Not a chance," he answered, enjoying your squirms. "Can't shut me up when you're the one whimpering and shaking because of a pair of fingers,” he teased. “God,” he continued, sliding a finger inside of you. “I wonder what the rest of the school would think if they knew this about you. So prim, poised and proper to the outside world. Yet here we are.”

You couldn't help but let out a small moan, quiet, but loud enough for him to hear. Bastard.

"There we are," he murmured, speeding up and adding another finger. "You do sound better when you're louder, but I suppose I'll just have to work with what I'm given. No more snide remarks or bitchy comments," he continued, his fingers curling inside of you. "I could do this all night and you wouldn't be able to say a thing, would you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, a snide comment, a snippy remark, anything remotely insulting on the tip of your tongue, but he pulled his fingers out before you could and slipped them between your lips.

Fuck, that was hot.

"That's what I thought," he chuckled, watching you clean the fingers he just had inside you. ”I should make you do this more often, but you make it so difficult to keep you pliant once we've started,” he complained while undoing his belt painstakingly slow, and your own hand reached to help speed up the process.

"Someone’s impatient. I've hardly done anything yet," he teased, palming himself over his boxers. "Not going to snap at me for being too rough? Maybe call me a jerk or tell me to go to hell?” He pulls his fingers away from your mouth to await your response, but you say nothing, and your silence is submission enough.

He freed himself from his boxers, teasing your entrance. "Good girl," he hissed, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit. “And don’t be too loud. I’d still prefer this to be private,” he teased, finally pushing into your waiting heat after coating himself in your slick. You whine in response at the stretch, and he grunted, resisting the urge to pound into you like an animal.

“I’d say that’s a first, but if I remember correctly, I’m certain I’ve shut you up like this- ahhh, before,” he boasted before letting out his own small whimper. You were so fucking perfect. “Not so snappy now, are you? Can’t think of one smartass comment so this is all you have. I really should do this more often.”

“Fuck you,” you managed, and would've parted yourself on the back for the effort it took if your organs weren't currently being rearranged.

“‘s what I'm doing, lovely, can't you see?” He moaned in response, his own snarky comments losing their burn with how wrecked he was becoming. He snickered, pulling back to slam inside you again, harder and faster than he was before. “Tell me, beautiful, do you usually let other boys have you like this or is it only me?”

He was only teasing. He didn't actually care. Really. He didn't.

“Just you,” you murmured offhandedly, too wrapped up in the moment to notice his expression change, or his mouth form into a soft ‘o’, or the fact he didn't mock or tease you. For once, you shut him up. He slowed, his hands grabbing your hips as if it was to steady himself. “Only me, huh?” He said quietly. Before you could respond, he caught himself and sharply thrusted upwards, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Oh, Merlin's beard,” he muttered, his hips snapping against yours. “That’s it. That’s it,” he encouraged. “C’mon, that’s it. God, you’re such a good girl. So good. You’re doing so good. So, so good,” he praises you whenever he's close, his words barely stringing together to form anything coherent. It always brings you closer to finishing, whether he knows or not. He buried himself deep inside you, a hand finding and squeezing your waist reassuringly as he finished, spurting hot strings of cum inside you.

“Fuck-” he groaned, stilling his movements. His eyes flickered down, then back up to you. "You didn't?" He whispered, his tone a mix of a question and a statement, one that left his own mind reeling and his breathing coming out slightly ragged. “You didn’t,” he repeated, a statement this time, and there was no harshness to his words, no mocking, no teasing. His mouth was set in a firm line, his hands still gripping your hips tightly.

You waved it off with your eyes, too tired to lift your hand. It's not like you'd finish every single time anyways, it happens. “It's fine.”

He shifted back, his softening length slipping out of your heat. “Not fine.” he shook his head. “Not fine at all,” he mumbled while panting, the look on his face resembling something akin to guilt. He tugged his trousers back on before dropping to his knees, face level with your core. “Should see yourself, how you look right now,” he continued, his hands rubbing your thighs, just above your knees, and parting them slightly. “You’re dripping,” he announced, his eyes trained on your core. “So ruined… Can’t believe I did this to you.” His thumb ran up your slit, collecting his own finish leaking out of you.

“Should've taken care of you first,” he scolded himself before connecting his lips with your cunt. A shiver went down his spine, a moan threatening to fall from his mouth. “I’ve never been much for apologizing. You know better than anyone. But I’m sorry,” he mumbled against you, his tongue slipping in-between your folds. “I shouldn’t have just got off and left you like that. It’s not fair on you.”

Who was this guy and what had he done with Remus Lupin?

The vibrations of his words against your clit were doing wonders, and you couldn't help but slide your fingers into his hair and tug, needing something to ground you so you didn't buck your bloody hips like some village harlot. “It's o-okay.”

He sucked in a breath, his scalp stinging from the grip, but he loved it more than he’d ever admit aloud. He hummed against you, licking a long stripe along your slit. “Of course you think it’s okay,” he said, his eyes lifting to look at you. “Because instead of telling me off like you would if I had done this a couple of months ago, you’re just… letting me. Stop letting me.” He wasn't exactly wrong, you had been more lenient with him since this all began, but it didn't seem like a horrible thing.

He went back to what he was doing, and it didn’t take long for his tongue to start working an inexplainable magic that made your legs tremble. You groaned in response, and he smirked, knowing it was the most you’d be able to vocalize in the moment. He added a finger, knowing how over sensitive you were, and being a little shit for taking advantage of the fact. He knew how easily you were stimulated, he knew what buttons to push, and he sure as hell wasn’t stopping until you were satisfied in his eyes.

And of fucking course you were already close. You tugged his hair slightly to signal your approaching orgasm and his eyes closed, a moan slipping out this time, but he quickly caught it before it became too noticable. “Just a bit longer,” he grunted, adding a second finger. “Just a little more for me. Be a good girl, yeah?”

“Please, Rem, fuck…”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” he murmured, his fingers and tongue working in unison. “Be a good girl and come for me. I want to see you come. I want to taste you, love.” As you finished, he swallowed it all—and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. His fingers and mouth pulled away, leaving soft and comforting kisses on your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

“That’s my girl.” he murmured softly, his hand rubbing your leg in a way that would be considered tender coming from him. “You did so good for me, lovely.” He muttered a cleaning spell before helping you get back to your dorm and continuing the patrol, telling the Head Boy that you felt ill.

You slept better that night than you had the whole year.

[lambtotheslaughterr]

Sycophant

An Andy Barber Oneshot

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 9k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

            It was hard work being a young woman in your field, the youngest—in fact. You worked your ass off at a young age to get where you were, to earn the respect & regard for your expert opinion. Graduating high school at 16, accepted into Harvard Law by 20, passing your bar exams with flying colors at 23. You won your first case before your 25th birthday & completed your judicial clerkship position under a highly respected lawyer in your field of interest by the time you were 27. By the time you were 29 you had published a handful of essays that were used as reference by professors beyond your years in their own teachings & then secured a tenured position at the law school of your choice shortly after turning 31.

            Now, you were 32, still in your first year as a full-time professor. The lecture you gave once a week was on the History of Evidence. It had been amusing the first couple years at the wide-eyed gazes you often came across during your years of assistant teaching, a majority of them finding it unbelievable that someone as young as you would be teaching them—after all, a handful of the students were only a few years younger than you. But now you had grown used to the stares, & made it a point to either ignore them or address them head-on.

            Your most challenging student in your first year was a young man named Andrew Barber. He was in his 20’s & often sat as near to your lecture podium as possible. You had grown curious about the student & looked him up in the school system only to find that he had no reason to be taking your class. He was in his final year of law school & was due to graduate at the end of the year. Your lecture was only worth 2 credits & was often taken by first year law students. Of course, the lecture was open to any students, but most got the historical aspects of law over with in their first year. But not Mr. Barber.

            Today, he sat in his usual seat near your podium as you gracefully crossed the front of the room, your eyes moving from the PowerPoint back to your students as you spoke. You often felt his eyes on you during your lectures, & found yourself being held after class by his questions & sometimes, his challenges to test your credibility. At the beginning of the term, it had been entertaining, to say the least, though you never showed it, but now with the term nearly over & Mr. Barber due to graduate in only a few weeks’ time, you looked forward to not having him in your class any longer.

            “As you prepare for your final papers, I urge you to reflect on the progression & philosophical underpinnings of evidence itself. Whether you choose to focus on trial by ordeal, the complexities of trial by jury, spectral evidence, or the modern implications of polygraph statistics & anonymous sources, remember that each form of proof carries with it both strengths & vulnerabilities.”

            It was common knowledge that when students signed up for your class there would be no formal exam but a final paper, so you didn’t understand the few groans of misery at your announcement. You had been a law student yourself once, sure, but you enjoyed your academics & honestly, you believed that no one should pursue law if they were going to bitch about it.

            “Your papers should be no less than 25 pages, exploring a topic of your choice from the list provided earlier this term.” You approached your laptop & closed down the PowerPoint before using your mini remote to retract the overhead panel. “You must critically engage with the historical context & modern applications of your chosen form of evidence. Be prepared to defend your analysis as I’ll be meeting individually with each of you before the final due date to discuss your progress.”

            Closing your laptop, you rested your forearms along the edges of the podium as your eyes met with those that were willing to engage with you, “Don’t forget to double-check citations & include at least three primary sources. Misattribution, as you all should know, can be just as damning in academia as it is in the courtroom.”

            You paused, glancing around the room as a few nervous eyes shifted away, “Any questions before I let you go?”

            When no one had any, you gave a small, professional smile, “Enjoy the rest of your week & I’ll see you all next Tuesday at our usual time.”

            With that, your students began to gather their things & talk amongst themselves. Of course, you heard a few speak under their breath about the weight of your paper. You ignored such talk, knowing full well that while your class was only 2 credits, they needed to do well on the paper to pass. Otherwise, they would be back in here for their second year.

