#behold my pile of Nonsense

[cheeriecherrymain]

Incorrigible Flirts And Besweatered Men [Chapter 5]

Pairing: TA!Viktor x fem!Reader Rating: T Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety and stress, i wrote this without my adhd meds so, good luck you lot :S Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You officially start your career as a musician, and it’s nothing like you thought it would be; thankfully Viktor is kind, and does what he can to care for you, even though you feel like you don’t really deserve it.

On Monday, you finally find the energy to send an email back to the studio; apologizing for the delay and explaining that you’re a full time student. You thank them for the opportunity, and agree to set up a time to meet - whenever they’re available, of course, and you’ll do your best to work your schedule around it.

The professionalism and anxiety pretty much destroys your mood afterwards. You’re barely able to pay attention in class that day, too full of nervous energy to absorb the lecture.

Thankfully, Viktor texts you later and offers to send you a recording of the lesson.

—

On Tuesday, you’re able to recover a little bit. The only class you have that day is in the afternoon, and you’re thrilled to be able to sleep in for once; not as late as you’d like to, but waking at ten was still better than waking at seven.

You run into Viktor after your class, and the two of you end up grabbing coffee while he’s on his break. You talk for a little while, telling him about the meeting you had coming up on thursday and expressing your worries about everything.

He, as usual, encourages your skill and capability.

But the mood shifts when a couple of your classmates walk into the small cafe, and find seats not far from you. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice them - or if he does, he pays them no mind - and continues telling you about one of the most recent papers he’s read.

You, however, are unable to ignore the dirty looks being shot your way.

—

On Wednesday, you take the first test of the semester. There are seven of them in total - according to the syllabus you’d been given at the start of the course - worth twenty percent of your grade, and not including your final exam. 

Part of you is grateful that most of your grade relies on your ability to absorb information; as opposed to having to write, source, and properly format a multitude of academic papers. Sitting for hours while scouring through books and internet pages wasn’t your favourite way of learning, and more often than not it had you getting sucked down wikipedia rabbit holes that had nothing to do with the subject you were supposed to be researching.

Though you also kind of miss being able to add things to your bank of useless knowledge.

In any case, the test goes well, and you’re pleased with your performance. It had been challenging enough that you really had to think and apply what you’d learned in class, but still straightforward in its wording, and not purposefully convoluted as a means of confusing you.

—

On Thursday, you have your meeting at the studio.

You get lunch with Viktor beforehand, going over the prior days’ test and talking about which concepts you fully understood, and which ones you maybe had a little more difficulty with. He seemed to be fairly confident in your grasp of the course so far, going as far as revealing that you were among the top three students in the class.

“I would not be surprised if you get an invite to one of the winter galas,” Viktor had admitted, much to your surprise.

“I thought those were only for the faculty and university sponsors?”

“Typically, they are,” he’d explained, going on to tell you about the singular event at the end of the year where certain students could be invited to attend and talk about their experiences with the school.

“So it’s basically to get more funding?” you’d asked, and Viktor had nodded with a smile.

You were thankful that he’d been able to take the time to sit with you for a little while before your meeting, his presence temporarily mitigating your ever-present anxiety. You didn’t tell him that, but you weren’t sure you needed to; his hand on your shoulder and a gentle encouragement as you departed suggested he already knew how stressed you were.

Now, you’re waiting in a small lobby. Waiting to be called back into an office to discuss the next five years of your life. You poke idly at your phone, playing some silly, repetitive game that didn’t require any skill or thought, but it had cute cartoon cats in it, so it automatically held your interest.

Kind of.

It keeps you entertained for all of thirty seconds, before your thoughts start wandering. What would it be like to work with an actual studio? Would you have to write your own music, or would you have help? Thus far in your life, you’d gotten on by mostly playing covers - some with lyrics, some not; you’d only ever written a couple pieces, and none of them had words. God, how were you going to do this? You didn’t know how to write! You were a physicist in training, not a songwriter-

You ball your hands into fists, so tightly that your knuckles turn white and your nails bite into your palms, and you force yourself to take a deep breath. Wait a couple seconds, breathe out, says Viktor’s voice, in your mind. Again. That’s it, good girl.

You try not to think about how much the sound of his voice flusters you, instead focusing on the little encouragements and praises he’d give you: kind words, a pat on the shoulder. Maybe even his hand wrapped around yours, thumb smoothing over your skin, like he had done the weekend prior.

Your anxiety eventually recedes, though the fluttering in your chest remains. At least the palpitations aren’t from fear, you think, and slouch back in your chair.

—

Four hours later, you meander through the doorway of your home, dragging your feet and overwhelmed with exhaustion. The toe of your boot catches on the lip of the entrance, causing you to topple forwards. You barely manage to catch yourself on the way down, twisting so most of your weight lands on your knee instead of your face; and you still end up sprawled out on the floor surrounded by loose books, but at least you don’t have a broken nose.

You lay there in the front hallway for a few minutes, unmoving and unmotivated to get up. Even when the cold air starts coming in through the screen door, you remain frozen.

Disappearing into the woods sounded like a really good option.

You know that you’re just being dramatic, and that nothing particularly terrible had happened, but that’s not really the point. The point is that you know you’re going to be stressed in the coming weeks, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You’d gotten through your appointment without much issue - you’d talked through the contract with your new boss, and been honest with him about the fact that you were a full time student. You’d met your mentor, a couple of other people you’d be working with at some point, and gone over what would be expected of you should you sign with the studio.

Everything had been thorough and friendly, and it had been written into your terms that your schedule would be modified to fit your student lifestyle.

In theory, there was no reason to be anxious.

Yet here you were.

On the floor.

Seriously considering running into the woods to become a mushroom.

It would be easier than writing an entire album in six months, you think, finally gaining the willpower to push yourself up into a sitting position. You gather up the books strewn around you, carefully sorting them into little piles before sliding them back into the bags you’d carried them in. 

While the meeting had gone well, and everyone you’d been introduced to had been kind and understanding, you’d still been…criticized, to some extent. Or rather, you’d been told that at least two thirds of your first album needed pieces with lyrics.

“Your instrumentals are fantastic,” your new boss had said, pairing a couple more praises as you went through the CD you’d sent in weeks ago. Then, he skips ahead to one of your more impressive covers. “Your voice, though? That’s a gift not many people have.”

He’d been somewhat disappointed when you’d admitted that you’d never actually written lyrics before, and even moreso when you and your mentor had tried to come up with something on the spot.

It was obvious that they were looking for well-rounded musicians - not necessarily traditionally educated, but with at least some kind of natural talent that could be built upon. And you were certainly what they were looking for in most areas: you just…didn’t have a way with words. You couldn’t take your feelings and turn them into sung poetry.

Which was apparently a detriment only to you.

You’d left the studio with a modified contract - instead of five years, you were cut down to six months. If you could produce a worthwhile album in that amount of time, then the longer deal would be reextended and you’d officially become one of their artists.

And if not?

You didn’t want to think about that.

Your mentor had been kind enough to catch you on the way out of the studio, offering you a list of resources that you could look into to start learning how to write lyrics, as well as a few words of encouragement. You had thanked him, and exchanged numbers in case you had any questions, and he’d disappeared back into the building.

You’d stopped at a couple of bookstores on the way home, picking up as many of the recommended books as you could afford, and…well, now you were on the floor in your front hallway.

One of your cats chirps at your side, pressing up against you and knocking her head on your arm.

“You have no idea what kind of nonsense the world is,” you tell her, trailing your hand over her fur. She - as expected - says nothing, and begins to purr.

—

Your life gets a hell of a lot more hectic after that.

Every moment you’re not studying for class, you’re studying what it takes to write a decent song. Beats and syllables, word shapes and styles that are pleasing to the ear, how to breathe properly, what to avoid; it’s maddening, and not in a good way.

You knew that it would take longer than a week to grasp concepts that were entirely new to you - it had been years since you’d studied a subject that you didn’t already have some base knowledge of - but that didn’t do much to lessen the frustration you feel each time you try to write something, only to scribble it out minutes later because it sounded wrong.

You’d hardly had enough time to keep up with your classes before, but now?

Now you can hardly pay attention.

You’re tired, your sleep schedule is a mess, you’re stressed. Each time you walk into the lecture hall, you feel like the entire room is staring at you with malice, and yet you can’t find the ability to care, because all of your energy is being put towards spongeing up information.

You feel like you’re learning so little about music, that you even start bringing your books to class: you figure you know enough about physics to get by for a couple of days, a fact which proves true when you’re called upon to participate in some discussion taking place around you.

You can tell that Heimerdinger doesn’t quite believe you when you say that you’re ‘just distracted by writing everything down’, but he doesn’t press you on the matter, which you’re grateful for.

Viktor, on the other hand, is less gracious.

He wanders up to your seat once the lecture is finished, and finds a spot beside you. He doesn’t say anything while you pack up your things, but you can feel his gaze boring into you - you worry you’ll find disappointment if you look at him.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, keeping your tone lighthearted. Viktor sighs.

“Are you alright?” he wonders quietly, making guilt well up in your stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, but you know your resolve is slipping: and Viktor’s hand on your shoulder is the last straw.

“You’ve just started a very demanding job, and you’re still in class full-time,” he says, and then taps a finger against the cover of the book you’d been reading out of. “That, and I don’t think poetry is part of the curriculum.”

You cease gathering your things up, and slouch back in defeat. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mumble, “I’m in way over my head. I thought I knew so much about music, but now I- I’m learning entirely new concepts, and I have no idea how to apply them!”

Viktor quietly slides the thin textbook towards himself, glancing over the cover and opening it to take a look at the table of contents.

“I’m sure you didn’t always understand physics, either. Learning takes time, Y/N.”

“I know that,” you cry, “but I don’t have time! I have to make an entire album in six months! Less than that, really, because I’m spending so much time studying and not enough time actually writing, and a good chunk of the time I have is going to be spent recording so the writing needs to be done by then, and-”

A pair of warm hands cupping your jaw draws you out of your anxiety spiral.

“Darling, breathe.”

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks, giving you something to focus on while he helps you monitor your air intake: you’re amazed you don’t start crying, with how tenderly he cares for you.

It takes a couple of minutes, but finally, you sigh.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Viktor’s hands drop from your face, to your shoulders.

“We are going to head to the library, to go over what you missed in class today.”

“But-”

“No buts. We’re going to go over the entire curriculum, and we’re going to see which parts you need to study, and which parts you already understand. Then, we’re going to make a schedule around that.”

You cast your gaze away from him, anxiety beginning to claw its way back into your thoughts. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind, am I?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, with every ounce of warmth and kindness he possesses. “But I could perhaps be convinced to stop for a snack on the way there, should you desire one.”

You perk up slightly. “But the library doesn’t allow food.”

Viktor smiles then, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “We can sit elsewhere while we eat,” he promises. “And maybe you can tell me more about ah…poetry and songwriting, is it? We could work it into your study schedule.”

[court-jobi]

Kissproof

((Banner by me!! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Todoroki x reader (fem!reader)

Words: 3.3k

Rating: G~

Warnings: Behold the FLUFF, soft Todoroki hours, est. relationship, slice of life, light jealousy, getting ready together, assurance, non-sexual intimacy, this is not 'touch her you die'-- this is 'touch her and ill stare at you till you do the right thing'

Summary:

Having grown up around a sister, Shoto Todoroki held no resentment about seeing you mull about hogging the mirror. On the contrary, he’d always found the care and details girls would put into their appearances to be remarkable. To be the one watching and sharing these intimate routines with you is something he treasures-- if only he could always keep you to himself like this… not always possible in a room chock-full of heroes with wandering eyes.

A/N: my first attempt at a todoroki fic? because he's so gentle and deserves everything wonderful?? This feels so different than my recent Bakugou works, and I love the change of pace. Hope yall like it too!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Having grown up around a sister, Shoto Todoroki held no resentment about seeing you mull about hogging the mirror. On the contrary, he’d always found the care and details girls would put into their appearances to be remarkable: a personal touch that adorned what beautiful foundation was already there.

The way the makeup artists would enhance his fellow heroes at press photoshoots should be hailed as art. He didn't see why makeup brushes were marketed any differently than those belonging to a painter. Industry-performing nonsense, he supposed. 

When you finally got a spare moment to yourself in this hotel suite in Kobe getting ready for dinner,  your circle of best girlfriends -brought into your life by his introduction- were deciding on dresses when Todoroki came over through the open conjoining room unnoticed, looking for you.