            You slipped your laptop under your arm & approached the nearby desk to pull out your fashionable briefcase. It wasn’t that you were much of a fashionable person yourself, but throughout your years of pursuing law you made it a point that you were a woman. The youngest woman at that. It was important for you to dress professionally but also femininely, unlike a lot of your female predecessors before you who often wore their pantsuits to dress like their male counterparts.

            Today, you wore an outfit that was both clean & serious yet young & simple. You once wrote an essay that was published by your alma mater about how more women in the field should embrace feminine attire in their careers, allowing women to redefine professional expectations on their own terms, ultimately strengthening their authority in the courtroom. It had received many reviews & you were pleased to see a few other women take after you & begin leaving the pantsuits at home.

            You had nearly gathered all your things to head back to your office on campus when you felt the presence of another sidle up to the desk you stood at.

            “Mr. Barber,” You began, not even bothering to confirm it was him, “may I help you?”

            He chuckled lightly at that, resting one of his legs on the corner of the desk as he sat his bottom on the edge of it.

            “Are you going to the Trials & Tastes luncheon?”

            Ah, yes. The fundraiser. You wouldn’t have forgotten about it, but you were not much looking forward to small-talk & forced niceties, though the benefits & proceeds of the fundraiser would go to a respectable program.

            “I will be.” You revealed, your tone clipped & distant.

            “Good, I was hoping you would say so.”

            If you didn’t know any better, you would think the young man had developed a crush on you, but after your many debates in class—in front of his peers, no less—you knew Mr. Barber simply enjoyed challenging you, like most men did, to shake your foundation.

            You said nothing in return & grabbed the handle of your case, preparing to leave. As you reached the door to your classroom, all of your students having escaped to their short-lived freedom, you were greeted yet again by the young man as he beat you to the door & held it open for you.

            “Thank you.”

            Unfortunately, Mr. Barber followed you out & walked alongside you as you navigated through the hallways to the stairwell.

            “I saw your name on the roster for the panel but seeing as you often avoid events, I wasn’t sure how accurate it was.”

            “Mr. Barber, may I remind you that paying such close attention to one of your professors is reasonably suspicious?”

            “What can I say,” He shrugged, & you caught a peek as he grinned down at you, “I admire a woman in power.”

            It was not sexual harassment, it wasn’t even harassment, but given the status of your position as well as his, it was pushing the boundaries only slightly. But you took it as a compliment, though you likely knew it was far from one. He often tried to humiliate you but had yet to succeed. After all, you were a lawyer. Very few things could scare you.   

            “Professor Connors is also speaking at the luncheon, have you expressed your admiration for her as well?” You challenged.

            Mr. Barber made a playful sound of disgust, “No way in hell. She ripped apart my mock trial my second year. The last thing I feel towards her is admiration.”

            “I see.” You had reached the top of the stairwell & turned to face your student, “So a woman in power is not what you truly meant, otherwise you would’ve respected her opinion.”

            “Except her opinion was bullshit.” He quickly countered, his eyes gazing deep into your own.

            “Fortunately, Mr. Barber, a lawyer’s opinion matters rarely in their cases. It’s all about—”

            “Evidence, I know.” He finished for you, “I may not look like I’m retaining anything you say in class but I keep every single word that leaves your mouth locked away in here.” He tapped on his temple.

            “Well, I must be going now. It’s getting late.”

            You turned away from him, not caring to continue the conversation given that it was shortly after 8 in the evening & you still had to work to do in your office before heading home.

            “I’ll walk with you.” He shared, quickly following you down the steps as he did.

            “Don’t you have other matters of more importance to get to, Mr. Barber, than following around your professor like a lost pup?”

            He chuckled once more before beating you to the double doors at the front of the building to hold them open for you yet again.

            “You know, you’re kind of funny when you want to be.” His compliment was taken with a grain of salt. You knew he was making fun of you internally. They always did.

            You stopped abruptly, narrowing your eyes at the young man, “Your persistence may be welcome elsewhere, but it is not welcomed here. Class is over. My office hours are done for the day. I have work to do & you have a paper to write.”

            He cocked his head knowingly at you, “You & I both know well enough I don’t need to pass your class to graduate. I took it for fun.”

            “Fun?” Now, that was an insult. And he damn well knew it.

            “What is the significance of the Brady rule?” You shot out.

            Mr. Barber was caught off guard by your question, but wasn’t quick enough to answer, though he did look foolish as he opened his mouth to counter you.

            “What is the ‘fruit of the poisonous tree’ doctrine, & why is it critical to the Fourth Amendment?”

            “Well, hold on a minute—”

            “How do standards of proof differ in criminal versus civil trials?”

            “Now, that one’s easy—”

            “In a federal criminal trial, under what specific circumstances can the prosecutor introduce a defendant’s prior bad acts as evidence, despite the general prohibition against character evidence under Federal Rule of Evidence 404b?”

            His gaze darkened as you stood their pridefully. When he said nothing, it was then your turn to muster an unimpressed chuckle.

            “Are you having fun now, Mr. Barber?”

            The young man scoffed before pressing his lips together.

            “Good. And now that I’ve made my point, I expect your paper to be highly researched with a damning analysis that makes your presence in my class all term worthwhile.”

            When he said nothing, you nodded once, “Have a good night, oh, & more importantly, have fun.”

            With that, you spun on your heel & began walking through the courtyard to your building across the way. You listened as Mr. Barber’s footfalls carried himself in the opposite direction. While he may not have enjoyed the lesson just then, you certainly couldn’t deny that you yourself were now having fun.

            The luncheon was exhausting. You enjoyed most of your colleagues & considered one or two of them decent friends, but otherwise you loathed social events. If the head of your department hadn’t approached you to ask you to speak at the luncheon, you likely wouldn’t have even attended, but you never turned down an opportunity to speak to the masses & have your voice heard.

            The panel was brief but impactful. You & a few others spoke on the importance of community, justice, & the power of philanthropy. Afterwards, the main event began & you kept yourself busy by going to different stations to sample the wine & spirits & food pairings, all of which, of course, were named after famous trials.

            The dress code for the luncheon was business casual. The outfit you wore was fitting for the event &, of course, feminine. Though it was the middle of May & the event was taking place on the third floor terrace, the blazer you wore was lightweight & didn’t make you overheat under the Massachusetts sun.

            After gathering a small plate of finger food, you sat at an empty table near the edge of the terrace that overlooked the campus courtyard below. Your eyes danced around as you watched faculty, students, & guest speakers alike mingle amongst themselves. You were relieved to be a professor now rather than student, having disliked networking when you were a student & having to impress to succeed. Those days were over. Now it was your time to be impressed.

            But as you picked at your food in silence, & cast your eyes out to the courtyard, you were disgruntled when you heard someone sit down in a chair at your table. As you turned to face the arrival, you had expected either a colleague or the head of your department, but what you didn’t expect was your pain in the ass student, Mr. Barber. But, of course, you should have known better.

            “Mr. Barber.” Your appetite dissipated at the sight of your ornery student.

            “Just spoke with your assistant, emailed her my paper for you to review before our one-on-one.”

            “Excellent. I look forward to it.” You replied coolly & dismissively.

            “I have an answer to your question.” He then revealed. He was not all smiles & playful chuckling as he usually was.

            “That is…?”

            “Federal Rule of Evidence 404b allows evidence of a person’s character to be admitted if it is offered for a purpose other than proving character.”

            “Such as?”

            “Motive, opportunity, intent, knowledge, you name it.”

            “Name a trial where Rule 404b was successfully used.”

            Mr. Barber grinned, “Gacy. It proved motive & intent & a pattern of behavior.”

            You opened your mouth to test his knowledge further when he answered the question you were already preparing to ask.

            “And yes, it passed Rule 403’s balancing test. They found that the relevance of the evidence outweighed the risk of unfair prejudice.”

            A smirk tugged on the corner of your mouth but you snuffed it out, not wanting to give your student the satisfaction of actually impressing you for once.

            “Good, Mr. Barber, I now know you can research.”

            “My paper will prove that, too.”

            “And I look forward to discussing it with you.”

            Silence fell between the two of you & you sat comfortably in your chair, unperturbed by the young man’s unwavering gaze.

            “You’re impressed.” He finally said, his tone filled with finality.

            You quirked a single brow, “Is that so?”

            “You’re too prideful to admit it, but I know.”

            “Without my confirmation, I suppose you’ll have to make do with just your belief. And we both know how little belief gets one in a court of law.”

            “This isn’t a courtroom.” He rebutted.

            “Perhaps.” You grabbed your nearby glass of wine & took a sip, “But it is life.”

            Again, that darkened gaze from earlier in the week appeared. Mr. Barber then leaned forward, lowering his voice, “You may be hard to impress, but you’re not impossible to break.”

            Your mouth went dry at his words, & you jumped slightly when you felt the heat of his palm capture the flesh just above your knee under the table.

            “Even the sharpest minds have their faults.” His eyes met yours, “It just takes the right pressure.”

            As if to drive his point home, he squeezed your thigh harshly, & you made to shove his hand off. But before you could, he stood up & grinned down at you, “Thank you for your insight, Professor _____. I’ll see you in our one-on-one.”

            A spell of dizziness fell over you & you vaguely remembered Mr. Barber departing your table. You paid no attention to where he went, but his words stayed with you. The heat of his palm could still be felt on your thigh & you rubbed absent-mindedly at the space.

            In all your years of working hard, surpassing expectations, & even competing against a thousand others in one of the most competitive fields in the world, never left you feeling the way your student just had.

            It was a threat, that much was clear, but what kind of threat you were unsure of.

            The rest of the term came & went without issue & you never saw Andrew Barber, not since the luncheon. At first, it had unsettled you. After all, his subtle threat remained with you the first few days. But when he quit coming to your lecture & never arrived for his one-on-one, you eventually pushed any thoughts of him to the back of your mind.

            His paper, like most students in your class, was well-researched & the analysis was crisp. For once, you had not planned on debating him, now wary of him. But it wasn’t the first time you had been threatened by a man in your field of work, however, it was the first time a student had.