You’re still robed up post-shower and kept calling out answers to Kirishima and Midoriya on what to wear across the room. Bakugou had even swallowed his pride enough to ask you to get the ‘shitty cufflinks’ on his ‘shitty jacket’ right because his ‘shitty fingers’ couldn’t quite manage it. You’d become something of an invaluable resource by nature- maternal instincts seep from you so easily- but unfortunately have put you in last place in terms of getting ready.

As Todoroki entered your space, you were mid makeup; eyes almost done, but before lips or anything else past your light moisturizer. You caught his eye a bit embarrassed.

"Uh--hey, hon’~" you greet with complete fondness, despite his quiet intrusion.

With a small word of greeting back, he took a mental picture of this serene state of you. Something he can remember when he’s past the point of exhaustion on hour ten of patrol, and needs a lifeline. 

Unphased by the sight of piles of toiletry bags and finishing tools galore, he took a seat along the edge of the high-walled tub, pulling out his phone for a second while you processedwhat he was doing: making himself comfortable.

"Sorry, did you need the- um?"

He looked back up at you, gesturing limply towards the toilet, but he dismisses that suggestion. Certainly wasn't in line or anything for that; only for you. 

"No,” Todoroki dismissed calmly, “ just wondered if they were finally letting you be.”

You appeared pleased at his reasoning, jutting your hair back over your shoulder as he sat there smiling a bit in admiration. Phone’s properly set to silent now; nothing to interrupt the nice lofi streaming from your phone’s tiny speaker.

"I'll be done in a sec, it doesn’t take me too long. Just gotta, y'know- 'doll myself up'. Got a lot of heads to turn here tonight.”

Todoroki glares at you in a silly deadpan. "You're lovely in the company of one as you are in a hundred, but if more makes you happy, do whatever you'd like."

You turned back to the mirror to carry on, in view to catch him looking over at you every now again in the reflection. Your effortless flair for polishing was a thing to witness firsthand. He was hardly bored, watching you; as entertained as can be rather than begging ‘are you done yet’ through tired stares. 

"Guess you're really not one of those ‘no makeup’ guys,” you chime from the vanity. 

"Hm?" Todoroki livens up as you engage with him after a long stretch of silence. 

"Most boys have pretty strong opinions about girls in full face. Like, ‘you really shouldn’t wear so much’. Or on the flip side, like ‘ooooo she's gotta wear red’ or ‘make sure it matches the nails’ or how it takes too long..."

From your poised exterior, Todoroki finds your swirling stream of consciousness a funny contrast when you let him in on your thought process.

With a patient smirk, he merely tilts his head at you, “Did you ask for my opinion?”

You’re torn for a minute- clear that you're worried about offending him and quick to respond,

“--Not that I'd hate it~ but I don't think so, no,” you answer.

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Todoroki answers you comfortably. “It’s your hobby, sweetheart. You should enjoy it for you.”

Your freshly finished eyes crinkle at him, “Just don’t want you bored out of your mind over there, not even having a say.”

"Do you mind my being here?"

Peaceably, you keep his stare. "No, not at all."

"Then don’t worry about what I think. You like doing it, I get the time with you, so you can take as long as you’d like."

Capping the mascara, you double tap your phone to illuminate it, “We’re good on time, right?”

Confident in a companionable sort of way, Todoroki defends that however much time you need, you’ll get. He’d give you the moon if he could.

“Time’s yours. No rush.”

It’s the truth; Todoroki benefits from either state of you– whether it's brushed on or not, he gets the chance to soak in your beauty as you allow him to. The intimacy of these lovely feminine practices is what appeals to him anyway. It could be watching you dole out your extensive skincare or something as simple as handing you your prized chapstick when it’s cold; Todoroki just loves watching you tend to yourself– and letting him in on the secrets.

He allowed his head to rest on the wall as he watched you put highlighter and a deep lip color on that complemented your dress of choice. Then as you brought some hair up to see the whole finished look, it’s only at this stage that he piped up again.

"What color is your dress?"

You turned a bit to the open entryway closet, where your roommates all sufficiently moved in and prepped for the weekend’s events. A mix of hero garb and formalwear lined the maxxed out closet.

"It's that black sleeveless one in there, if you don’t mind grabbing it?" 

As you were now in the middle of putting on an earring, Todoroki passed behind you to do just that. 

He came back with the hotel’s branded hangar, and you pulled it up to pet the fabric in appreciation.

"I like it cuz it’s super soft on the inside. No pockets though," you made a teasing whisper mocking where the inert should be. Todoroki rolled his eyes playfully.

"You women and your pockets."

"They're all designed by men who don't understand! You know that, right?"

"Are you going to keep complaining, or put it on?"

You turned with a little sway, "Ahhh, now I see why I have an audience..."

Todoroki suddenly found an ounce of shame and shy, contrasting eyes, and he stamped on an apology to not appear so hungry, "U-um, sorry. I'll uh–,"

You dismissed his gentlemanly move to exit– and tugged him forward instead. You leaned in close to his ear, 

"I'll be right out. Don't go far– I’ll need you."

Not a minute later, you met the room with half the girls fiddling over Iida’s suit and half over Midoriya’s finishing touches when Mina squealed your return:

"OH YES, BABE! This is IT!!"

Eyes all shot to you in your final reveal. You gave the little model leg stance under the attention, highlighting the leg slit and jeweled accent down the leg. The move made poor ‘Deku’ choke at the sight, and Kirishima froze all coherent thought for a split second (as he did for just about all his friends). 

Todoroki turned around from his view by the window to meet your expectant eye. Despite having seen every bit of your outfit come together, he completed a full check out on you and didn't hide his smirk well.

"Oh my God, Todoroki, you’re ogling– quit that!!" Hagakure chided.

"Not until she quits that."

His admiration of you held no shame whatsoever– which you accepted a long time ago.

"I'll -erm- just say you look great, chief! Not anything else, man!!" Kirishima was quick to appease Todoroki’s acute glare at the enthusiasm for you, his coworker. Kirishima would ordinarily argue you were his work wife, but not in front of ‘Icyhot’.

"Thanks hunny," You smiled innocently enough,but ultimately joined Todoroki’s warm side.

He outstretched an arm out to pull you in, only to notice you twirl around to him to show where you did need his help after all. Pinned down by your precariously positioned hand behind your back, Todoroki could now see you needed zipped up.

A caring touch was needed, and his heart softened unfairly with the insinuation that you wanted his touch to be the one to do it. By your expectant look over your shoulder, it’s sweetly implied that you’d never consider anyone else for the job.

Once done, your turning back around allowed you the space to straighten out his lapel more affectionately– he didn’t see what about this was particularly endearing, but your pampering gesture brings a swoon from all the women in the room.

Todoroki zoned out for a moment– holding close the feeling that he never wanted to be at an event where you weren't by his side like this. His hands settle appropriately to your waist in a comfortable hug while you admire his suit with surprise.

"This cut is really nice on you. You need to remember this one for the agency dinner next month!"

He tips his head down a bit at the compliment but turned it around to you quickly, 

"I could say the same for you; but I have the feeling anything you choose would have the same effect as this. You sure wear the dress, not the other way around."

"Flatterer."

A warmhanded brush of fingers to your neck, just as you like it,

"Gorgeous."

"Oh GOD,” Bakugou revolts, “don't make me PUKE, ICYHOT!!"

That night, each step you took had Todoroki seeking you out- the clack of your heel piquing his attention. 

His magnetic attraction fell gently over you tonight as always… though your reaction to his sights on you would drag him near the rest of the way: a fierceness he adored about you. How you protected the bond you shared -displaying your love loudly- was an appreciated sign of commitment, whether it took the form of a hand in his, your body pressed close into his side, or through a whispered word meant only for his ears.

One point in the night after supper, Todoroki parted from you briefly. Not far, but you’d strayed off with a few mutual friends engrossed in your own conversation, the social butterfly you were that outshone his more withdrawn personality. The assembly brought some pro-heroes from several districts together and acted as both networking and reunion for those separated by vocation.

You're catching up with an old friend of yours who Todoroki can almost name– if not for the itch of irritation clouding his long term memory. 

There were many whom you’d shared stories of from your past, though the man before you carried a classically flirty energy Todoroki felt he should recall. He’s half listening to Kirishima’s recent advances to the old flame the redhead was tending to– in favor of monitoring the situation involving his own. 

Fortunately, his powers of observation suit him well even in instances like this, where Todoroki can sense from your neck’s tilt alone that you’re locked in conversation, but don’t perceive a threat in your eyes. 

–But unfortunately, it did little to settle his own reservations. Firm reservations. The man had you twirl a bit in an old 1940s style show over your outfit, which only sent poor Todoroki into alert mode. 

He held his glass a bit tighter and tried to not stare bullets into the brunette, yet failed. 

Kirishima’s brief little nudge righted Todoroki’s damning sights on your present company. The unspoken word he held with a raised brow gave Todoroki a fair amount of encouragement, and a check on his palpable jealousy.

“Y’know,” Kirishima took in the sights of the exquisite lighting above their heads, “For a guy who’s got the most temperamental quirk I’ve seen, you’ve got a pretty funny way of showing when you’re unnerved.”

Todoroki bit his tongue from spouting something harsh back, “What do you mean.”

“Normally when folks get hot over something, you can see steam comin’ out their ears, Tom & Jerry style~” Kirishima chuffed. “You on the other hand– take an icy approach.”

Looking down for once, Todoroki noted he now held a frosted glass– more than his crafted cocktail iceblock should do. 

“But hey, keeps your drink from getting watered down, eh? Wish I could have that sort of tell!”

Kept in check by ‘Riot’s playful sense of security, Todoroki calmed his own flare of green. 

It certainly wasn’t his best quality; there was still plenty in his nature that he’s been actively trying to overwrite. His owning of his emotions is work he implements in everyday risk and battle. Though in his efforts to not let those same extreme emotions tear his fledgling little family apart (the one he shares with you), Todoroki tends to take a polarizing approach to his role as a supportive partner than the one his father modeled for him:

Where his old man viewed his wife as subservient and held strict boundaries within their dynamic, the tie he held to you was a treasured partnership. An act of give and take, but one he chose to adore and never take for granted– not for an instant. He was simply protective– at least he was trying to be, in the most even-tempered way.

It was a tender thing he was gifted, in a surprising turn of fate he believed he may never have found for himself… but one thing Todoroki swears to is that coming into your favor was a balm for him. Something steady, something breathing, a lifeline that enriched everything it touched, including his view on the very world itself.

Not just because you were the woman he fully intended to marry someday: but that you were a light he wanted to keep warm and safe and never let anything threaten that shine.

Just relying on the constancy that the very thought of you brings to mind eases Todoroki’s spirit, and he can now react to Kirishima’s asides about Bakugou and Midoriya’s current rivaling ‘dance’ around the dessert table with a lighter heart.

After ignoring where his mind had fallen away to for a moment, a touch brought his attention back to you, who was leading said peacock over. You got real close into Todoroki’s space, a hint he grappled onto immediately as you lowered your tone of voice… purposefully, to make the point clear,

"Hey sweetheart, I brought a old friend over I'd like you to meet!” 

You touched along his chest for security, but it’s a sincere move that would assure even a perfect stranger what the nature of your relationship is. 

“After all,” -casual as you sound, you’re fixed on Todoroki alone- “I wanted everyone here in my circle to know who the next top hero in Japan is... so they can say they knew him when~"

Todoroki looked from you back to the brunette, who seemed a bit taken aback at your crystal clear relationship status now. And boy, did Shoto want nothing more than to play into that. 

But in his perfect, practiced graces, Todoroki met your friend’s gaze with a hand reeling you in close by the waist.

Ordinarily he’d bow or at the very least extend a hand to shake– but pocketing his other hand instead felt like the more appropriate move. A confident stance, assured by your presence once again rubbing at his back unseen.

"How sweet of you, darling. Shoto Todoroki, a pleasure."

Pleasantries are shared, and you never budge once from his hold even to switch weight from one foot to the other. Todoroki feels every bit the power couple, with you by his side.

Once your company did leave after brief chatter again (primarily led by you) did you almost chortle into Todoroki’s neck,

"Oh my God, Sho~ you are steaming."

Todoroki keeps a calm exterior, but hints at his earlier irritation playfully enough in a crowd full of people, "Why was he touching you."

"He's from the islands down south, super big dance culture. Plenty of those dance nights at the student union were headed up by him alone, back in the day….”

But you didn't want to excuse your man's feelings as you caught his eyes,

“Though as it seemed he was willing to pick up some things where he feels we left off, I had to see him straight,” you ran relaxed fingers down his coat’s opening. “Figured I'd let you have a bit of fun, and I'm very glad you behaved."

Todoroki moved you into the music that began queueing up at the moment, so it seemed more like a dance.

"I think I'm having second thoughts about the dress now,” he murmurs with a crafty eye to you. Not aimed to be mean, because there’s plenty of love in his look to spare, “I'm not so sure it sends the right message."

Centering to the front of him, you relished in Todoroki’s duality of design. "Oh?"

"He was drooling over you," He sounded firm.

"And you're not?" You teased by his ear. That comment pressed you closer to him. Maybe a touch possessive, but still giving you plenty of space to settle and push back if you wished. 

Your voice dripped of its soft nature you reserved for him- genuine, and not the customer-service persona you gave off when in control…

"This dress was for me and you, y’know. No one else. See how it matches?” you trace along the inner lining of the jacket, fingers dipping inside where the warmth is captured. 

You draw a special kanji over his heart, a blend of your initials hidden by his coat~

“I’d have my mark on you too, if it wouldn’t look so obvious. Just you, my prince."

Todoroki smiled a bit towards your shoulder, appeased for the moment, catching your eyes again, "I'd like to kiss you for that. But I know how much you worked on all this."

You smirked. Without a word, you smudged a finger to your lips  brusquely, and showed no color at all left behind on the finger. 

"Girl magic: kiss-proof."

Todoroki’s eyes lit for a second before he grinned again. This time, he caught the gaze of another couple standing off to the wall who seemed to be noticing you two, and he very purposefully decided on giving a show, no matter who sees. He’s insanely proud of you, after all, so he could risk a little expression tonight. 

He caressed your neck gently and brought you into a close, full kiss that you chuckled lowly into. He looked blissed and a touch smug on standing back.

"Better, hon’?"

"Better," He smoothed a hand up your back until he took your hand to stay in his arm, "although I think I'll stick a little closer to you tonight, all the same."

"No complaints here," You took a walk through here and there, and managed to claim a view by the tall windows overlooking the nightlife below. "--especially with you trying out a new pet name back there..."

"You liked that, huh?" Todoroki came to stand behind you, and you leaned back into his hug.

You tugged his arms around to where they caressed your sides and swayed a bit comfortably.

He smiled and chuckled into your back, pressing a little kiss onto your forehead offered to him.

Shoto stands with you as you're looking far out into the city, but all he cares about is the window's reflection on you:

Not a paint stroke out of place, even after his kiss. A portrait the room should very well be envious of, but that he’s fully secure is all for him.

"Darling it is."

[glassica-writes]

Bad Ending

Notes: M!yan sidekick x Gn!reader hero, betrayal, drugging, confinement, mild noncon touching & kissing

That's it. No more of this revenge nonsense, you'll have to come with him regardless.

You noticed from the start, those intense feelings he harbored towards you were anything but mere adoration for a friend. Didn't settle with just being one of your companions, the man was convinced, or rather adamant, that he was the rightful partner you couldn’t live without, and my God did he was determined to prove it at all cost! His investigative skills were instrumental to track down the culprits behind the ruin of your family. The team never had to worry about getting stranded throughout the journey, all thanks to his incredible network introducing you to helpful locals and navigate through cities and underground system. Espionage? Fear not, years of working in palaces taught him enough etiquette of nobles to pass off as one, successfully infiltrated into the enemies’ inner circles.

The man worked, worked, and worked to the bone, hoping that one day you’d recognize how irreplaceable he was to you, accepting his fervent affections at last. He would softly put his lips on your palm, like any gentleman supposed to, congratulating your long-awaited victory over the sunset. The two of you then would enjoy the rest of life together in a countryside, just like how any love story closing with the leads happily ever after.

Pure wistful thinking. Your heart was too consumed in the pit bottom of despair and thirst for vengeance to allow such tenderness a chance blossoming. He thought love could be the thing to regain the happiness and peace back to you, and soon enough learned the bitter truth: his darling needed none of it. You didn’t ask for salvation from a white knight, rather longed for the cruel destruction of one’s own after karma finally bestowed upon your nemesis. Judging by the countless lives unjustly taken under your vindictive blade, this should be a beffiting conclusion for a vengeful hero.

…As if he would’ve allowed it.

Cocky smirk spread across the face as he was looking down on the helpless figure of his beloved. What a sight to behold! You looked delightful laying there on bed, immobilized from that suspicious drink earlier. Eyes hollowed and soulless, you’d given up resisting those touchy fingers caressing every bit of your body (not like you were able to move anyway). Smooches raining on wherever he had his hands, just served to pile up on the sickening emotions making waves inside your heart. Disgusted. Betrayed. In no possible scenarios could you ever predict that it was him, the right-hand man, your first ever teammate, your most trusted ally, would be the one bringing your downfall. Perhaps times spent within the enemies’ quarters had rubbed him off the wrong way, you should’ve never let him penetrate into that rotten den in the first place!

“No sweetie, you get the wrong idea,” he chuckled haughtily, aware of what was going on in your head, “I did not choose those imbeciles over you my love. No one will ever come close to you, that alone I can promise.”

“I’m so tired of waiting. How more are you gonna string me along darling? Is my heart not worth even a second for you to consider? Or are you only keep me around until I’ve offered up all my services, next throw me aside like a useless toy? Why is it so hard to say you love me back?!”

With each questions he grew angrier and more unstable. Pupils tinged a ray of pitch black seemingly like abyss threaten to swallow you whole. To hell with the plan, he couldn’t give a damn about your wish to avenge beloved family. They were no longer alive either way, but his feelings were. They were real, burning the mind of a lovesick man, tormenting him days and nights with frightful ideas of you drifting further away, to somewhere his arms couldn’t reach out. “This madness have to stop,” was what he murmured on the way to inform the villains about a surprise attack from your team that night.

And so, this is the ending of a tragic hero, a disappointing one at that: No justice to clear the name of your household. No noble death to atone for your sins. Forever caged in a twisted love game of one’s very own traitor.

[foxish-draws]

Started sketching a bunch of Baldur's Gate bullshit for the joys, then rode it out till I ended up with a decent sized pile. Committed to finishing them out w/ color & such even if they were just quick, silly nonsense. So behold, my character having Situations™:

Astarion early romance moment b/c I specifically wanted to draw her reaction to him pulling out the "I love yous" when Sir, We Both Know You Don't Mean That.

& bonus Astarion b/c I like the idea that she could recognize he was insincere at first (that street urchin intuition) & 100% was annoyed when he was bein a lil bitch – but damnit, he's pretty AND funny, so she indulges anyway. And Astarion is just being fussy because "endearing" just doesn't sound as cool as "alluring."

Anyway, that's Rania, she is committed to the cause, but god is she tired.

[fortjester]

More for the fanfic ask game: 18 and 29. If you can :)

writing asks

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

“Not all of our propaganda is fear mongering,” the Lyctor objects mildly. “Some of it’s racy pornography.”

OR

“Darling, I didn't recruit you so you could get distracted by a moral quandary on the clock,” she replies, chuckling a little.

(both are from ch3 of my bre fic "train up a swordsman / to stab you in the back")

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic.

hmm. okay how abt an excerpt from the long-abandoned 700 word wip of mine which i entitled "harrow the forever widow" (aka harrow takes john's word and absorbs gideon's soul fully in htn au)? lots of poetic angst and not much else, which is why it never went anywhere, but i'm still quite fond of it.

"She needs death energy to do what it is she was conceived to do, without death energy she’s a powerless nonsensical worthless wretch, and she cannot be any of those things, not after the price that was paid for her to live at all. It makes rather a lot of sense to be the only one left standing, time and time again. It makes rather too much sense to only love with death looming, death cresting, death shrouding that which she loves. Add another skeleton to the pile in her walk-in closet, surely there’s still some room left; go on, add one last log to the fire, a final straw to her back. Cast one more shadow on the cave wall for her to mistake for reality and stupidly reach for.

It’s not at all what Gideon wanted — Gideon wanted freedom and respect and kindness, things that Harrow could never ever give her. It’s not what Harrow wants, either — Gideon, as unwilling and crass as she was, was all Harrow had left. And yet. Gideon, selfish, brave, stubborn Gideon, the lamb to the slaughter. And yet; Harrow asking for safe passage, assuring compassion and reward. Harrow; pulling the knife and dooming them both. Harrow; holding the stone. Harrow; pivoting on her heel, performing the damning action of turning around and – oh, now she’s gone and done it – looking – yes, now she’s damned them both – beholding. Gideon, submitting. Gideon drowning; Gideon being beheld; Gideon, dying at Harrow’s hand. Here she is. Here she must always be. Here is the repeated image of the lover, destroyed.

How wretched to entertain the idea of the lover. Who was Gideon, really, but a victim of circumstance? Who was Gideon, but a worthy sacrifice, a reasonable charge for admission? Here is Gideon, come and look, tonight she plays the stung toad, the bared neck, the martyr. Here is the flesh, here is communion, open your mouth, it is holy, after all, it is holy and expected. (How Harrow has always hated to eat, hated how all things must end with consummation, a grizzly bow with which to wrap up proceedings. How she has swallowed every iron-sharp bite, no matter how rough or bitter, since infancy.)"

[greekmythcomix]

Me vs the bookmark alignment chart:

Lawful Good:

For a start, if books all came with ribbons, we’d be using ribbons. Ribbons create lawful good. They’re a form of free will removal. Thus, I’d argue that ribbons are evil.

If I ever publish a book I am going to lobby for there to be ribbons in the hardback version (because you just can’t get them in paperback). Not because I want everyone to be lawful good, but because ribbons are elegant. And practical. Evil geniuses would have books with ribbons.

But hardbacks themselves are impractical. One day I shall write a treatise about the death of morality being caused by the fall in popularity of the hardback book.

Neutral Good:

I have never met anyone who uses a sentence pointer. I have never even seen a sentence pointer. And I used to be an English teacher. If you seek out one of these I would argue that you are not neutral about it. You are passionately engaged.

Chaotic Good:

This seem accurate. Most people are chaotic these days. Who has time to be so organised you remember to bring your bookmark with you in case you find a book you like? Scraps and ephemera from your life being recycled in this way is certainly good, definitely chaotic. Deeply personal.

I used to be like this but then I stopped going out and started shopping online and now my child steals my receipts, which are always from the library, to draw on. Insert pithy quote about the downfall of society here.

Lawful Neutral:

Having some books as only ebooks is totally fine, though personally it does incur in me a panic that I have not held said book physically in my hands or have it physically manifested on a shelf for me to look at. That said, my E-reader is on a bookshelf, like a proper book.

I’m not neutral about this.

True Neutral:

A proper bookmark. Good grief.

I have tried this. When I was younger, I had a collection of beautiful bookmarks, some practical, some completely impractical, covered in beads and nonsense like they were designed by people who had never seen how a book works.

To own bookmarks is to be a slave to bookmarks.

I occasionally find my old bookmarks when emptying boxes I haven’t opened since a house move, or in a shelved book I can’t remember reading. I would love to be a ‘bookmark person’ but I think you need to actually be a bit of a psychopath to make it work.

Chaotic Neutral:

Listen, this is just the outdoorsy version of Chaotic Good. It’s whatever you have to hand, and if that’s a leaf then I envy you. These people are living the dream.

Lawful Evil:

I’ve started doing this. I can tell you right now that, as a person with Dyscalculia, this is the most actively Chaotic thing I’ve ever chosen to do. If Evil is choosing to do something that hurts another, then I am being evil, to myself.

Neutral Evil:

This is my default. My desk is awash with books open, pages down, spines cracked, piled on top of eachother like they’re trying to keep warm.

Chaotic Evil:

Behold. This is where I occasionally end up, if I don’t have a desk to lay my book face-down on, or the page number is even (because I won’t remember it), or I have to put the book in a bag for some reason (the reason being I always have to put a book in my bag.)

Like writing in a book in pen, I understand that this is only as a last resort. Chaos indeed. But, I’ll always do it lightly and unbend it again later, so it’s as if it never happened. Isn’t that Good?

I’ve gone from True Neutral to Chaotic Good to Chaotic Evil. Or, Bookseller, English Teacher, Classics Teacher. An origin story, in Bookmarks.

Finally, there needs to be a new addition, because I need to know where this one goes:

[team-heavenly]

Chapter 26 - Part 3

You know the drill by now. Part one is here, part two is here...