            Nonetheless, you graded his paper accordingly & Mr. Barber passed the class with the highest marks. You expected to hear from once grades were released but still nothing. It kept you on edge but at the same time, you were relieved to never have to deal with him again.

            Classes had ended earlier that week but you still had grades to enter into the system & class notes to provide to your head. The last week of school was also often followed by student reviews. Every faculty member that taught a class was to be reviewed by their students, a way to make note of progress for department heads. As it was your first year as a tenured professor, you were curious as to what your students would say.

            You had been in your office all day, busying yourself with tasks you needed to complete before the summer break. Of course, work never ended for you. During the summer you would be leading a mentoring program to students who wanted to take the fast track to graduating early. But that wouldn’t be for another week or so. You would only have a few days to yourself before you would report back to work, so you were eager that night to finish as efficiently as possible & get home.

            Your assistant had left only a few hours ago, she was graduating as well, & had left you with no goodbye. All year she had been an excellent assistant & you appreciated all her hard work. You had planned on sharing with her that you would write her a letter of recommendation if she requested one before she left for the evening but you never had a chance. She had signaled her exit by slamming the door shut. It was strange & unlike her, but you figured perhaps she was having a bad night. You would email her in the morning.

            There was maybe twenty minutes of work left when a knock sounded in the distance. Frowning, you eyed the clock on the wall. It was nearly 11 at night. Standing up from your desk, you rounded to the door & peeked out into your waiting room. The desk that your assistant usually sat at was empty & clear of any personal items. But perhaps she had indeed forgotten something.

            Your heels clacked & the dress you wore brushed against your calves as you approached the frosted glass door to your office.

            You immediately froze where you stood as your eyes landed on those of another, one you hadn’t seen in the last few weeks.

            “Mr. Barber.”

            “Professor.” He greeted, but his tone was clipped, much like how yours typically was.

            “What are you—”

            “I missed our one-on-one, I was hoping we could reschedule for right now.”

            You felt your brows crinkle, “Mr. Barber, grades have been posted, your paper along with it. You passed the class with full marks. The one-on-one is redundant at this point.”

            “I understand.” He nodded once but made no effort to move from where he stood, “I still would like your thoughts on it.”

            You inhaled sharply, straightening your spine as you peered up at him, “Unfortunately, that opportunity has passed. My office hours are closed. I’m about to head home. In the fall, if you’d like to schedule an appointment with me, I’d be more than happy to discuss it then.”

            “I think now is a good time.”

            A small gasp escaped you as the young man welcomed himself into your office, his broad chest easily knocking you out of the way as he entered.

            “Mr. Barber—”

            “It’s Andy.” He cut you off, his eyes finding yours, “I’m no longer your student, Professor _____. Or I should say _____, since we’re on first names now.”

            Annoyance bubbled within you as you stared openly at him, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

            You watched as your now former student eyed the space before approaching your recently graduated assistant. His fingers danced along the desk, a small smile gracing his lips.

            “You know much about your assistant?”

            “Miss. Parker?” What the hell was he getting at?

            “Of course you call her that.” He chuckled darkly, before turning around to face you, resting his bottom on the edge of the desk. “I call her Melissa. Or ‘slut’, she likes that a lot when I fuck her.”

            Your eyes widened at the sudden breach of information.

            “We fucked here a lot, ya know.” He revealed, a devilish smile on his face, “Had to wait till you went home, which I gotta say, Prof, you sure are a workaholic.”

            “Excuse me?” You were seething. “I think it’s time you leave. Right now. Before I call campus security.”

            He laughed then exhaled heavily, his eyes dancing from the toes of your heels to the top of your head, “Go ahead, but you’ll only implicate yourself if you do.”

            “What are you talking about?” Your voice began to rise, “Get the hell out of my office!”

            “Melissa isn’t very bright.” He began, ignoring your demands for him to leave, “Very eager to please. I’m actually surprised you accepted her application to be your assistant for the year. I thought you wanted to mentor ‘strong’ women. She’s very… submissive. You really should’ve picked a man, that would’ve made it harder for me to set you up.”

            Your heart was beating wildly within your chest as you watched him.

            When he glanced at you he laughed openly, “You should see the look on your face. Priceless.”

            “Mr. Barber—”

            “Andy.” He clicked his tongue at you, winking once. He approached you then & you took a step back, bumping into one of the leather chairs. An unsettling smile split his face as he bypassed you to your office door, swinging it close before locking it.

            “What are you—”

            “Let’s go into your office.” He gestured with his arm for you to enter the room behind the assistant’s desk.

            “Andy—”

            “Now.” The smile dropped from his face, “Before I get really mad.”

            Biting your tongue, you marched into your face, heading straight for your cellphone buried in your bag. But just as you grasped the bag sitting on the floor by your desk, Andy appeared beside you, ripping the device from your hands before throwing it into the waiting room & slamming the door.

            “We won’t need that.” He shared, his chest just barely brushing against your upper arm.

            “Whatever it is that’s bothering you—”

            He chuckled, shaking his head. Then his hands found your arms & turned you to face him, “You bother me.”

            “So, what? You’re angry because I didn’t fall for your attempts to humiliate me in front of my students? You’re upset because I accepted your challenges? Because you haven’t defeated me? Tell me what the hell this is about!”

            His lips parted as you spit your frustrations at him, glaring hotly into his eyes.

            “I was a student in Duran’s class my first year. You were his associate teacher.” Andy revealed. You recalled working under Professor Duran, one of your least favorite years in your career. He was often drunk & smelled like a skunk. He also never learned to keep his hands to himself.

            “I was younger than, easily impressed & excited about law. Duran had a long history of being one of the best professors at this school & yet he was rarely around to teach. That was up to you. You picked up his slack, taught us in areas that should’ve been well beyond your years. But you did it gracefully, intelligently. Didn’t look a day over 20 & had the brains to outsmart more than half the faculty.”

            As he spoke, his hands moved from your arms to your waist. You immediately made to move out of his grasp but his hold tightened, keeping you in place.

            “And then came that eventful day. I know I don’t need to remind you.”

            It was true. He didn’t.

            Duran had come to class in the middle of your teaching, stumbling into the class before falling in front of everyone. He had approached you, slurring & reeking of whatever bottle he crawled into. He shoved you off the podium & made blatant sexist remarks. At the time, you knew it was because you had rejected his advances for the umpteenth time & threatened to report him. Then he came to class & verbally assaulted you with nearly a hundred witnesses. He was removed from the school effective immediately & you were given the chance to teach the class rest of term.

            “I told you,” Andy’s fingers played with the fine fabric of your dress, “I love a woman in power. The way you called him out in front of his students, mocked his legacy, & held your ground. Fuck!”

            Andy leaned in, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear, “I’d never been so hard in my life.”

            You shook, attempting to pull yourself out of his grasp but he forced you back, catching the back of your head with his other hand as he peered down at you with a heated gaze, “I’ve wanted you ever since. It’s why I took your class my last term. I thought you’d appreciate my challenges, be impressed, see a bit of yourself in me, view me as a respectable adversary. I thought we could be friends, if not more.”

            A groan of disgust sounded from you as you turned away from him.

            “But no.” His hand at the back of your head gathered your hair & wrapped it around his fist, forcing a hiss through your teeth, “Your pride, that goddamn fucking pride of yours. What more do you need to prove? You’re the youngest success story in your field. Shouldn’t you oughta relax once in a while? Or are you scared of losing your crown?”

            “Let. Go.” You winced, trying to make your voice as hard & even as possible.

            Andy laughed lightly, biting his lower lip as he stared openly at your face, “No, no. I’ve worked too hard to get you right where I want you.”

            “Where’s that?” You glared up at him, practically balancing your weight on your toes as he had you lifted almost by your hair, forcing your face closer to his.

            “At my mercy.”

            Then, before you could protest, he caught your mouth with his, smothering you in a suffocating kiss. You whined into it, attempting to shove him off you, but he was quick to secure his other arm around your waist, lifting you effortlessly before placing you down on your desk, his hips placed expertly between your knees.

            “No!” You managed to turn your face away, your hands & fingers grasping at the fabric of his shirt, trying to push him away from you.

            “You really have no choice, Professor.” He spoke, his breath fanning your face, “You deny me, I’ll have you removed from the faculty just like you did to Duran, & I’ll still have my way with you.”

            At that you froze. Slowly, you blinked, peeking at him confused. “What do you mean?”

            Andy produced a winner’s smile, “I’m talking about all the evidence I fabricated that implicates you in an on-going sexual relationship with one of your students: me.”

            Your heart fell to your stomach, “What—why, did—what are you talking about?”

            “The way your chest is heaving right now is making it really hard to control myself.” Andy commented, his eyes falling to the opening of your dress near the top.

            “Andy!” You spoke harshly, “What are you talking about?”

            His eyes met your own, “Melissa. Or Miss Parker, as you say. Like I said, she isn’t very bright. Likes to leave her laptop unattended while she sleeps, doesn’t even password protect.”

            Where he was going was conjuring a nauseous feeling within you.

            “Your email.” Andy brushed his lips against your cheek, “There’s a whole slew of emails between you & I. Intimate ones. Ones with scheduled ‘one-on-one’s’ at your home. In your office. I even had to break up with Melissa for you. She knows everything.”

            “You…”

            He grinned, nodding, “I pretended to be you wanting to fuck me, yes. And it’s all backed up. You can go through your email & delete them all you like but I have all the evidence on a drive in my apartment. Along with a few articles of your clothing, some of your DNA in my bed. The proof’s all there if you want to go to that extent.”

            You stared at him wide-eyed, “How did you…?”

            “Melissa also has a key to your home, does she not? In case you leave an important lesson plan behind or need her to pick something up on the weekends. You sure worked her hard.”

            “But she…”

            “Hates your guts. Even more now that she knows the truth about us.”

            You glared at him, angry tears breaching.

            “Why?”

            Andy breathed out, his hands going for the top of your dress, “Because… you. I wanted you, & I always get what I want.”

            You remained still as he slipped the dress of your shoulders, exposing your bra-clad breasts to him.