Yeah, so uhhh, fun fact! In all my years of playing this game, I never once tried to leave Aegis Cave apparently, because this genuinely surprised me. THERE'S AN INVISIBLE WALL. YOU CAN'T LEAVE. YOU CAN ONLY FINISH THE STORY LINE, FAINT, OR USE AN ESCAPE ORB.

And this kinda upset me because, y'know, for the first time this entire damn run, I finally had a pile of Orans and Apples and other basic things, and I wanted to drop them off in storage to make room for more.

The good news: I did in fact pick up an Escape Orb, so we said SEE YUH!

While we were back in town, I fed a Wonder Gummi to Celebi via Rotom's juicebar, and we got two surprises packed into one!

WUH- OKAY THEN.

And now, some moments that nearly gave me a freaking heart attack.

Damage runs deep </3 Hell of a line.

Also, moments that nearly make your eyeballs fall out of your head until you remember your Garchomp has Huge Power.

Speaking of, here is a non-inclusive list of the moves and abilities I remember seeing from the Unown (either in dungeon or from recruits):

Moves:

Ice Ball

Faint Attack

Thrash

Hyper Beam

Luster Purge

Lunar Dance

Gunk Shot

Dark Pulse

Extrasensory

Hammer Arm

Spit Up

Flash Cannon

Abilities:

Sturdy

Illuminate

Truant

Aftermath

Natural Cure

Serene Grace

Bad Dreams

Drizzle

Cloud Nine

Snow Warning

Heatproof

Filter

A true grab bag, which was honestly kind of fun when it wasn't trying to kill us.

Anyway, we only had to go through three times before getting all the stones we needed and then some! IYKYK.

When we return to the waypoint, we do a funky little dance just kidding, we only close our eyes.

So, here I am, entering the Nonsensical Expanse, getting pumped we get to find out who the first of the three Regis are, right?

But then I have something so unexpected happen that my 3DS nearly falls from my hands.

Wh-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT ISN'T HERE?!?!?!

No, but I was legitimately upset over this. I consulted my friend @exploring-the-sky to see if love knew anything about it.

Well, this is what happens when you use a build from nearly two years ago, I guess.

At every portion of Aegis Cave, I left at least once and came back, and it was always the same. There was no one to fight. So now we'll never know who Regice is! That beautiful guidepost I put together to translate every character and place from their canon counterparts? You know, my actual pride and joy? I literally CAN'T put anything down for Regice now except ??? or ERROR 404.

THANKS A LOT, GAME!!! >:l

Or just replace it with any Pokémon you want, I don't make the rules here.

Next stop: Neat Creek.

We already have C and K so this shouldn't be too painful... I hope.

Nevertheless, when we inevitably come back around, we find what looks like a letter...

Wait, did y'all actually run into a boss? DID Y'ALL ACTUALLY FIGHT A BOSS?? PLEASE, TEAM CHARM, I'M BEGGING YOU-

Ugh, well. Guess we're about to find out, anyhow. We enter the Colossal Rift and hold our breaths...

OH THANK ARCEUS, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM TO SEE YOU!!

...Words said before disaster, Part 21,894-

Despite our one-two punch of Meteor Mash and Powder Snow on Celebi, Rhyhorn wouldn't go down easy. In fact, he got off some Dragon Dances , which made me kinda nervous! And Seed Flare missed, like, 4 times in a row?? Then I REALLY started to panic when he used Mirror Move! But in the end, we persevered.

Ohhhh, I see... so, Not Regice just granted us the guardian's permission pre-emptively and went "lol bye losers, I'm out"? That's the explanation I'm going with, anyway :P

When we approach the Nonsensical Trench, there seems to be no sign of Team Charm...

We picked up two E stones in the last segment of the dungeon, so all we're missing is S, T, and L.

Why, hello there! This one even gave us a stone right away :)

It turns out Unown S and T also spawn on this very first floor! I stuck it out as long as I could and, lo and behold, we didn't have to go through more than once! \o/

Okay, now you gotta do the ritual thing to move on to Part 4.

[digitalta]

Update on Eye-Brain-Fuckery (March 5th)

I have Trigeminal neuralgia, it’s the nonsense best fit diagnosis my doctors and I have settled on since original symptoms happened in 2020 or so. Essentially, left side of my face hurt, ear go ringggggg and sometimes I get a little wobbly. New flairs now extend into my eye socket, with visual disturbances (colour flashes) and some peripheral vision issues.

Sunday while at work (I work at a hospital) I had a flair around noon where face hurt extra. Then apparently over a course of an hour I got a little more grouchy and my coworkers (nurses) got Very Alarmed until they informed me my eyes were very incorrect. I checked and lo and behold, anisocoria. This normally is due to pressure in the brain, like from stroke, brain injury, brain bleed, ecetera. I’ve had this happen before but normally only for a few hours. 6 hours later I talk with some nurses who are very alarmed it hasn’t ended yet. After 8 hours I head into my hospital’s emergency room because best case: at least I have a documented flair, worst case: huh maybe there is a brain bleed this time

So, I’m there for HOURS, bored AF. I get a CT scan and it comes back clear. My Ocular nerve IS intact and working, but my pupil is having absolutely no reaction. With this normally there is some sort of movement in your eye- but with mine it was completely absent. So I’m there for hours, and doctors send me home Bc they can’t find anything wrong

I go to my neurologist the next day after about 24 hours of this because my eye is still not reacting. My neurologist instantly sends me to a different hospital emergency room, this hospital specializing in neurological injury, surgery, and rehab. I get there, and am checked out after now like, 30 hours of this nonsense. I get ANOTHER scan. Eye still not responding.

Although? For an unknown reason my iris IS somehow recovering and my pupil is shrinking. No response. Scans come back perfectly clear, they cannot find anything wrong with me. They send all the medical students to my room to check out my funky eye.

So I wake up today (Tuesday) and my eye is still funky. It’s starting to barely react to light, but it’s going down. No idea what is happening to me.

All of this being said, the left side of my face has been in what I call a “flair” of my Trigeminal neuralgia. It feels like I’ve gotten stabbed at multiple individual spots on my face, with my ear either crackling oddly before very loud tinnitus or sudden vertigo. It happen, but this is without any doubt the longest it’s lasted.

It is currently 7:30pm Tuesday so approximately 54 hours after onset, and still having pain and problems. I love being “so quirky” (last pic I took on tumblr camera which apparently flips you huh fun fact)

UPDATE: it is now March 22, face hurt syndrome still hurt. Eye is back to normal. More medications have been piled on me and by god it is insane. Here is hoping more testing will figure this shit out.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Agatha Christie

Chapter 23-24

CHAPTER XXIII

POIROT’S LITTLE REUNION

“And now,” said Caroline, rising, “that child is coming upstairs to lie down. Don’t you worry, my dear. M. Poirot will do everything he can for you—be sure of that.”

“I ought to go back to Fernly,” said Ursula uncertainly.

But Caroline silenced her protests with a firm hand.

“Nonsense. You’re in my hands for the time being. You’ll stay here for the present, anyway—eh, M. Poirot?”

“It will be the best plan,” agreed the little Belgian. “This evening I shall want mademoiselle—I beg her pardon, madame—to attend my little reunion. Nine o’clock at my house. It is most necessary that she should be there.”

Caroline nodded, and went with Ursula out of the room. The door shut behind them. Poirot dropped down into a chair again.

“So far, so good,” he said. “Things are straightening themselves out.”

“They’re getting to look blacker and blacker against Ralph Paton,” I observed gloomily.

Poirot nodded.

“Yes, that is so. But it was to be expected, was it not?”

I looked at him, slightly puzzled by the remark. He was leaning back in the chair, his eyes half closed, the tips of his fingers just touching each other. Suddenly he sighed and shook his head.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is that there are moments when a great longing for my friend Hastings comes over me. That is the friend of whom I spoke to you—the one who resides now in the Argentine. Always, when I have had a big case, he has been by my side. And he has helped me—yes, often he has helped me. For he had a knack, that one, of stumbling over the truth unawares—without noticing it himself, bien entendu. At times he has said something particularly foolish, and behold that foolish remark has revealed the truth to me! And then, too, it was his practice to keep a written record of the cases that proved interesting.”

I gave a slight embarrassed cough.

“As far as that goes,” I began, and then stopped.

Poirot sat upright in his chair. His eyes sparkled.

“But yes? What is it that you would say?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I’ve read some of Captain Hastings’s narratives, and I thought, why not try my hand at something of the same kind? Seemed a pity not to—unique opportunity—probably the only time I’ll be mixed up with anything of this kind.”

I felt myself getting hotter and hotter, and more and more incoherent, as I floundered through the above speech.

Poirot sprang from his chair. I had a moment’s terror that he was going to embrace me French fashion, but mercifully he refrained.

“But this is magnificent—you have then written down your impressions of the case as you went along?”

I nodded.

“Epatant!” cried Poirot. “Let me see them—this instant.”

I was not quite prepared for such a sudden demand. I racked my brains to remember certain details.

“I hope you won’t mind,” I stammered. “I may have been a little—er—personal now and then.”

“Oh! I comprehend perfectly; you have referred to me as comic��as, perhaps, ridiculous now and then? It matters not at all. Hastings, he also was not always polite. Me, I have the mind above such trivialities.”

Still somewhat doubtful, I rummaged in the drawers of my desk and produced an untidy pile of manuscript which I handed over to him. With an eye on possible publication in the future, I had divided the work into chapters, and the night before I had brought it up to date with an account of Miss Russell’s visit. Poirot had therefore twenty chapters.

I left him with them.

I was obliged to go out to a case at some distance away, and it was past eight o’clock when I got back, to be greeted with a plate of hot dinner on a tray, and the announcement that Poirot and my sister had supped together at half-past seven, and that the former had then gone to my workshop to finish his reading of the manuscript.

“I hope, James,” said my sister, “that you’ve been careful in what you say about me in it?”

My jaw dropped. I had not been careful at all.

“Not that it matters very much,” said Caroline, reading my expression correctly. “M. Poirot will know what to think. He understands me much better than you do.”

I went into the workshop. Poirot was sitting by the window. The manuscript lay neatly piled on a chair beside him. He laid his hand on it and spoke.

“Eh bien,” he said, “I congratulate you—on your modesty!”

“Oh!” I said, rather taken aback.

“And on your reticence,” he added.

I said “Oh!” again.

“Not so did Hastings write,” continued my friend. “On every page, many, many times was the word ‘I.’ What he thought—what he did. But you—you have kept your personality in the background; only once or twice does it obtrude—in scenes of home life, shall we say?”

I blushed a little before the twinkle in his eye.

“What do you really think of the stuff?” I asked nervously.

“You want my candid opinion?”

“Yes.”

Poirot laid his jesting manner aside.

“A very meticulous and accurate account,” he said kindly. “You have recorded all the facts faithfully and exactly—though you have shown yourself becomingly reticent as to your own share in them.”

“And it has helped you?”

“Yes. I may say that it has helped me considerably. Come, we must go over to my house and set the stage for my little performance.”

Caroline was in the hall. I think she hoped that she might be invited to accompany us. Poirot dealt with the situation tactfully.

“I should much like to have had you present, mademoiselle,” he said regretfully, “but at this juncture it would not be wise. See you, all these people to-night are suspects. Amongst them, I shall find the person who killed Mr. Ackroyd.”

“You really believe that?” I said incredulously.

“I see that you do not,” said Poirot dryly. “Not yet do you appreciate Hercule Poirot at his true worth.”

At that minute Ursula came down the staircase.

“You are ready, my child?” said Poirot. “That is good. We will go to my house together. Mademoiselle Caroline, believe me, I do everything possible to render you service. Good-evening.”

We went out, leaving Caroline, rather like a dog who has been refused a walk, standing on the front door step gazing after us.

The sitting-room at The Larches had been got ready. On the table were various sirops and glasses. Also a plate of biscuits. Several chairs had been brought in from the other room.

Poirot ran to and fro rearranging things. Pulling out a chair here, altering the position of a lamp there, occasionally stooping to straighten one of the mats that covered the floor. He was specially fussy over the lighting. The lamps were arranged in such a way as to throw a clear light on the side of the room where the chairs were grouped, at the same time leaving the other end of the room, where I presumed Poirot himself would sit, in a dim twilight.

Ursula and I watched him. Presently a bell was heard.

“They arrive,” said Poirot. “Good, all is in readiness.”

The door opened and the party from Fernly filed in. Poirot went forward and greeted Mrs. Ackroyd and Flora.

“It is most good of you to come,” he said. “And Major Blunt and Mr. Raymond.”