            “This isn’t exactly how I imagined it going. Like I said, I thought you’d like me. So, I had to take a different route, & this one, at the end of the day, is a route I know you’d respect.” Andy caught your chin, forcing you to look at him, “It’s like you always say. It’s all about evidence.”

            You said nothing, could say nothing.

            Then, much to your relief, he backed up, allowing you a moment of space to breath. But it was short-lived as he stared at you.

            “Take your dress off.”

            Your eyes flashed to his.

            “No.”

            He cocked his head at that, an audacious look of surprise on his face.

            “Now. Or I’ll tear it to shreds.”

            “Do it.” You challenged, “Just more evidence for me.”

            Andy chuckled darkly at that, his eyes narrowing, “That really the route you want to go? I’m not your only threat anymore. Let’s not forget about Melissa. She could ruin your life as much as I could. It’s two against one.”

            “She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”

            “She really isn’t.” He countered.

            Silence lasted a beat before he spoke once more.

            “You really want to do this the hard way?”

            “You attack me right now & I’ll have all the evidence. The first thing I’ll do is report it, then have a rape kit performed. I’ll see you in court at the end of the month. You won’t even make it to your bar exams.”

            He glared, his face distorting to one of pure rage.

            “Didn’t think everything through, now did you?”

            “All the rape kit will prove is that there was intercourse. Everything else? A matter of ‘he said, she said’. And we both know how those often go. Really prepared to risk your career, credibility, position at this school for a case you will surely lose?”

            “Are you?” You threw back. “If you know anything about me, Mr. Barber, it’s that I don’t go down without a fight. So, give it your best shot.”

            Andy stilled for a moment, your eyes peering into one another. But then he smiled. A real one.

            “You should read the most recent email you sent me, Professor. Before you go & get all high & mighty.”

            At that you frowned.

            “What did you do?”

            He gestured to your laptop, “See for yourself.”

            Never letting your eyes fall from his, you slipped off the desk, uncaring to readjust your dress as you circled around to your chair. Your email was already open in another tab.

            “Where are you hiding them?”

            “Archives. Under ‘AB’.”

            Following his instructions, you found the folder & clicked on the first email. The subject line read ‘Tonight—My Office’.

            A shudder ran through you as you read the email. It was brief but damning.

            Andy,

            Tonight’s the night. I want you to come to my office & do what I’ve been begging you to do. Reference the links I sent you. It’s time to celebrate you no longer being my student. We are free to do as we please. Finally. I’ll see you at 11. I’ll be waiting.

            Yours, _____

            P.S. Bring my favorite tie.

            And then an attached file. A link to a website about different kinds of BDSM. The specific one in the link referred to ‘rape play’.

            “You…” Words failed you as your vision began to blur. Another spell of dizziness cast over you.

            You clocked the time the email was sent. Around 7 p.m. But you had been in your office all day.

            “When you went to get coffee.” Andy revealed, having read your mind, “I’m sure you noticed when you returned that Melissa was absent from her desk. She was busy crying in the bathroom. I had come up here & broke up with her, telling her everything, and showed her the emails from her laptop. Then she ran out, tears running down her face. Allowed me to send myself one last email. Quick but effective.”

            You shook your head in denial, “They’ll trace the email having been sent from her laptop.”

            “But of course.” Andy chuckled knowingly, “A law professor specializing in evidence would know to send the email from a separate IP address, should she of course want to accuse her partner of sexual assault.”

            Your heart was racing. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be.

            “It’s all…” Andy approached the desk, cupping your cheek to force you to look up at him, “Say it with me now, it’s all…”

            “Circumstantial.” You both said in unison, though your voice was barely audible.

            “And it’s all about the evidence.” Andy repeated.

            Tears finally escaped & you felt unable to move.

            “Seeing me in court sounds like a waste of time now, doesn’t it?”

            Andy circled the desk & spun your chair around before kneeling on one knee before you, his palm finding the same spot it rested on before at the luncheon.

            “I win.” He breathed, a gruesome smile on his face, “Finally.”

            When you continued to say nothing, only staring past his shoulder, you saw him reach into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of fabric.

            “Your favorite tie.” He revealed half-heartedly, as if the relationship he fabricated between the two of you was real.

            It had been his plan all along, after all.

            “Stand up.” He ordered, remaining on his knee.

            When you refused to move, he gripped a single calf & squeezed, “I don’t mind getting rough, Professor. I’m only giving you a chance to make this as easy as possible.”

            Eyeing him, you felt a shaky breath escape you.

            “Don’t.” You felt your strength lessen. Would you really be forced into begging? The you from ten minutes ago would never.

            “You can’t stop it.” Andy cooed, peering almost solemnly up at you, “If it makes you feel any better, you’ll never see me again.”

            You felt your brows crinkle at that.

            “We’ll break up.” He shared, tracing a single finger along the muscle in your calf, “I just want a goodbye fuck. Can’t risk continuing a relationship with you. You’re too smart. You’d probably mic your office or set up a nanny-cam.” He joked lightly as if you two were friends.

            “Give me what I want, & I’ll disappear forever.” He breathed out, catching your eyes. They started out soft but soon enough hardened.

            “Now stand up & remove your fucking dress.”

            As you weighed the pros & cons internally, you found yourself adhering to his demands. You stood up, your legs shaking slightly from what was to come.

            As you did, Andy watched every move, every muscle twitch, every change in breathing pattern. He was feeling powerful. And you loathed that you could do absolutely nothing. What would fighting back do? The end result would still be the same. And the evidence had set up. Your whole career, your name, reputation, fucking ruined. All you had to do… was let him fuck you.

            His hand grabbed the back of your legs as he leaned forward. You braced a single hand on the edge of your desk to stabilize yourself as he pressed his face between your thighs. You heard him inhale deeply.

            “You smell as good as you look.” He uttered, his lips kissing the tender skin of your inner thighs.

            You gasped softly, more tears escaping & you hated yourself. For crying, for not fighting back, for losing.

            His hands grew bolder, reaching up to cup the cheeks of your ass, molding them to fit his palms. You bit your lip, attempting to stifle the cries that threatened to escape. It was bad enough that he had won, it would be worse if he heard you cry about it.

            You then felt his nose brush against the front of your pubic bone & instinctually, you brought your hands down on top of his head, attempting to push him off. He was quick to capture both of your wrists, coming out from between your thighs to gaze up at you, a look of warning on his face.

            It was enough for your arms to go limp. Andy offered a small smile before he rose to his full height.

            “Been a long time for you hasn’t it, Prof?” He alluded, but to what you didn’t know.

            He reached around your waist to the button that secured your dress. It slipped down until it crumpled into a pile at your feet.

            “I think the last one was that guest speaker at the gala last year, right?”

            Oh.

            “You certainly made him work hard for it.”

            “How do—” You frowned as he cut you off with a kiss.

            “I’ve been watching you a long time.” He said, his deep blue eyes boring into yours.

            Before you could say another word, he spun you around so you were facing your desk, manipulating your body to bend you over until your ass was on full display. Goosebumps erupted behind every stroke of his hand as he felt your body from your upper back to the cheeks of your butt.

            “I can’t begin to tell you what a superb going away gift this is.” He shared lowly from behind you.

            Then you felt his hands expertly unclasp your bra & it fell down your arms. He gathered you up in his arms, pressing your back against his solid chest as he peeked down at you over your shoulder. Your body continued to shake no matter how much effort you put into not shaking.

            Andy was slow & sensual, & you wished he would just get it over with.

            His hands cupped either tit in his palms, groaning softly in your ear. You felt as he ground his hips into your backside, his erection apparent. You pressed your lips together to keep from sounding out your cries.

            Just get it over with & leave me be. You begged internally.

            Just then, he grasped the underside of your chin, angling your face upwards at a near painful angle. He stared down at you, his gaze hooded & full of lust. No words were said but you saw in his eyes how he had been planning this for ages, & now he was finally going to get what he wanted. You only wish it wasn’t your defeat.

            The hand not holding your neck slipped down your front until it reaching the lining of your underwear. Your fingers grasped the edge of the desk, bracing yourself for the worst part to begin.

            His fingers slipped inside & he was quick to find your bundle of nerves. A pitiful moan of protest parted your lips but you were swift to bit you lip, your teeth sinking into the flesh there. Andy smiled momentarily but he watched as your face contorted, attempting to fight off the sensations, to ignore them. But luck was not on your side. Your body responded to his touch & you hated yourself. Hated him.

            “There she is.” He growled lowly as your stomach began to knot. His fingers worked harder, faster in circles. Then right before you were to orgasm, he slipped further down & inserted a single finger into your cunt.

            You hissed, unknowingly gyrating your hips against his own as he stretched you around his finger. He pumped slowly at first, enjoying watching you come undone. Your eyes were squeezed shut, one of your hands hanging onto his forearm that continued to hold your neck in his grasp.

            Something wet touched your ear & a regretful pleasant sensation flooded through you as he licked & nipped at your lobe. A soft cry escaped you as you felt the walls of your pussy contract & shudder, your orgasm ripping through you. Andy released a satisfying breath of air as he let you go. You collapsed on top of your desk, your lower half shaking as the waves of your orgasm still rocked through you.

            Behind you, you heard the distinct sound of a belt clinking, coming undone.

            Suddenly, everything you had worked for flashed before your eyes. You hadn’t put up with years & years of hard work & sexist bullshit to succumb to this. In the corner of your eye, you spotted a letter opener, a gift from your mentor when you had been practicing law your first year after Harvard. It glinted in the lamp light.

            Before Andy could understand what was happening, you quickly snatched the small weapon in your hand & spun around, aiming for the closest fleshiest part of him. But he was quick to jump back. You had still nicked him, the sleeve of his shirt cut with some blood but it wasn’t enough.

            Andy glared angrily at you as he peered down at the flesh wound.

            You held the letter opener up in defense, bracing yourself for him to attack.

            A snarl appeared on his face, “Fine. I like it rough anyways.”

            He took a single step forward & you swung your arm, hoping to catch him with the weapon once more but he was stronger, faster. He quickly snatched your wrist in his hand & bent it an ungodly painful angle until you were forced to drop the opener.

            You whined openly, tears falling once more but these ones were angry.

            But just as you made to kick out at him, he swiped the back of his hand across your face & you fell against your desk before falling to the floor. Your cheek throbbed in pain but it was short-lived as he reached down & yanked you up by your throat. You beat against his forearm but your strength was nothing compared to his.

            “Fuck you!” You wheezed, your verbal assault coming out as a choke.

            “I plan to.” He gritted out before spinning you around & slamming your upper body on top of your desk.

            Andy was no longer slow & sensual. His movement was rushed, harsh, & violent. You blindly reached out once more in search of anything on your desk you could use to attack him, but he easily secured you against the desk with his hips before yanking your arms backwards & tying your wrists together with a piece a fabric—probably his tie.

            As soon as he let go of your arms, you tested the durability of the knot & it proved to be tight & inescapable. Andy huffed behind you, his breathing hot & angry.

            The underwear you wore was quickly torn from your body, the seams stinging against your skin as they strained before snapping off. You attempted to lift yourself up with just your shoulders but he was quick to slam one of his arms on your back, trapping you there. In a last ditch effort to escape you screamed as loudly as you could.

            Your scream was hoarse & not as loud as you would’ve liked but short-lived. Andy was quick to shove your underwear in your mouth before leaning forward, his mouth at your ear, “Careful, Professor, your job is on the line.”

            You hated him. Deep down you thought you always had. But now you truly & irrevocably hated that man, that monster.

            You heard Andy spit before feeling something hot & hard at your entrance.

            Squeezing your eyes shut, whimpering into the fabric of your underwear, you braced yourself for what was to come.

            He entered you hard & far from gentle. A pained grunt sounded from behind the fabric in your mouth & more tears fell from your eyes, coating the hardwood your face was pressed against. Andy groaned out loud, stilling as he felt you slowly stretch & fit around him.

            You had not seen his size but you could clearly fill it & he did not lack in that department. You had wished he had been smaller, something to use against him psychologically, but what would it have mattered? He was raping you, just like he planned. He was winning, & you were the very sore loser.

            Not a moment later he began to thrust, his hands finding either side of your hips as his nails dug into your skin. The desk jostled beneath you as his movements were erratic & forced. Your pussy burned & ached as he fucked you relentlessly within your own office. You angled your head to peer out ahead of you, finding anything to focus your attention on, to remove yourself mentally from this moment. But the pain & discomfort was too great.

            You then felt one of his hands grasp the back of your head, tangling your hair in his fingers. A whine sounded but it was muffled as he practically broke your neck to raise your head so he could leave hot, sloppy kisses along your jawline.

            “You feel as amazing as I thought you would, Professor.” He gasped, his hips bruising against your backside, “No more nights of jerking off or fucking Melissa pretending she was you. Now I can lock this memory away forever.”

            His words disgusted you & you felt bile rise in your throat. You feared throwing up while fabric was stuffed in your mouth. Would Andy care? Would he allow it to go so far as to let you choke on your own puke, suffocating you? Considering how far he went to get you in this position you decided that yes, yes he would.

            Fortunately, you could feel as his cock began to swell inside you. His thrusts began to grow choppy & his moans of pleasure grew louder. He had let go of your head at this point & you rested your forehead against your desk, willing it to be over any minute.

            But the moment you thought to yourself it would be over, you felt his fingers find your clit once more. Panic soared through you as you understood what he was attempting to do to you. Again.

            Immediately, you began to wrestle out from under him, or at least make it almost impossible for him to reach you there. But he only lifted you up higher, moving your hips onto the desk so he could easily access your most sacred part.

            A bout of pleasure shot up your spine & you felt your muscles tense.

            “No, no!” You tried to say but the underwear in your mouth muffled your pleas. Not again, please, not again.

            But Andy, of course, ignored your wants.

            He hissed as he continued to fuck you, his fingers working their godforsaken magic. Just as you felt your stomach begin to knot once more, he suddenly retracted himself from you before quickly spinning you around.

            Your arms ached as your nearly entire body weight rested on them. And horror flooded you as you watched through tearful eyes Andy fall to his knees to latch his mouth onto your cunt. His tongue swiped you & his fingers filled you & your thighs shook around his head. A cry erupted from behind the fabric & you came hard. Your juices soaked his face as he lapped up every drop, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

            Your body was coated in a fine layer of sweat & the cool air in the room made your skin erupt in goosebumps. As your orgasm subsided though, your nightmare was not yet over.

            Andy was quick to tug you forward until you were forced onto your knees. Then he grasped the hair at the back of your head once more. His cock bobbed in front of your face as he pumped himself, his eyes staring into your own. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it to be over, begging for it to be over.

            And then you felt hot threads of semen coat your face. Andy groaned loudly, almost growling as he came. You winced as his hold on your hair tightened, feeling a few strands of hair pop.

            When he finally finished, he stumbled backwards, bracing himself against the wall behind him as his own orgasm subsided.

            You remained where you kneeled, your tears mixing with his cum.

            A few seconds later, you felt him cup your cheek, demanding you to open your eyes. When you did they stung only a little bit, some of the semen having slipped in.

            But just as you opened your eyes, a camera flash went off. Andy had his phone out & had taken a picture of you covered in his cum.

            “For later.” He revealed nonchalantly.

            More tears cascaded down your face & he ultimately pulled your underwear from your mouth before pocketing them in his own pants.

            He pulled on one of your arms forcing you to stand before he shoved you to sit in your chair. He picked up your dress off the floor & tossed it into your lap. You tried to catch your breath as he reached behind you to remove the tie from your wrists. They fell limply to your sides.

            “See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He joked, catching your chin in one of his large hands.

            You glared up at him but said nothing.

            “It’s not the first time I’ve left a woman speechless.” He grinned, winking down at you.

            Andy kneeled once more, rolling your chair closer to him as he gazed sickeningly at you.

            “I can’t thank you enough.” He spoke, shaking his head in disbelief, “You were worth the build-up. It’s just a shame it can’t happen again. I think we could’ve had fun.”

            He leaned forward, his eyes on your mouth & just before he intended to kiss you once more, you turned your face away.

            He chuckled darkly, “That goddamn pride.” He said more to himself than you.

            The next time he forced you to kiss him, holding your face in place as you assaulted your mouth one last time.

            When he pulled away, he gently knocked your chin with his knuckles, “I told you, it just takes the right pressure to break someone like you.”

            With that, he rose to his full height, eyeing you once more before he circled around your desk, “Well, Prof, I gotta be going now. Got big things planned. Try not to miss me.”

            You watched in the corner of your eyes as he exited you office closing the door behind him. You waited until you heard the secondary door close in your waiting room before you finally broke down. Sobs erupted from you as you held your head in your hands. You couldn’t even fathom looking down at yourself, only imagining how vile you looked.

            A ding sounded on your laptop then & you rose your head defeatedly.

            An email notification. From Andrew Barber.

            Your stomach knotted as you clicked it open. All the email contained was a single attached file image of your face. With Andy’s cum all over it.

            Then came another email.

            Missing you already.

finally got andy on here! love this man to death.

one of my favorite aspects about writing stories like this is researching! i don't do anything half-assed, especially when it comes to my writing. i tried to do my best to make any talk about laws or anything sound as realistic as possible with the research i had done so if any law buffs or law educated folk out there wanna give me some feedback i'd greatly appreciate it.

as always, please share your thoughts with me via dropping an ask in the ask box, commenting, or reblogging with reviews.

i will still be working on updating 'summit' but the next mini series i'll be working on is 'pure//violence' with our favorite bad boy: rafe cameron. so stay stuned!

thank you for reading

oona<3

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

taglist:

to be added to a taglist read rule 11 here. requests will be dismissed otherwise.

[myokk]

Hello! I see your art come across my for you page all the time but I just realized I don't know much about your MC! 2, 8, & 15 for Eloise?

Hello ‼️🥹♥️

Eloise is just a little historical fashion barbie for my art BUT the reason I love her is truly for her personality and how I write her🥹 thank you for the questions🫶

2: What’s your MC's favourite subject? What do they like about it? Anything they dislike?

Eloise has two favorite subjects: Arithmancy and Transfiguration. She is very much a person who is trapped inside of her own mind, prefers thinking and theory, and gets a HUGE sense of accomplishment over successfully doing something complicated. & because Arithmancy is numbers-based and she DOES like being able to predict the future somewhat (divination is TOO wishy-washy).

The only subjects she truly hates are Beasts😔 (animals TERRIFY her which makes sense if you’ve read my fic) and the flying class because it is very un-ladylike to wear pants and fly😒

8: Once your MC graduates Hogwarts, what will be their best and worst memories? What will they regret?

Eloise will always associate Hogwarts with positive/bittersweet memories of learning who she is and how to advocate for herself. She makes lifelong friends who like her for her, and grows from a very quiet, self-conscious girl into the woman she was meant to become. But these things don’t come easily for her at all😣 she will always fondly remember lazy afternoons by the Black Lake, excursions to Hogsmeade, her classes…she will NOT miss the quidditch matches though😤

She will regret never being able to repair the relationship with her brother Leonard before he dies though😭😔😔 his death is why she wants to research it as an Unspeakable😔

15: Wildcard: Tell us the funniest/most bizarre fact about your MC

AHHHHHH THIS ONE IS SO HARD BC SHE IS QUIET AND SERIOUS AND MAYBE KIND OF BORING😭😣

She spent five years at a muggle finishing school so thst she could at least give her family more connections with the muggle world and was actually betrothed to be married to a wealthy muggle landowning family (her parents just see her as a way to make connections as we see later on in my fic too😣).