The secretary was debonair as ever.

“What’s the great idea?” he said, laughing. “Some scientific machine? Do we have bands round our wrists which register guilty heart-beats? There is such an invention, isn’t there?”

“I have read of it, yes,” admitted Poirot. “But me, I am old-fashioned. I use the old methods. I work only with the little gray cells. Now let us begin—but first I have an announcement to make to you all.”

He took Ursula’s hand and drew her forward.

“This lady is Mrs. Ralph Paton. She was married to Captain Paton last March.”

A little shriek burst from Mrs. Ackroyd.

“Ralph! Married! Last March! Oh! but it’s absurd. How could he be?”

She stared at Ursula as though she had never seen her before.

“Married to Bourne?” she said. “Really, M. Poirot, I don’t believe you.”

Ursula flushed and began to speak, but Flora forestalled her.

Going quickly to the other girl’s side, she passed her hand through her arm.

“You must not mind our being surprised,” she said. “You see, we had no idea of such a thing. You and Ralph have kept your secret very well. I am—very glad about it.”

“You are very kind, Miss Ackroyd,” said Ursula in a low voice, “and you have every right to be exceedingly angry. Ralph behaved very badly—especially to you.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” said Flora, giving her arm a consoling little pat. “Ralph was in a corner and took the only way out. I should probably have done the same in his place. I do think he might have trusted me with the secret, though. I wouldn’t have let him down.”

Poirot rapped gently on a table and cleared his throat significantly.

“The board meeting’s going to begin,” said Flora. “M. Poirot hints that we mustn’t talk. But just tell me one thing. Where is Ralph? You must know if any one does.”

“But I don’t,” cried Ursula, almost in a wail. “That’s just it, I don’t.”

“Isn’t he detained at Liverpool?” asked Raymond. “It said so in the paper.”

“He is not at Liverpool,” said Poirot shortly.

“In fact,” I remarked, “no one knows where he is.”

“Excepting Hercule Poirot, eh?” said Raymond.

Poirot replied seriously to the other’s banter.

“Me, I know everything. Remember that.”

Geoffrey Raymond lifted his eyebrows.

“Everything?” He whistled. “Whew! that’s a tall order.”

“Do you mean to say you can really guess where Ralph Paton is hiding?” I asked incredulously.

“You call it guessing. I call it knowing, my friend.”

“In Cranchester?” I hazarded.

“No,” replied Poirot gravely, “not in Cranchester.”

He said no more, but at a gesture from him the assembled party took their seats. As they did so, the door opened once more and two other people came in and sat down near the door. They were Parker and the housekeeper.

“The number is complete,” said Poirot. “Every one is here.”

There was a ring of satisfaction in his tone. And with the sound of it I saw a ripple of something like uneasiness pass over all those faces grouped at the other end of the room. There was a suggestion in all this as of a trap—a trap that had closed.

Poirot read from a list in an important manner.

“Mrs. Ackroyd, Miss Flora Ackroyd, Major Blunt, Mr. Geoffrey Raymond, Mrs. Ralph Paton, John Parker, Elizabeth Russell.”

He laid the paper down on the table.

“What’s the meaning of all this?” began Raymond.

“The list I have just read,” said Poirot, “is a list of suspected persons. Every one of you present had the opportunity to kill Mr. Ackroyd——”

With a cry Mrs. Ackroyd sprang up, her throat working.

“I don’t like it,” she wailed. “I don’t like it. I would much prefer to go home.”

“You cannot go home, madame,” said Poirot sternly, “until you have heard what I have to say.”

He paused a moment, then cleared his throat.

“I will start at the beginning. When Miss Ackroyd asked me to investigate the case, I went up to Fernly Park with the good Dr. Sheppard. I walked with him along the terrace, where I was shown the footprints on the window-sill. From there Inspector Raglan took me along the path which leads to the drive. My eye was caught by a little summer-house, and I searched it thoroughly. I found two things—a scrap of starched cambric and an empty goose quill. The scrap of cambric immediately suggested to me a maid’s apron. When Inspector Raglan showed me his list of the people in the house, I noticed at once that one of the maids—Ursula Bourne, the parlormaid—had no real alibi. According to her own story, she was in her bedroom from nine-thirty until ten. But supposing that instead she was in the summer-house? If so, she must have gone there to meet some one. Now we know from Dr. Sheppard that some one from outside did come to the house that night—the stranger whom he met just by the gate. At a first glance it would seem that our problem was solved, and that the stranger went to the summer-house to meet Ursula Bourne. It was fairly certain that he did go to the summer-house because of the goose quill. That suggested at once to my mind a taker of drugs—and one who had acquired the habit on the other side of the Atlantic where sniffing ‘snow’ is more common than in this country. The man whom Dr. Sheppard met had an American accent, which fitted in with that supposition.

“But I was held up by one point. The times did not fit. Ursula Bourne could certainly not have gone to the summer-house before nine-thirty, whereas the man must have got there by a few minutes past nine. I could, of course, assume that he waited there for half an hour. The only alternative supposition was that there had been two separate meetings in the summer-house that night. Eh bien, as soon as I went into that alternative I found several significant facts. I discovered that Miss Russell, the housekeeper, had visited Dr. Sheppard that morning, and had displayed a good deal of interest in cures for victims of the drug habit. Taking that in conjunction with the goose quill, I assumed that the man in question came to Fernly to meet the housekeeper, and not Ursula Bourne. Who, then, did Ursula Bourne come to the rendezvous to meet? I was not long in doubt. First I found a ring—a wedding ring—with ‘From R.’ and a date inside it. Then I learnt that Ralph Paton had been seen coming up the path which led to the summer-house at twenty-five minutes past nine, and I also heard of a certain conversation which had taken place in the wood near the village that very afternoon—a conversation between Ralph Paton and some unknown girl. So I had my facts succeeding each other in a neat and orderly manner. A secret marriage, an engagement announced on the day of the tragedy, the stormy interview in the wood, and the meeting arranged for the summer-house that night.

“Incidentally this proved to me one thing, that both Ralph Paton and Ursula Bourne (or Paton) had the strongest motives for wishing Mr. Ackroyd out of the way. And it also made one other point unexpectedly clear. It could not have been Ralph Paton who was with Mr. Ackroyd in the study at nine-thirty.

“So we come to another and most interesting aspect of the crime. Who was it in the room with Mr. Ackroyd at nine-thirty? Not Ralph Paton, who was in the summer-house with his wife. Not Charles Kent, who had already left. Who, then? I posed my cleverest—my most audacious question: Was any one with him?”

Poirot leaned forward and shot the last words triumphantly at us, drawing back afterwards with the air of one who has made a decided hit.

Raymond, however, did not seem impressed, and lodged a mild protest.

“I don’t know if you’re trying to make me out a liar, M. Poirot, but the matter does not rest on my evidence alone—except perhaps as to the exact words used. Remember, Major Blunt also heard Mr. Ackroyd talking to some one. He was on the terrace outside, and couldn’t catch the words clearly, but he distinctly heard the voices.”

Poirot nodded.

“I have not forgotten,” he said quietly. “But Major Blunt was under the impression that it was you to whom Mr. Ackroyd was speaking.”

For a moment Raymond seemed taken aback. Then he recovered himself.

“Blunt knows now that he was mistaken,” he said.

“Exactly,” agreed the other man.

“Yet there must have been some reason for his thinking so,” mused Poirot. “Oh! no,” he held up his hand in protest, “I know the reason you will give—but it is not enough. We must seek elsewhere. I will put it this way. From the beginning of the case I have been struck by one thing—the nature of those words which Mr. Raymond overheard. It has been amazing to me that no one has commented on them—has seen anything odd about them.”

He paused a minute, and then quoted softly:—

“... The calls on my purse have been so frequent of late that I fear it is impossible for me to accede to your request. Does nothing strike you as odd about that?”

“I don’t think so,” said Raymond. “He has frequently dictated letters to me, using almost exactly those same words.”

“Exactly,” cried Poirot. “That is what I seek to arrive at. Would any man use such a phrase in talking to another? Impossible that that should be part of a real conversation. Now, if he had been dictating a letter——”

“You mean he was reading a letter aloud,” said Raymond slowly. “Even so, he must have been reading to some one.”

“But why? We have no evidence that there was any one else in the room. No other voice but Mr. Ackroyd’s was heard, remember.”

“Surely a man wouldn’t read letters of that type aloud to himself—not unless he was—well—going balmy.”

“You have all forgotten one thing,” said Poirot softly: “the stranger who called at the house the preceding Wednesday.”

They all stared at him.

“But yes,” said Poirot, nodding encouragingly, “on Wednesday. The young man was not of himself important. But the firm he represented interested me very much.”

“The Dictaphone Company,” gasped Raymond. “I see it now. A dictaphone. That’s what you think?”

Poirot nodded.

“Mr. Ackroyd had promised to invest in a dictaphone, you remember. Me, I had the curiosity to inquire of the company in question. Their reply is that Mr. Ackroyd did purchase a dictaphone from their representative. Why he concealed the matter from you, I do not know.”

“He must have meant to surprise me with it,” murmured Raymond. “He had quite a childish love of surprising people. Meant to keep it up his sleeve for a day or so. Probably was playing with it like a new toy. Yes, it fits in. You’re quite right—no one would use quite those words in casual conversation.”

“It explains, too,” said Poirot, “why Major Blunt thought it was you who were in the study. Such scraps as came to him were fragments of dictation, and so his subconscious mind deduced that you were with him. His conscious mind was occupied with something quite different—the white figure he had caught a glimpse of. He fancied it was Miss Ackroyd. Really, of course, it was Ursula Bourne’s white apron he saw as she was stealing down to the summer-house.”

Raymond had recovered from his first surprise.

“All the same,” he remarked, “this discovery of yours, brilliant though it is (I’m quite sure I should never have thought of it), leaves the essential position unchanged. Mr. Ackroyd was alive at nine-thirty, since he was speaking into the dictaphone. It seems clear that the man Charles Kent was really off the premises by then. As to Ralph Paton——?”

He hesitated, glancing at Ursula.

Her color flared up, but she answered steadily enough.

“Ralph and I parted just before a quarter to ten. He never went near the house, I am sure of that. He had no intention of doing so. The last thing on earth he wanted was to face his stepfather. He would have funked it badly.”

“It isn’t that I doubt your story for a moment,” explained Raymond. “I’ve always been quite sure Captain Paton was innocent. But one has to think of a court of law—and the questions that would be asked. He is in a most unfortunate position, but if he were to come forward——”

Poirot interrupted.

“That is your advice, yes? That he should come forward?”

“Certainly. If you know where he is——”

“I perceive that you do not believe that I do know. And yet I have told you just now that I know everything. The truth of the telephone call, of the footprints on the window-sill, of the hiding-place of Ralph Paton——”

“Where is he?” said Blunt sharply.

“Not very far away,” said Poirot, smiling.

“In Cranchester?” I asked.

Poirot turned towards me.

“Always you ask me that. The idea of Cranchester it is with you an idée fixe. No, he is not in Cranchester. He is—there!”

He pointed a dramatic forefinger. Every one’s head turned.

Ralph Paton was standing in the doorway.

CHAPTER XXIV

RALPH PATON’S STORY

It was a very uncomfortable minute for me. I hardly took in what happened next, but there were exclamations and cries of surprise! When I was sufficiently master of myself to be able to realize what was going on, Ralph Paton was standing by his wife, her hand in his, and he was smiling across the room at me.

Poirot, too, was smiling, and at the same time shaking an eloquent finger at me.

“Have I not told you at least thirty-six times that it is useless to conceal things from Hercule Poirot?” he demanded. “That in such a case he finds out?”

He turned to the others.

“One day, you remember, we held a little séance about a table—just the six of us. I accused the other five persons present of concealing something from me. Four of them gave up their secret. Dr. Sheppard did not give up his. But all along I have had my suspicions. Dr. Sheppard went to the Three Boars that night hoping to find Ralph. He did not find him there; but supposing, I said to myself, that he met him in the street on his way home? Dr. Sheppard was a friend of Captain Paton’s, and he had come straight from the scene of the crime. He must know that things looked very black against him. Perhaps he knew more than the general public did——”

“I did,” I said ruefully. “I suppose I might as well make a clean breast of things now. I went to see Ralph that afternoon. At first he refused to take me into his confidence, but later he told me about his marriage, and the hole he was in. As soon as the murder was discovered, I realized that once the facts were known, suspicion could not fail to attach to Ralph—or, if not to him, to the girl he loved. That night I put the facts plainly before him. The thought of having possibly to give evidence which might incriminate his wife made him resolve at all costs to—to——”

I hesitated, and Ralph filled up the gap.