Eloise HATED living with the muggles, they all thought she was so weird bc she CLEARLY came from money and yet they’d never heard of her family, she didn’t even know who Queen Victoria was or the popular composers or authors or ANYTHING😭😭😭 but, ever since that time she has always harbored a deep love for muggle literature and playing the piano♥️

THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTIONS🥹♥️♥️♥️

[pbxkreal]

i have the reread the alchemist for English class and I read it once way back in like 5th grade probably and I remember really liking it as well as my brother also really liking it but my friend said they hate it and think it's boring and surface-level-trying-to-seem-deep or at least everyone-acts-like-its-deep-when-its-not sort of deal, and I don't really remember enough of it to say if I agree so I'm going to see how I feel about it this time though I doubt I'm going to hate it as much as my friend does 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

hi what r you reading. tugs at ur sleeve. tell me about it in at least three words. i love yuou

[flossylove]

Ahhh okay back again! I realise I literally have not been keeping up to date with my spam messages, but who cares, only I'm reading these to myself lolol.

So. THE CLIPS TONIGHT!!

OMG where do I even start? So I was working during the day, so thankfully time flew by for me - I actually couldn't imagine having to wait around all day, I would've gone crazy! I was so looking forward to tonight, because I'll be honest - this remake is definitely my favourite! Maybe it's because it's my first one I'm ever watching in real time, but I genuinely feel it's more than that. They've made so many positive changes (like, in my opinion making Roko less toxic than William first was), and the cast is just so incredible in bringing the characters to life!

Nora and Roko are so easily my favourite Noorhelm remake by far! Their chemistry just feels so real and authentic (and yes I understand that authenticity and reality is literally the core of SKAM, but some remakes just weren't able to achieve that, in my opinion, but these guys have!) Maybe, also, I just find them to be one of the most beautiful Noorhelm remakes too - sue a girl!!

Okay, back to the actual clips! Firstly, I'll be completely honest, when we got the 22:05 clip with Maša, and she was talking about someone not calling for 3 days.....I genuinely thought it was about a girlfriend! Turns out, nope! Just her mum! But still, I believe in queer Maša being canon. It just works, u know? Also, Nora being such a sweetheart in that clip? Ugh love love love her. My heart literally hurt to see Maša crying, like, please no, I already love her so much. Already I feel she's spoken more words than Linn ever did!

Now onto the 13 MINUTE CLIP!! OMGGGG! Like, I already knew/was hoping it'd be a long clip like in the OG. But, once again, SRAM just outdid itself! I really do love how many one shot scenes there are. Like, I don't think I've seen anyone else talk about that? IDK, maybe some people have and I just haven't been seeing it at all hahahaha. But I noticed it so much in Season 1, and I'm really glad they're keeping it within the filming style! It really adds character to SRAM being it's own thing as well. I feel there's too much to even talk about with that clip but ahhh - Eva and Nix? Hello?? Love them! Nix picking Nora up? And that comment about expecting her way earlier (just goes to show that SRAM is making an effort to actually build Nix and Roko's friendship. Like, in the OG, I swear sometimes William just wouldn't tell Chris anything, like, IDK, to me that never made sense! But in SRAM, we know Roko actually talks to Nix about Nora - which, ugh, I love, such a loverboy!).

I feel like they kinda brushed over Vanessa this clip? Like, she was there in the photos, with both Eva and Tina, and I think Nix too? So like, did she leave with Tina? I guess it makes sense, cos they live in the same neighbourhood, but the fact none of the girls even mentioned her was just....iffy Idk. Nothing too deep, just something I noticed.

Ahh, one thing I just remembered! Right at the start, when Eva introduces that guy to Nora, and says about it being funny if he was called Adam instead. I loved that little throwback to the OG. I don't know if anyone else figured that, but I immediately was like OMG! In OG SKAM, when Eva has the date (the one that happened last Friday, or at least was supposed to? before it fell through? The one Nora lied about being busy for!) it's with a guy called Adam, and Vilde makes the funny joke about them being Adam and Eva. At least, I think that's correct and I'm not going crazy...

Either way, onto the important stuff - Roko and Nora!! I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it. Their banter, their chemistry, the way they bounce off each other so naturally and get the same jokes, just really makes them so enjoyable! Like, yes OG will always have a place in my heart, but, like, sometimes, it felt as though William had no personality. No laughs, No jokes. No smiles. And I get it! The whole 'broody, but only smiley for the right girl' vibe he had going did work! But, like, we're 10 years into the SKAM remakes now, and I'm just really glad they made this change and gave Roko a solid character build-up. I hope I'm making sense hahahaha

I didn't even notice, cos I was too entranced by Nora's singing, but he actually joined in at one part? Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but he does do a little something, before he then starts playing on the synth? keyboard? idk. And he sounded good! I really hope there's a chance for us to see more of that in the future. Some people reckon that instead of it being an essay/article that William helped with, it'll be a song, or a musical project - and I'd really love to see that be true! Also, just a side bar, in the OG, I feel like, once again, with us getting minimal characterisation of William, the guitar was a little random. Like, it was just never mentioned again? I'm pretty sure? It's been a while since I did a Season 2 rewatch, but I just remember always thinking how that felt like it came out of nowhere, and then was never mentioned again? Hahaha. Whereas, like, Roko being into music, being a DJ, has been a key point in this storyline so far.

So, we've mostly covered the clip but still, I just wanna touch on how easily Roko was able to pick up Nora's slight discomfort about singing in front of him (for real, rather than just messing about) and he so quickly just backed away so she was comfortable. Like, that man is for one woman, and one woman only, and her name's Nora. Like, he is so down bad for her!! Which, ugh, as a single girl who's never dated, it's so refreshing, in the big year 2025, to see a representation of a guy not being afraid to have a crush? And yes, I know, like, he's still a teen boy, he still has flaws, and unfortunately his character is fictional, but still, I am loving getting to see him smile at her softly, and take her beauty in and just quietly appreciate her.

Can u tell I love them so much??

Okay, now finally onto the last clip of the episode!! SRAM finally broke their Saturday no clip rule! I don't even think it was/is a rule, they just never seemed to post on Saturdays. Like, at all. Although, saying this....maybe they did in Season 1? And I'm just being silly? IDK, it's too late for me right now and I should be sleeping but I needed to get these thoughts out!

Anyways, we got the clip!! I was so scared we weren't going to get anything following the end of the 13 minute clip, but I kept adding the clips together and was like... 'we should still have 3 minutes left of the episode???' so I wasn't giving up all faith on the sleepover clip!! And I'm glad I didn't!! Once again, I loved - but are we surrpised?? No, not really hahahah

I'm just really loving the way SRAM is putting this storyline together. Like, yes, do I wish I saw what happened in those two-ish hours between the clips? Hell yes. But, I also love how it wasn't all shoved together. So, I am simply living in my own delusion and saying that they spent all that time playing around with the synth and just messing with each other!

Sitting here, rewatching the clip for the 7th time already (note, it's only been 45 mins as I'm typing, since it got uploaded), I just. No words. Love it. I really liked how it started with a reasonable scenario, of Roko sleeping on the couch, but then Oh No, What A Shame, It Smells Of Beer, Guess He Better Sleep In His Bed Again!! And Nora's reaction? Girl, I see you.

The little barrier, iconic as ever!! Their banter about Vito too? The reach-over and breaking of the barrier, was such a small thing in this remake, but once again, I feel it really worked with the scene and Nora and Roko's characters. The physical contact will always get me! I am a physical contact girly, so you can imagine my reaction when in the clip before Roko touched Nora's waist!!

When Nora says she doesn't know how to turn off the light, the way the camera angle was looking, I genuinely thought we were gonna have Roko lean over to turn it off for her. Which, I get is unrealistic hahaha, but I would've loved it. To maybe have seen Nora panic a little as he got closer, get a little flustered... idk - I just can't wait to see Nora when she finally lets him in and fully embraces her crush hahaha

And I really liked how they did it so Roko lies in this version! Now hear me out! I don't condone lying haha, but this was such a little funny lie, about Vito being out with some chick. Like, Nora knowing he was fully lying and making it up, but instead of leaving and getting angry she just stays and jokes with him too. Like, Your Honour, they are in love. They both want to spend time together!

Roko's little smile as he says "You do like me a little." and looks over at her. Beautiful. Absolute Cinema. And the call back to 'Robi' at the end. I really hope they keep including this as a little inside joke between the two. I mean, Roko seems more than happy to respond to it!

The. Way. Roko. Moved. The. Pillows. And. Moved. Back. So. He. Was. Closer. To. Nora. Need I say anymore??? No, I didn't think so. It was so sweet to watch!!

Now finally, and I mean finally, promise I'll be done soon! I really recognised the piano track playing in the background as the camera started to spin around them. It's absolutely a famous piece, I just can't think of what one right now (it's so late, I need to be up in 5 hours this isn't good for me hahaha). But I really love it! And the camera moving - ugh! LOVED IT!

I don't know if anyone will think I'm crazy, but I kinda hope we get a clip tomorrow? Like, with them waking up. I know we won't, because we've gotten the whole episode in these clips. But, I could just imagine the little transition between clips. Like how they did in Season 1, with them panning over the bed with Eva and Jakov. From night to then the morning. I really loved that a lot last season! Made the transitions a bit more fun!

Like I said, it won't happen, but maybe in the future? In a possible future clip? IDK, this is me now just projecting hahaha

Okay, I think I'm all SRAMmed out for the night, so I'm gonna finish this here. I doubt anyone has even made it to the end, but if you did then wow, thank u for dealing with my ramblings! At the end of the day, I'm just a girl with too many thoughts in my head and no one to talk to about SRAM in real life hahaha

~ floss <3

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

Live reactions to CM S18 ep1

AHHHHHHHHHH FINALLY IT'S TIMEEEEE MY HANDS ARE SHAKING

Starting off the season with a trigger warning is CRAZY we really aren't playing around

Oooh tricking the police into helping you get the guy into your car. smart.