“To do a bunk,” he said graphically. “You see, Ursula left me to go back to the house. I thought it possible that she might have attempted to have another interview with my stepfather. He had already been very rude to her that afternoon. It occurred to me that he might have so insulted her—in such an unforgivable manner—that without knowing what she was doing——”

He stopped. Ursula released her hand from his, and stepped back.

“You thought that, Ralph! You actually thought that I might have done it?”

“Let us get back to the culpable conduct of Dr. Sheppard,” said Poirot dryly. “Dr. Sheppard consented to do what he could to help him. He was successful in hiding Captain Paton from the police.”

“Where?” asked Raymond. “In his own house?”

“Ah, no, indeed,” said Poirot. “You should ask yourself the question that I did. If the good doctor is concealing the young man, what place would he choose? It must necessarily be somewhere near at hand. I think of Cranchester. A hotel? No. Lodgings? Even more emphatically, no. Where, then? Ah! I have it. A nursing home. A home for the mentally unfit. I test my theory. I invent a nephew with mental trouble. I consult Mademoiselle Sheppard as to suitable homes. She gives me the names of two near Cranchester to which her brother has sent patients. I make inquiries. Yes, at one of them a patient was brought there by the doctor himself early on Saturday morning. That patient, though known by another name, I had no difficulty in identifying as Captain Paton. After certain necessary formalities, I was allowed to bring him away. He arrived at my house in the early hours of yesterday morning.”

I looked at him ruefully.

“Caroline’s Home Office expert,” I murmured. “And to think I never guessed!”

“You see now why I drew attention to the reticence of your manuscript,” murmured Poirot. “It was strictly truthful as far as it went—but it did not go very far, eh, my friend?”

I was too abashed to argue.

“Dr. Sheppard has been very loyal,” said Ralph. “He has stood by me through thick and thin. He did what he thought was the best. I see now, from what M. Poirot has told me, that it was not really the best. I should have come forward and faced the music. You see, in the home, we never saw a newspaper. I knew nothing of what was going on.”

“Dr. Sheppard has been a model of discretion,” said Poirot dryly. “But me, I discover all the little secrets. It is my business.”

“Now we can have your story of what happened that night,” said Raymond impatiently.

“You know it already,” said Ralph. “There’s very little for me to add. I left the summer-house about nine-forty-five, and tramped about the lanes, trying to make up my mind as to what to do next—what line to take. I’m bound to admit that I’ve not the shadow of an alibi, but I give you my solemn word that I never went to the study, that I never saw my stepfather alive—or dead. Whatever the world thinks, I’d like all of you to believe me.”

“No alibi,” murmured Raymond. “That’s bad. I believe you, of course, but—it’s a bad business.”

“It makes things very simple, though,” said Poirot, in a cheerful voice. “Very simple indeed.”

We all stared at him.

“You see what I mean? No? Just this—to save Captain Paton the real criminal must confess.”

He beamed round at us all.

“But yes—I mean what I say. See now, I did not invite Inspector Raglan to be present. That was for a reason. I did not want to tell him all that I knew—at least I did not want to tell him to-night.”

He leaned forward, and suddenly his voice and his whole personality changed. He suddenly became dangerous.

“I who speak to you—I know the murderer of Mr. Ackroyd is in this room now. It is to the murderer I speak. To-morrow the truth goes to Inspector Raglan. You understand?”

There was a tense silence. Into the midst of it came the old Breton woman with a telegram on a salver. Poirot tore it open.

Blunt’s voice rose abrupt and resonant.

“The murderer is amongst us, you say? You know—which?”

Poirot had read the message. He crumpled it up in his hand.

“I know—now.”

He tapped the crumpled ball of paper.

“What is that?” said Raymond sharply.

“A wireless message—from a steamer now on her way to the United States.”

There was a dead silence. Poirot rose to his feet bowing.

“Messieurs et Mesdames, this reunion of mine is at an end. Remember—the truth goes to Inspector Raglan in the morning.”

[prmssm]

@sapphireclawe asked: Quick question. Which universe would you think that Ultimate Spiderman's Iron Man comes from anyways?

I'm so sorry I have literally no idea how old this ask is, things piled up in my inbox so I just ran away for a bit. 

I guess it depends which Ultimate Spider-Man you mean? The comic book Ultimate Spider-Man would just have Ultimate Iron Man I guess (Earth-1610). Unless there's comic book nonsense going on that I'm not privy to, which is definitely possible.

But for the cartoon "Ultimate Spider-Man" that came out in 2012, that show is part of the Earth-12041 reality, so his Iron Man would be the same as Avengers Assemble. The Ultimate Spider-Man cartoon came out first and they were still nailing down the character designs, so Tony looks super rough in his first appearance tbh. But with each cameo he gets more like how he looks in AA. Behold:

Sorry about image quality; D+ didn't let me screenshot, and I couldn't find everything I wanted quickly enough on Google. But yeah over time his eyes change color and hair flops around, but he's meant to be the same Tony the whole time. I have some Headcanons™ about his glow-up. Basically, "a supportive Avengers team is good for your health." 😌💕

[morgandria]

Midsummer

Knowing I wasn’t going to be meeting coven, and feeling rough, I spent my weekend pretty low key. J and I went to the farmer’s market, took a nice drive out in the country to feed my rural soul, spent some (ahem) quality time together. Food hasn’t been my friend for a couple weeks, but I baked a rhubarb cake and ate some strawberries. That, I figured, was it, past pouring out a couple libations on the actual solstice.

Monday night I had a good chat with our new upstairs neighbours for the first time, and they are quiet people, like us. It’s welcome. They’re still getting used to the nonsense that goes on here, though, and it’s been a little rough for them. I haven’t done any work on wards and bounds for a few months, but recognized it was time to maybe boost them up a little, and Summer Solstice is perfect for that.

Suddenly, my very carefully considered no-plans became plans. It wasn’t...convenient. The Solstice weather promised to be feeling like 42°C with the humidity (compared to 22°C and no humidity the day before). I had a migraine aura, which blew up at 3 AM Solstice eve into the promised migraine. I tried to medicate and sleep, but sleep didn’t happen. So I did the ever-so-sensible thing, and got on with it.

Midsummer Night started out with this:

My camera does no justice to that fire. It was blazing orange and pink, and the sky between was brilliant turquoise. Such a beautiful start. While the sky burned, I went about my bounds, and left a few gifts for our more disruptive and unwelcome neighbours. Then I went back in for a little bit to cool off and hydrate (it was still terribly hot outside), and then came back out for offerings once it had gotten a little darker.

No real ritual here, but offerings of flame, some handmade Midsummer incense and the Fair Folk’s own blend, an herbal offering I call ‘Faerie Food’, and some very fine mead from 2016 made by an LARPing acquaintance who keeps his own bees. (I can’t have more than a sip because of my meds, but that sip was so nice.)

The pile of paper on the plate is my Midsummer bonfire, and something I’m absurdly proud of. My coven’s summer solstice ritual involves a ritual burning of herbs in a cauldron...and therein lies a tale of woe and mirth. After years of fighting with lighting these herbs, I made some handmade paper studded with the herbs we needed and soaked in a saltpeter solution. Lo and behold, I have herbs that burn in that cauldron reliably. And of course I have that paper at home, so not having the ability to have an actual proper fire it was perfect. I lit my tiny paper one, and sent off all my prayers and intentions with it.

Mead libations poured out, fire offerings burned, herbal offerings scattered, and blood offerings given to the mosquitoes, I tidied up and retreated to the cool darkness of my hobbit hole and slept. An unexpected but pleasurable eve of witching - and I -may- have done some nocturnal wandering last night (as things go) so if a green-eyed raven crossed anyone’s path last night, greetings!

[hyuniebaby]

Lip Ring

Pairings: Baekhyun x Y/N

Rating: m (mature)

AU: fratboy!Baekhyun

Warning: overstimulation, uh cursing??

A/N: As I’ve said, I think about Kokobop era Baekhyun at least once a week so here’s a fic dedicated to him. Someone please bring him back. 😫 I got so flustered writing this, watch me hide after I post it. 😂 I kinda wanna write a part 2 because Y/N owes Jongin but it’ll depend on the readers’ feedback and my mood of course... I hope you all enjoy this!

I’m reposting this because the tags weren’t showing up

It was always so loud in the hallways. Whenever classes ended, a swarm of students murmuring were always heard. You got used to it pretty quickly though. You could easily block whatever nonsense the other students were talking about. Who would want to constantly hear them complain about their annoying professor or the homeworks that piled up on them?

This time though, the murmurs were different, you note, as you put your books inside your locker. Instead of the usual rants and complaints that the other students say, today it sounded like they were gossiping and gushing at the same time.

You understood why the sounds the students were making were different as you turned around. Right behind you was one of the most famous students in the campus. Heartthrob, heartbreaker, fuckboy, frat boy, trouble — he had so many titles, it was hard to keep track. Byun Baekhyun.

Quite frankly, you had titles too, but you couldn’t be bothered to know them. As far as you know, they called you the female counterpart of Baekhyun, which isn’t necessarily a lie. The only thing different from you and Baekhyun was that he was in a fraternity and you weren’t in a sorority.

Sure, you’ve been sleeping around, just not as often as Baekhyun. However, recently you’ve been doing it less. Since you’ve hooked up with Kim Jongin, you kinda found yourself on the sheets with him more than you would like to admit. But you two weren’t exclusive, just regular fuck buddies.

You’ve had boys lining up on you the same way he had girls lining up for him, but of course you weren’t the type to settle, no matter how good of a guy they were. Even if he’s the Kim Jongin. You’re too young to be tied down. Apparently you shared the same mindset as Byun Baekhyun.

You raise your brow at the sight of Baekhyun, wondering why on Earth was he standing before you. You didn’t have to look at the other students around you to know what they were talking about. Of course, it was only a matter of time that the most famous female student crossed paths with him.

Although you have quite a reputation, everybody knows not to flirt with you inside the campus. If they wanted you in bed with them, they had to catch you in bars, clubs, or parties. And they had to impress you. You downright rejected everyone who dares talk to you on campus. So it surprised everyone when Baekhyun came to talk to you in school.

You had to admit, you admired his guts. It’s been a while since a male had the guts to talk to you in the hallways, unfortunately for that guy though, you didn’t even spare him a glance. But who were you to deny yourself of looking at Baekhyun in all his glory? He was, after all, wearing his iconic lip ring.

Your eyes wander from the red streaks on his hair to his mullet, then to his lip ring. From there you gazed at his neck that was adorned with a cross necklace and then his broad shoulders. He was wearing a thin see through black t-shirt, and if you looked close enough, you would be able to see the outline of his abs. He looked absolutely delectable even if it seems like he wasn’t even trying.

When you look back at his face, you see he has his signature smirk on. He was fully aware that you were checking him out. He’s cocky, you thought, but with that face and that body, you could understand why. Just like any other girl, the sight of his smirk made your legs weak.

It’s been so long since you’ve met a guy who had so much sex appeal even when they weren’t doing anything remotely sexual. And this was one way to describe Byun Baekhyun. Oh god, you were such a sucker for frat boys and bad boys. He’s definitely someone that piqued your interest and that only means one thing — you wanted him.

You had to keep your act on though, if you gave Baekhyun the time of the day, other boys might take it as a sign that they can approach you too. So after you took a good look on him, you turned and walked away, even if you were dying to know why he was there.

You hear a collective Oohh’s and laughter behind you, most probably from his friends who you saw were lurking at the end of the hallway, watching the interaction.

You walk to your next class with your books in your hand, still wondering about what Baekhyun wanted to talk to you about.

As you sit down at your usual place, your friend Lisa immediately leans to your side. “So I’ve heard about what happened.”

“What the fuck?” Gossips spread so fast. How was that even possible? It didn’t even take you ten minutes to reach your room and whatever transpired in the hallway had already circulated.

Lisa rolls her eyes at you. “Don’t look so shocked. You know how many people are fawning over Baekhyun. Plus, you’re quite popular yourself, may I remind you.”

You groan. “Yeah, right. Whatever.”

“Anyway, rumors say that he was supposed to invite you to their frat party this weekend.” She raises her eyebrows up and down.

You perk up at the word “party” and immediately plastered a grin. “Let’s go then!”

Lisa laughs at your enthusiasm. She knew you loved parties. “Maybe you should’ve listened to him talk. At least then you wouldn’t have looked like a curious cat.”