CONCENTRATED HELLO KITTY I'M CRYING

AHHH THERE THEY ARE THEY'RE BACK ON MY SCREEEEEEN

Emily only introducing half the team is still weird to me

"Can you stop him?" * The Look * AHHHH WE'RE SO BACK

TYLER BADGEEEE (surprising absolutely no one lol)

the way I say the back of Tyler's head and immediately thought it was Luke---

"Trainee" AHHH I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS DYNAMIC

LUKE QUIZZING HIM. BEING THE MENTOR. THE STUDENT BECOMING THE TEACHER. THE NEWBIE IS THE EXPERIENCED GUIDE AHHHHHH

Luke are you aware chairs exist??? Do you ever NOT sit on desks?

And again. Putting Luke and Tyler in near IDENTICAL outfits is crazy work and the costume dept. knows what they're doing.

JJ and Luke quizzing him I'm so excited I'm SO excited I'm loving this so much

"Are you kidding me with that?" LUKE 🤣🤣🤣

he just casually has a dagger??? Also get your foot off JJ's desk

JJ and Luke just looking at each other like "awww that's so cute"

Rossi maaaaaaaaaaaaaad

I'm glad Luke asked Tyler to define OPR bc I also want to know haha

So while yes I absolutely believe Rossi set up Voit's attack in prison that audio clip proves nothing other than Rossi giving him a head's up that he was in danger

PENELOPEEEE HI BABYGIRL YOU LOOK SO GOOOOOD

"You're here again" Penelope how often do you go to visit him??

JJ really looks so GOOD with straight hair

TARAAAA HI GIRL YOU LOOK SO GOOD

Wait... Will is still alive? We have to watch him die? Oh god

aerosolized fentanyl is a THING???

The way they're all bouncing off each other and figuring things out WE ARE SO BACK IT'S SO GOOD

I'm curious. Are these people who can't swim? is there smth weighing them down? why don't they try to swim to the edge of the pool to get out? Obviously he would still kill them but why don't they at least TRY??? Even if they were still drugged I think they would have the wherewithal to try

Poor Emily istg sometimes her job is making toddlers go down for their nap

Luke getting his smart boy moments!! Yay!!

AHHHH LUKE'S SMILE WHEN HE SEES PENELOPE THROUGH THE WINDOWWWW

"It is not demure or mindful" NO NOT THAT TREND 🤣

Penelope stop saying "yo"

Luke's soft little smile at her when they're all in her office spying on people. Secret Dating Garvez is SO REAL (yes I am still on my bullshit about that and I always will be)

Is Luke just... eating a lollypop? and more importantly did he get it from his gf Penelope

Yes indeedy!!!

I'm loving this friendship between Luke, Tyler, and Penelope as a trio I really am. And yes I think it's a product of Luke and Penelope feeling so secure in their relationship that they have no issues with being around and working with her ex-situationship

I know JJ was DYINNNNN to ask Pen about the luke/tyler situation

WOAAHHHH THE WHOLE FAMILY??

Not us getting the most Luke information we've ever gotten at once from his fucking DOG TAGS. We now know his blood type (O-) and that he still identifies as catholic

"Well... that's where I come in" YES IT IS BBG

Luke dear god the smiles each time you LOOK at her...

first look at the unsub!!

Oh he has a gun! Well that answers my question about why they don't try to escape.

What I want to know is: why these people? how does he make these selections?

ooh wait unrelated to everything but I bet the reason there's the scene this episode (i'm pretty sure) where Penelope is crying to luke "he thinks empathy is a sin" is bc she's talking to him about why she goes to visit Voit

Emily and Rossi playing "clue" 🤣🤣🤣

AHHH IT'S THE LIGHT BLUE LONG SLEEVE WHICH MEANS IT'S GARVEZ TIMEEEE

ohhh he's pissed

I WAS RIGHT FUCKING CALLED ITTTT

"I remember you taking off your glasses. It's how I knew you were serious." I can't with them he loves her so much he can just read her he knows her so well

"I don't see anything but I believe that you believe it." I literally cannot with how soft he is with her

HIS HAND IS ON HER LEG HIS HAND IS ON HER LEGGGGGG

AND SHE TOUCHED HIS HANDDDDD

secret dating garvez is SO real

"you know i never got heartburn before i met you" is that 50yo speak for "I love you but you stress me out" like how did he manage to say that SO romantically

"Can you run more than one search at a time?" he says with a fond smile that says he knows that she ABSOLUTELY can

"Science says asking a dumb question makes you less cute" WHAAAAAAT THE FUCK???? AND THEN HE POKED HER SHOULDER???

And then there's the almost cheek/head kiss we saw in the sneak peek. still mad he didn't give her a smooch but the rest of the stuff in this scene is making it very easy for me to get over it

Tyler's little grin when Luke says "you too." He's like "yay! i get to go do a big boy job!"

The mom trying to help her daughter stay alive as long as possible 😭😭😭

Oh my god them using the corpse of their husband/dad as a float to stay alive...

NO OMG THE CORKSCREW TO CUT A HOLE YESSS

No the unsub saw and the mom is shot 😭😭😭

Tyler using his dagger to open the cover!!!!!

@lklvz @mortalscience on a scale from 1-10 how insane were you when Luke dove into the pool and got soaking wet bc of it

I was like "why does luke have his jacket on all of a sudden..." oh. it's her dead husband taking her with him to heaven I see

OH SHE LET GO SHE'LL LIVE YAY

For any of y'all who said greencia was gonna happen again... fat chance with him being in Alabama.

*flash forward ten years later* Tyler rejoins the BAU and they're ALL still there. even rossi.

although the 10yr rule didn't apply to Reid, Garcia, JJ I think, even Luke since he only became an SSA when he joined the BAU

*sigh* penelope's gonna close that door and he's gonna kill the nurse isn't he

Yupppp called it

That was such a good fucking episode I can't even holy shit

[elieenaliak]

Special Occasion

Contents: Fem!Reader, University!AU, Tooth-rotting fluff, Idiots in love, Caleb being attentive and gentle and cute an—

Warnings: I started writing fics only 2 days ago...𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓸𝓾𝓼......

A creak of the door has the study group turning towards Caleb, trying very hard to enter the photocopying room with stealth. He answers the confused glances with a finger to his lips, which he then points towards the cake box in his other hand.

Ignoring the whispered conversation around him (“Is there a special occasion today?” “Hm. That looks like a birthday cake box.” “I don’t remember anyone’s birthday coming up soon?” “Let me check Facebook— hey, it’s Y/Ns birthday?!”), he makes his way towards the furthest end of the study table where Y/N sat with her head in her arms, asleep.

The group fully expects Caleb to harshly jolt you awake, after all being mischievous runs strong in their group of friends. Instead, to their surprise, he quietly takes out the cake and puts it in front of the birthday girl, kneels by her side so he was at her eye level, and gently shakes her awake.

“Y/N? Wake up, come on,” he whispers to her in a voice so fond and soft that his friends look on in bewilderment. You blearily open one eye to a grinning Caleb, who then tells you in the same soft voice, “It’s 10th of May.”

You shoot up in your seat and grab your phone to check.

“No it’s not—," you start just to then splutter at your phone in shock. “It’s May 10?!” You look back towards Caleb who was already lighting up the candle on the cake in front of you, and suddenly everyone bursts into an awful rendition of the Happy Birthday song in at least 5 different octaves.

“Happy birthday, happy birthdaaay, happy birthday~!”

“C’mon, blow your candle and make a wish!”

“You should wish for an A for the coming sem, you're barely passing.”

“Hey! Can you include me in that wish too?!”

“Shameless, Tara.”

You feel your wide smile almost cracking your face as you watch her friends gather around you, speaking various birthday greetings that escalated into bickering. You feels a nudge at arm and you look to the side where Caleb was looking expectantly. He gestures to the candle on the cake with a smile, “Make a wish, hurry.”

Closing your eyes to make a wish, you clap your hands together, silence in the room following as you wish your wish. Once you blow the candle, the conversation erupts once again.

“Did you wish for an A? Did you include me too?”

“Really, you should have wished for an alarm clock. I always have to wake you up and you’re so grumpy in the mornings, Y/N.”

“Ignore them,Y/N. I support whatever wish you made! Though a new wardrobe would have been nice.”

“Or a boyfriend!”

“She doesn’t need that, Lukas. She already has Cale—“

“Hey! You’re all so mean. I actually wished to graduate early so I could finally get away from you guys,” you cross your arms, glaring at them, two-faced traitors. However, instead of repelling, they move in closer to give the birthday girl a big group hug.

“Nah, you don’t mean that.”

“You totally love us.”

"Unfortunately.”

“So grumpy, just like my grandmother. Actually, I think I can see a grey hair from here—“

“No cake for you Kieran!”

"You two have a grandmother?"

"You have a family?!" Questions followed by twins trying and failing to defend themselves and their non- existent's grandmother's honour

As everyone settles back down in their seats with their own slices of birthday cake, Tara pipes up. “How come you even forgot about your own birthday?”

Your groans in reply. “I was so stressed over all the papers and readings we had to do, the date totally slipped my mind,” you say, massaging your nose bridge.

“I think the better question is how come Caleb was the only one who knew,” Yvonne quips indifferently before taking a bite of her cake.

Everyone turns to Caleb, who innocently looks back at them and shrugs from his seat beside you. “I’m just a good friend, I guess.”

You rolls your eyes. “You can just tell them that grandma reminded you, you know.”

“Actually, Miss Birthday Girl, she texted me when I was already at the store buying your cake.”

“You talk to her grandmother?” Lukas asks Caleb, confused, to which he laughs.

“We’re talking about Byeol, her little sister,” he tells them before facing Sol A to talk to her about her paper.

(“Sol A has a little sister?” “Yeah but I’ve never met her.” “Me neither.” “Just Caleb, I guess. Of course he has to know his future sister-in-law—”)

“By the way Y/N, what are your plans for later? We should celebrate!” Tara claps her hands excitedly.

“Ah, we have so much to do my head’s about to explode—“

“We have nothing urgent for tomorrow, right Yvonne?”

“Nope.”

“I’m running late on a few of my readings—“

“And you know I’d gladly help you out with that,” Caleb smiles at her before turning to the group. “Dinner then karaoke after our last class, on me.”

“Finally, something to look forward to!”

“I already have my cue of songs in mind. First, Superbass—“

“Oh God, can we please un-invite Kieran—“

“Yvonne, you’re not getting away with not singing this time.”

“In your dreams, Lukas.”

As the room devolves into conversation about later’s plans, Caleb catches you massaging the bridge of your nose again.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sighing, you close your eyes. “My head’s killing me. I guess I do need to take a breather later.”

“You’ve been stressing over that paper nonstop, even though I told you the outline looked solid.” Caleb clicks his tongue before taking your hand. “You know, there’s a pressure point right here for headaches—“

“Oh so you’re a med expert now, too?”

“I do have a medical training, actually.”

“Oh wow. Did they teach how to massage your hand when you had a headache, too? I mean, it is is pretty cute. Wait, wasn't your captain married man, with kids? Adorable, well.. wife and baby aside. I ship it," You drop teasingly

“You’re a menace,” Caleb laughs, shoving his shoulder against yours but continuing to massage your hand nonetheless.

If anyone notices Caleb continuing to massage your hand absentmindedly as everyone goes back to studying, no one says a thing.

And later on, when the two disappear sometime between the restaurant and the karaoke place and come back with Y/N donning a new necklace— a pretty, dainty little thing with a silver balancing scale pendant— no one says a thing, either.

[jull-reblogs]

Thanks :D I had a wonderful week and lots of time to recharge ^^

I'm glad you like my sketches!! The ancient Hylians are the ones who carved these murals after coming back to the Surface. SS Impa was the only witness to the ending of Skyward Sword so she told what she saw to other surviving Sheikah and then the Hylians learnt of what happened once they started to return. All of this in the context of my alternate timeline of course.

Also I can't remember if I told you already but I'm giving Link an instrument since I miss seeing him playing music. It's a lute and I've been trying to come up with a design these past few days!

I think I really like where this is going! I'm sure you can see what I'm trying to do with the shape and colors of the neck ^^

I'm going to say Link received musical training as part of his knight education, so he learnt to play the lute and regained his memories of it after BotW. Let's just ignore how hard playing has to be with a prosthetic hand...

So is it the choreography of the fight itself you're struggling with or other things such as dialogue as well? I fear I'm not the best at fight scenes either so I don't really know how to help, besides offering to beta read once you'll be done ^^ Or of course you could search for other works with fight scenes with the vibe you're looking for, but the hard part here is to not reproduce the same scene.

I'm sure Link would still eat the bun even knowing it's a frog 😆 Haha yes, when you think about it that way it's really funny. Just like all of the silly tasks the NPCs make their Hero go through.

I read the bestiary you posted a couple days ago so I've seen this about Sand Seals! I love the idea that the Gerudo would trade their tusks or carve them/make weapons out of them.

(Btw in French Sand Seals are accurately named "Morses des Sables", which means Sand Walruses instead of Sand Seals. "Phoques des Sables" would sound a bit ridiculous anyway haha, and it would be harder for Link to make puns in French).

An AI falling in love with me sounds like some kind of nightmare haha. Of course I would hate just letting an AI work in my stead and just using what it says, it would definitely just be for inspiration or testing ideas ^^

Yes I think that Zelda's sealing power is different from Sheikah magic, I'm not saying it would have awakened her power. But they could have thought that learning any kind of magic might help anyway instead of just focusing on prayers and meditation. And at the very least Zelda would have been able to defend herself against the Yiga.

That's why I prefered the one with Hearth as well!

We would say "Lumière du Sceau" instead of "de Sceau" ^^ I'd say this title doesn't work as well in French as it does in English and I wouldn't put "de/du" twice in a title. Maybe then I'd just get rid of Chroniques and go with Hyrule Warriors : La Lumière du Sceau or something like that.

I think "Notre petit paradis en bord de mer..." works really well for what you're trying to convey! The suspension points add just enough reminiscence and bittersweetness.

It could also be "Notre petit coin de paradis en bord de mer...", "un coin de paradis" being the French equivalent to "a little piece of heaven". But I think I prefer it without "coin"? It's shorter so more efficient and maybe more emotional.

It might also be better if the wine was called Le Petit Bordemer since "bord de mer" is masculine. But since it's a name you can make it feminine if you prefer, it just might not sound as natural to us French speakers ^^

@aikoiya The post was getting long again so here's a new one!

I knew you were going to answer that saying "this is unfair" isn't real life logic haha (and I agree that life hasn't been fair to Sky and Sun anyway). It's just that such an ending would probably leave me feeling unsatisfied and even a bit robbed, and I think it would require a lot of other changes to be made to the story in order for it to work properly. But anyway you're right, as things are now this would just be happening behind the scenes so what I'm saying doesn't really make sense. But just thinking about it changes my perception of SS in a way I don't really enjoy, so it's not a theory I favor.

Yes in that setting I'm pretty sure that the other Sun would not make herself known to Link and Zelda and would let them have their happy ending. But I think Zelda would likely suspect her existence and know that something is wrong. I guess even Link could notice that the Temple's doors are suddenly open and would ask Impa a few questions.

I had no idea Tingle called Farore the Goddess of Wind in WW, so I went on a little quest to see if I could find the same quote in the French version of the game. Apparently it's in Tingle's description of Outset Island and I never had the chance to play with the Tingle Tuner mode. I can't find the same quote in French anywhere and I don't even know if this was included in the HD remake (I guess I'll have to wait for a Switch version to find out… if they ever release one). This has me wondering if this quote isn't something exclusive to the English version, but I can't be sure and I'd like to know what the original Japanese text says. The French wikis mention that Farore is the Goddess of Wind in WW but don't provide any quote, it just looks like the pages were translated from English but that they couldn't find the same quote in French. It's really frustrating!!

Anyway that's a bit weird because WW already establishes Zephos as the God of Wind, and he seems to be a minor deity compared to Farore. The way I see it, wind is just the element that Farore tends to be associated with, and since a lot of myths might have been lost with Hyrule in WW this could just be a mistake on Tingle's part. I mean this is the game that gave us the Golden Triumph Forks haha.

I'm not limiting Nayru/the Golden Goddesses to a singular domain, quite the opposite ^^ To me Nayru being the Goddess of Wisdom includes different concepts such as order, law, science, magic, etc., and even time (since she's introduced as the creator of the world's fondamental laws), while calling her the Goddess of Time doesn't include all of that. That's why I wrote that I found it a bit restrictive. But sure she could have both titles, the same way Farore could be known most commonly as the Goddess of Courage and also called the Goddess of Wind in some situations.

Oh I didn't think of the blocks from OoT! I would say though that they don't really use any time powers, they're just random blocks that appear or disappear for some reason when Link plays the Song of Time (it's just as absurd as playing the Song of Storms to open holes in the ground haha). But yes they were blue and associated with time, and of course Nayru is too. The difference with Hylia in my theory is that Nayru created the rules of time (if that makes sense) among other fundamental laws, while Hylia's power specifically allows her to manipulate time and foresee the future. In a way I see Hylia as Nayru's spiritual daughter who inherited some of her powers over time (and that's why the color purple she's represented with is very close to blue).

The Master Sword has also been depicted as either blue or purple though, so that asks the question of the true color of all of these things! Nayru is definitely linked to time so it makes sense that the timeshift stones are in Lanayru (and Hylia also doesn't have a province named after her).

"From the edge of time" could definitely just be a poetic way to say that Hylia kind of recorded a message for Link before dying haha. But I find it interesting that she would phrase it like that, I like to see it as a clue.

Well if Zelda simply sent Link to a point further back in time, wouldn't there be two Links existing at the same time in the Child Timeline? But sure Zelda creating a brand new timeline also raises a few questions that kind of... make my head hurt. I'm not sure what happens exactly, I've always wondered! All we know is that Link finds himself in the Master Sword's chamber with the Door of Time already open, which hints at things happening in a different way this time (because he definitely doesn't have the three spiritual stones and the Ocarina of Time yet since this is before Ganon's coup, and the ending seems to imply that this timeline's Zelda doesn't know him yet). That's why I believe Zelda might have done something a bit more complex than sending him to a point further back in time, but there's no way to be sure. The Triforce of Courage is also visible on Link's hand during the ending, and we also know thanks to TP that the Triforce is still separated in the Child Timeline despite Link and Zelda preventing Ganon from entering the Sacred Realm this time. So maybe Zelda isn't able to change everything? It's complicated haha.

Anyway, whether OoT Zelda creates a new timeline or just sends Link further back in time, that's still huge time powers and that's not something Link is able to do by playing Zelda's Lullaby.

I also believe it is more likely that Talon inherited the ranch. True, Talon might not always have been so lazy, but maybe if that was the case the game could have hinted at hit. All we know is that he leaves his daughter alone with Ingo and only comes back after Link deals with the situation, which does not make him look so great. And he only promises to work harder after that.

I'm kind of bad with names so I'm impressed you're going through all of that trouble to rename the settlements!!

I haven't gotten to developping the technology that much yet, but I'm really interested in seeing what the different races could do with it! I love the idea of using the Sheikah to infiltrate the Yiga bases. I wish TotK had done something like that and shown the Sheikah helping Link that way.

Same, I was so excited when I heard about these pirates… and then so disappointed to find nothing more than a bunch of bokos with no backstory.

Vignoble is not related to noble (though I kind of make the association in my mind, especially since vignobles are sometimes called châteaux).

Yes I thought you could maybe use clos! Aquaticlos is funny, it can work! Though maybe you could use the same logic as for the raisins (I love this Raisins de Terre idea by the way, it makes sense!) and say that what the Zoras call a clos already refers to something that's underwater, since that's probably the case for most of what they cultivate.

I don't mind helping you with French, I'm glad to do so! You put so much effort and thought into this, it's really interesting.

[clopinasworld]

Connor checking himself out in mirrors

+ Bonus

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

"Jason was the happy robin" this, "jason was the angry robin" that. Let's all be fully honest here Jason was the lonely robin