“Maybe he should’ve just said ‘Party at Alpha Phi Alpha this weekend’ instead of just standing behind me or letting me ogle at him,” you shot back.

She snickers at your response. “Knowing you, you wouldn’t have faced him at all if he blurted that out. You’d probably respond with a noncommittal hum or something.”

“I guess you’re right.” You grin at her.

She shakes her head while laughing, “Of course I am.”

That was how you ended up facing your vanity mirror on a Saturday night. You were wearing a lace burgundy bralette and high waisted denim shorts. Initially you wanted to wear only those articles of clothing, however, you opted to wear a white silk shirt on top of it and tucked it in without buttoning it. You made sure the shirt shows your lace bralette. You could always take the shirt off if it got too hot anyway. You applied a bright red lipstick on your lips to finish off your look.

Just as you put your lipstick on the bag, Lisa calls you to inform you that she’s in front of your apartment with her boyfriend Bambam. You quickly went on your way to Bambam’s car and greeted them.

Lisa whistles upon seeing you, “Damn, you’re going to make the boys crazy.”

You roll your eyes at her. You’re hoping to make at least one guy crazy, and it’s Byun Baekhyun.

When you reach the frat house, you trail behind the couple. You stop a couple of times to greet the few friends you got to meet over the years you’ve been attending this kind of parties.

You finally reached Lisa in the kitchen drinking a bottle of beer. “Here’s Ms. Popular’s drink,” she teases you as she hands over one bottle to you.

You grab the bottle gratefully. “There’s Baekhyun,” Lisa whispers as you take a long gulp at your beer. You follow her line of sight to find him mingling with people. He hasn’t seen you yet which was good because you didn’t have enough alcohol in your system yet.

He was wearing a yellow linen and silk blend ethnic print blazer with a belt. His chest was fully exposed thanks to the absence of an undershirt. As always, Byun Baekhyun was dressed to impress.

And god, oh god, that mullet and the red streaks. It was a sight to behold. Somehow the hairstyle fit him perfectly. The look makes him hotter than your average guy. The sight of him was enough to make any woman swoon over him. You quickly turn away after taking a good look at his appearance.

Lisa then spots her classmates in one of the classes you didn’t share together. She excitedly drags you over to meet them. She introduces you to the group and they welcome you openly. You were quick to finish your beer after conversing with Lisa’s friends, so you excused yourself to grab another drink.

You poured yourself another drink and walked back to your friends, but not before stealing another glance at the place you last saw Baekhyun. His eyes now met yours. After a few minutes of staring, his eyes travel to your body. You see him lick his lips at the sight of your attire. This alone made you feel things. You were glad to have gotten a reaction from him.

It was when he looked away that you noticed that a girl was actually beside him, openly flirting with him. He flirts back with a knowing smile.

You raise your brow at the sight, a small smile on your face. Oh, so this was Baekhyun’s plan, you thought.

Normally, you wouldn’t entertain the challenge. Why bother going through such trouble? It was easier to find another guy anyway. But if Baekhyun wants to play, then who are you to walk away?

Instead of walking towards your friends, you went in a different direction. The person you were looking for was easy to spot. You walk across the room towards him, feeling a pair of eyes follow your movement.

Kim Jongin smirks as he finds you walking to his direction. He quickly excuses himself from his group of friends and walks over to you. You watch him as he eyes your outfit.

You place your hands at his chest and lean to his ear, “Wanna dance?”

He grabs your hand and leads you to where most people were dancing. You glance at Baekhyun to see his reaction to the interaction. His jaw was clenched, posture tense. Exactly the reaction you wanted.

When Baekhyun saw you walking towards Jongin, his eyes twitched. Of course he knew your and Jongin’s set-up, everyone does. That’s why there weren’t as many men approaching you as before. But not everyone knew the two of you weren’t exclusive.

He watches as Jongin moves towards your form and slides his hand on your waist naturally. He sees you place your hand on Jongin’s chest and whisper something to his ear.

Not tonight, Jongin. You’re not gonna have Y/N tonight, Baekhyun thinks.

Baekhyun tears his gaze off of you. He faces the girl clinging to her. The girl instantly melts at his gaze. “Do you want to dance, baby?” He says huskily.

“Yes,” she says breathily.

He wants to pity the girl for falling into his charms so easily when she was just a pawn to get to you, but he doesn’t feel any remorse. He’s far too used at doing things like this.

He angles their bodies so that he was directly in your line of vision. The girl quickly loses herself into the music and he finds himself doing the same.

You paid no attention whatsoever to Baekhyun at first, despite seeing him at your periphery. You were swaying your hips and raising your hands over your head, occasionally touching Jongin on his chest. At one point, you turn your back to Jongin, he immediately places his hands on your hips. This was the moment your eyes traveled to Baekhyun. You smirk as you noticed his eyes were on you already. You maintain eye contact as you grinded on Jongin.

But Jongin isn’t clueless, he knows what you’re doing. He knows you were giving Baekhyun a show. He moves your hair and whispers to your ear, “I know what you’re doing, darling.”

You tilt your head, “Just go with it.”

“You’re a naughty girl.”

You face Jongin again and place your hands on his shoulders.

Jongin leans awfully close, “What’s in it for me?”

You don’t pull away, “I’ll owe you one.”

“And if this doesn’t work on him?”

“We can always have fun together.”

He smirks, “Tempting. I’m kinda hoping it doesn’t work out for you.”

You roll your eyes at him and continue to dance with him.

You were enjoying the touches of Jongin way too much for Baekhyun’s liking. Quite frankly, you were in Jongin’s bubble and you almost forgot you were doing this to get Baekhyun’s attention.

Until Baekhyun walks towards your direction fuming. Jongin removes his hands on you immediately but not before he whispers, “You owe me.” Then he backs up slowly.

You turn around exactly as Baekhyun stops in front of you. You feign innocence and say, “Hi, Baekhyun.”

But he greets you with a passionate kiss instead. It took you a few seconds to comprehend what was happening, too stunned by the sudden action. But once you realized what was happening, you immediately responded to his lips.

Everything happened so fast after that. One minute you were kissing Baekhyun in the living room of their frat house, the next he was dragging you into his room. Was it always like this with Baekhyun?

In no time you’re in his room. He pinned you to the wall as soon as you both entered. His lips immediately latched on to yours. You smile into the kiss, knowing that you succeeded in your plan.

Now that you were alone together, away from the watching eyes of the other students, you allow yourself to enjoy the kiss. The kiss was nothing soft, of course, it isn’t, it was fueled by lust and jealousy after all. If anything, it was needy and rough. Just the way you wanted.

You were so into the kiss that you didn’t notice it at first. The lip ring. His lip ring. You were only able to tell once you pulled away to catch your breath and took a good look at his face up close. So that’s why it felt different, the lip ring was the reason.

He sees you watch his lip when you pull away. He allows you to look at it until he bites his lips and you break out of your trance. You gulp before kissing him again. The kiss became much, much rougher than before.

Your hands found purchase in his hair. You hear him moan silently as you tugged his surprisingly soft locks. The sound instantly makes you wet down there.

His hands travel all over your body as his breaths grow heavier. You, on the other hand, take this opportunity to latch your lips on his neck. Your right hand travels from his chest to his abs and then to his hardening bulge. You palm him over his jeans as you suck on his neck. You made sure you left your mark so he can have a reminder that this night happened. He groans at the sensation you were giving him. You were so, so good at what you’re doing.

As you give him more love bites, you start unbuckling his belt, and then you pull off his blazer. You were quick to unzip his pants and pull out his shaft, pumping him as you gave one last suck on his neck.

When you were done assaulting his neck and his chest, you let your eyes feast on his naked body. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“It’s not gonna suck itself, baby.” He tsks as he places a hand over yours that’s pumping his shaft.

You immediately kneel in front of him. You look up at him as you give him kitten licks at first. “Stop teasing. You’ve already done enough of that a while ago.” He growls.

You grab his cock tighter and start taking him in your mouth. You watched as he rolled his head back and his face contorted with pleasure. You bobbed your head up and down his shaft. You swirl your tongue on his tip and taste the precum leaking on it. He moans loudly at that.

You hollow your cheeks after taking him in again. Your left hand travels to his balls and you gently massage it as you continue to suck him. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” He moans.

His moans grew louder and louder as you kept repeating your actions. His sounds were so sinful, it made you so wet and he hasn’t even properly touched you yet. You allow him to thrust into your mouth. “You take my cock so well.” He praises you breathily.

But when you feel him twitching, you pull away. This angers Baekhyun. He was so close.

He smashes his lips to yours, kissing you with fervor. He roughly removes your satin shirt and throws it carelessly on the floor. For a moment he debates on whether or not to remove your lace bralette, the sight of it did drive him crazy the first time he saw you today, after all. Fuck it, he thinks. He wants to see you naked and to suck on your tits so badly. He pulls your bralette over your head and within seconds, he attaches his lips onto your mounds. You arch your back as he does this, your body reacting to his touch.

He sucks on your right nipple as his left hand squeezes your other boob. His hands were alternately tugging and squeezing your nipples. He gives your mounds equal attention and has you squirming on his touch.

You whimper as he slides his hand inside your shorts. He was rubbing you right where you wanted him. “You’re so fucking wet. Did you have fun making me watch you and Jongin on the dance floor?” You hear an edge on his tone. Fuck, that was so sexy.

He presses his finger on your clit, “Answer me.”

“Y-yes.”

He quickly gets you off of your shorts and panties. He slides a finger in you and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. “You’re so naughty, kitten. You let me watch you grind on another man and then you stop blowing me just as I was about to cum,” he says, voice dripping with lust. He pumps his finger in and out of your core. He has you moaning then.

He adds a second finger and says, “You’re gonna be a good girl and take what I give, right kitten?”

“Hmm. Yes.” You moan.

“Good,” and just then he adds another finger and starts to thrust into your core at a quick pace. You’re overwhelmed with the sensation and you could feel your legs almost giving up. He holds you upright as he pushes his fingers knuckle deep into your core. You feel a familiar knot forming and your moans grow more sinful at that. “Moan my name,” he demands.

“Baekhyun!” You moan loudly as you reach your climax.

“We’re not done yet, kitten,” Baekhyun says as he carries you to his bed. “You look so pretty like this, under me with that fucked out look.”

He kisses you again, letting you recover first. You kiss him back with passion. His lips travel to your jawline and then to your neck. You didn’t peg him as the type to leave hickeys so when he starts biting and sucking on your skin, you whimper. You loved being covered with love marks. He must’ve known this too because as he finished branding you with one, he moves on to another part and does it again, and again.

“Baekhyun…” You say breathily as you grab his erection.

His breath hitches. You pump him excruciatingly slow. “Baekhyun… I need you in me.”

He reaches for a packet of condom, rips the foil and puts it on.

“Beg for it,” he says huskily.

Oh, if he only knew how stubborn you are. You kissed him then, and he was caught off guard. You used this opportunity to flip your positions so you were on top.

He leans back on his elbows, eyes twinkling as he anticipates what you’re going to do next. But your eyes weren’t on his face, it was on his abs, which became more prominent in this position.

He was driving you crazy. You grinded your core into his erection slowly. He shuts his eyes. You lift your hips up and line his cock into your opening. He releases another sinful moan as you sunk into him. “You’re so fucking tight.”

When you’ve adjusted to his size, you start moving your hips up and down. He opens his eyes to watch you as you pleasure yourselves. In the beginning, he lets you move on your own, but as your pace grows faster, his hips start thrusting too. You felt so good, he wanted to close his eyes and lose into the feeling but he couldn't. Not when your tits were bouncing like that. Not when you looked that hot riding him. “You’re so sexy, kitten,” he proclaims with gritted teeth.

When Baekhyun feels you clenching on him, it drives him crazy. He pulled out and positioned your ass up and face down on the bed. He holds your hips tightly as he slams himself into you. His pace was fast and brutal. The headboard slams loudly on the walls as he thrusts into you. This position allows him to reach different parts inside you.

“Baekhyun… Faster,” you plead as you gripped on the sheets.

He didn’t have to be told twice. He starts moving his hips faster and rougher than before. “I-I’m cumming!” You exclaim.

You feel yourself climax but Baekhyun doesn’t stop, he continues to slam his hips against you. You whimper from being overstimulated. Tears start gathering in your eyes as the sensation becomes too overwhelming. He starts rubbing your clit and it sends another wave of pleasure to you. Your walls were clenching on him so tightly, his pace started stuttering. He couldn’t stop chanting profanities alongside your name as he feels himself getting closer to his climax.

You feel him release his seed into the condom just as you came again. He immediately pulls out and gets rid of the condom. He lays on the bed momentarily to catch his breath. You were both panting so hard after the activity.

There was only silence besides the sound of your breathing. Baekhyun suddenly stands up and picks up his clothes. He goes to his bathroom. When he came back, he was only half naked. He has his jogging pants on already. His right hand holds a wet towel that he uses to clean you up. “Thank you Baekhyun,” you croak, voice a little hoarse from the loud moaning you did earlier.

He smirks, “you were amazing, kitten.” Then he pecks your lips. He slides back into his bed and pulls you towards him. “Now go get some rest.”

[dancethroughthethunder]

A Little Gryffindor Courage

Word Count: A little under 4.6k

Pairing: Young!Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw!Reader

Request: “Hi! Can you please do a young Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw! reader where she smells amortentia for slughorns class and she smells chocolate and panics bc woah, Remus likes chocolate! And he smells her scent (whatever you decide) in his own and gets the marauders go help set them both up? Tysm!!”

Authors Note: Am I using the “Marlene, Dorcas, Lily and Reader as girl group parallel to the Marauders just because four people get sat at a table in my brain”? You bet I am. Also, fem!reader as the request specified pronouns! This is my first request and I’m super excited to write it. I made the reader smell like lilacs because that’s what I smell like and it’s the first scent that came to mind lol. Reader smells more than just chocolate in the Amortentia bc I firmly believe it’s about more than romantic love. So I’ll say it now, only the third and final smell for Reader is meant to be romantic. I’m a sucker for an amortentia fic and a young!Remus so this is the perfect first request- it’s like you picked my brain to come up with it. I hope you like it! Xoxo (tagging @ragnarachael bc I promised her I would)

Summary: Sixth year students Remus Lupin and Y/N L/N have been good friends and potions partners for a while. One day, Professor Slughorn decides to switch up the pairs and you find yourself partnered with your dear friend Lily Evans while you study and make Amortentia. What happens when you find yourself smelling chocolate? Some teasing from Lily, and a push in the right direction from your friends help you and Remus figure out that there might be more than just friendly feelings between the two of you. 

Warnings: If you count some terrible puns as a warning, then there’s that.

“Hey pretty lady, can I walk you to your class?” 

“Oh my, a suitor of my own. I can’t wait to tell mother.” Your best friend Lily Evans giggled as she turned around to see you standing behind her, hand extended to her.

“Oi L/N, you make a better James than James.” Sirius yelled out from down the table as you watched Peter duck so James could have the perfect line or sight to toss a piece of cereal at his best friend. 

“Good morning boys.” You waved, laughing as Lily took your hand and began to walk with you away from the Gryffindor table and out of the Great Hall to go to your first lesson, Potions. 

You loved having Potions first thing in the day, and certainly not because of your professor. Sure Slughorn meant well but there was only so much fawning he could do over you and your best friends before you were practically begging for Professor McGonagall’s tough no nonsense attitude. No, you liked Potions because it meant you got to start your day with your best friends, as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor shared the class together. 

The second you left the Great Hall, you were joined by Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon, the other half of your friend group. You supposed people thought it was strange that your closest friends were in a different house, but hey houses are about the qualities you espouse and hold dear, not a binding group of exclusive friends that you can’t stray beyond. The four of you made your way down to the dungeons while the three Gryffindors caught you up on the nighttime shenanigans the Marauders had been up to since you saw them last. 

Walking into the classroom, you saw a note on the front board telling you that Professor Slughorn would be late and to divide into the pairs up on the board. Huh, that’s weird, you thought, Slughorn usually keeps the same partners. Well, I hope my new one is as good as my current one. You scanned the board to find your name and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that luckily you were paired with Lily. Okay, so maybe there were some benefits to being the teacher’s favorites. 

“Aww poor Y/N/N, she won’t get to stare at her boy all class.” Marlene teased as her and Dorcas took their seats on the opposite sides of the table from you and Lily. Huh, me and Lil and Dorcas and Marls? Slughorn must be in a really good mood.

“Oh hush, Remus and I are friends okay, nothing more. You’re just projecting your love for Sirius onto me, Marlene McKinnon.” Marlene shrugged, smirking, but dropped the subject as the boys in question walked into the room. 

“Sluggy, Lily, ladies, other members of the class.” James Potter came strolling into the classroom first, with a smirking Sirius Black, an amused looking Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin, lovingly rolling his eyes at his friend. James stopped to acknowledge Lily, then the rest of your table before turning to realize that your professor was nowhere to be seen. 

“We’re supposed to be getting into the pairs listed on the board, and starting to brew Amortentia. But then again, those of us who can read already know that, Potter.” If it was anybody else you were sure the harsh comment would be enough for a jinx thrown behind their backs later, but with Lily and James it was just par for the course. 

You went to the storage cupboard to get the ingredients you needed, while Lily was setting up your cauldron with the proper equipment you would need to make the potion. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” You heard the familiar voice of your typical potions partner and turned around to find Remus Lupin standing behind you, waiting to grab his own ingredients. 

“Morning, Remus. I have to say, as glad as I am that it’s Lil, I’m going to miss my favorite potions partner”. You teasingly bumped his hip with your own as you said this, your arms full of potions ingredients. 

“Don’t let Lily hear you say that I’m your favorite, not her, she’ll kick both of our arses.”

“Oh Remus, who said I was talking about you?” You giggled as you ducked under his arm to head back to your table.

“I’m wounded, truly.” Remus smirked at you as you tried to hide the blush that was undoubtedly creeping up your face. 

“Somehow I think you’ll survive, Rem.” You quickly walked away before Marlene or the girls could notice the interaction and tease you even further about it. 

You walked back over to your table, trying not to look back at the tall boy that had captured your attention. As much as you liked Remus, you weren’t going to say anything. Sometimes you thought he was flirting with you, but you were sure that you were reading into it. Besides, with best friends like James, Sirius and Peter, there was no way he could possibly like you without the three of them turning it into a spectacle a la Lily and James. 

Sometime later, Professor Slughorn had appeared, apologizing for his absence and mumbling something about a group of first and second years that had needed a big enough disciplinary meeting that included him as their Head of House, and the Headmaster. You barely paused to register what he was saying as you continued focusing your attention on brewing your, fairly complicated potion. Soon enough, the liquid in your cauldron was taking on a mother-of-pearl shine as steam came piling out of it. You wiped your hand over the back of your forehead, to hopefully reduce the bit of sweat that was appearing as everyone’s potions were giving off hot steam.

“Hey, Marlene?” 

“Yes, Dorcas?”

“I wonder what exactly a tall, sandy haired Gryffindor prefect smells like?” You looked up from your potion and groaned as your two best friends on the other side of the table exchanged wicked grins, that you knew meant trouble.

“Well you know Dor, I bet there’s one way to find out.” 

“Just ask Y/N/N what her Amortentia smells like.” Dorcas and Marlene finished together as Lily laughed and you groaned. 

Unbeknownst to you, there was a similar discussion occurring over at the Marauders table.

“Hey James, how many galleons do you want to put on a bet that whatever Y/N smells like, our Moony here smells in his potion?”

“It’s lilacs!” Peter excitedly claimed.

“What?” His three best friends turned, faces screwed up in confusion, to stare at him. 

“What Y/N smells like? She smells like lilacs.” Peter smiled as he offered this information.

“Now how in Merlin’s name do you know that Pete?” Sirius turned to look from Peter to you, back to Peter with one eyebrow raised.

“That Hogsmeade weekend when she was sick and couldn’t go, she asked me to pick up some more of her soap for her, don’t you remember?”

“No Pete literally nobody remembers that, and loverboy, do you feel like you’ve got competition now?”

“Don’t be a hippogriff’s left nut James, you two probably just had detention that day. And regardless, anyone could tell you that she smells like lilacs.”

“Again, no, nobody just knows that off the top of their head. Unless they’re Peter or they’re in love.”

Before either you or Remus could give some sort of (honestly well deserved) snarky remark to your respective friend groups, Professor Slughorn called the class to attention and began to wax poetic about Amortentia.

“Ahh Amortentia. The strongest love potion in the world, but I’m sure you all know that from the chapter. It smells different to each person, depending on that which attracts them. Some people smell purely based on the romantic love in their life, but for many of us, Amortentia’s smell reminds us of love both familial and romantic, platonic and intimate. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, maybe love is in the nose of the potion maker.” Slughorn paused here to chuckle, with one hand on his stomach and the other rested on his desk, clearly incredibly amused by himself. 

As badly as you wanted to keep a straight face and not encourage the man from any further attempts at humor, you couldn’t stop the laugh escaping from your mouth. Before you had a chance to cover your mouth with your hand, Remus turned around and the two of you shared eye contact and a smile that Lily (who was of course, observing) would swear had nothing to do with the joke you were both unsuccessfully trying not to laugh at. That was one thing you liked about having Remus as a potions partner, you had similar senses of humor and he wasn’t afraid to laugh at a professor’s bad jokes with you. Unfortunately, Professor Slughorn caught the eye contact between you two and decided that you were the perfect person to pick on as the next, and final, part of the lesson.

“Now, class, as we can see Miss Evans and Miss L/N’s potion is absolutely marvellous, see the mother of pearl sheen? The spirals of steam? I can see that not all of you had as much luck, so after we have Miss L/N demonstrate for us how to properly smell the potion and describe for us what she smells, I want you all to come over here and smell their potion. Then you may pack up for the day. Remember, I want a foot of parchment on Amortentia and you will not receive complete marks unless I see you smell this potion and you make mention of your specific type of scent in your essay. Have a good day, I’ll be at my desk to observe if you have any questions. But first, Miss L/N?”

You were hoping he’d forget. But, he didn’t. What a man, forgets when you need him to remember and remembers when you need him to forget. Oh well, at least he means well. You tucked your hair behind your ears so as to not get any of it in the potion and leaned forward to inhale just a little bit of the steam to be able to smell your potion. 

“Well, go on girl, tell us what you smell.”

As you breathed in, the first thing you noticed was the indescribable scent that you knew without hesitation, “It smells like my grandmother’s kitchen. If I could describe happiness and childhood in a scent it would be this.” You sighed contentedly as you continued describing the scent of your potion, “and something.. Comforting, clean, but I can’t totally tell. Oh, Lil can you move away for a moment?”

As Lily moved to the other side of the table, you realize that you can still smell what is just so fundamentally Lily. “Well that makes sense, the next scent is my best friend. It’s you, Lil.” You smiled at her as you tried to hone in on the third and final discernible scent in your potion. 

“Anything else Miss L/N?” You sensed that Slughorn could tell you weren’t quite done with your potion.

“It’s… hmm I mean it’s sweet but not like a pudding. I think it’s, yes it’s chocolate.” You were so focused on your potion that you didn’t see the way that Remus froze in his chair, eyes on you while Sirius was (not subtly at all) tapping Remus on the knee under the table, as if to say “Hey Remus that’s you in case you didn’t know, that friend of ours that you’ve fancied for years smelled you and you’re chocolate”. You know, the way an excited puppy might hit you with its wagging tail. 

But you didn’t notice, you were too busy trying to think through who you associated with the smell of chocolate because smelling Remus? Certainly not, how fanciful and romantic- you didn’t have time to be a hopeless romantic. No, there had to be some other explanation than the boy who you knew always had chocolate for a friend in need and who threatened to die Sirius’ beloved hair if he stole his last bar of chocolate one more time. It couldn’t be Remus, who always let Lily raid his chocolate stash for you when he knew it was your time of the month, Remus for whom you made sure to return the favor (what? You were a Ravenclaw for Rowena’s sake, it wasn’t like you hadn’t put two and two together, I mean really it didn’t take a potions master to figure out why his friends called him Moony). Nope, there was another explanation and that was that. 

While you were typically to dispose of your own potion and clean up your workstation, Professor Slughorn allowed you and Lily to be the first to leave class and have someone else (likely him) clean up your area, that way everyone else could use your perfect potion to find their own smell. You and Lily grabbed your bags and books, told Marlene and Dorcas you’d meet them in the courtyard and headed out of the classroom. 

As you made your way to the courtyard, Remus was taking his time clearing his own cauldron, hoping that if he went slowly enough his friends would give up and go smell the Amortentia without him. He could have smelled his own except Peter accidentally bumped his arm while he was pouring one of his ingredients into his cauldron. While Peter apologized profusely, Remus didn’t mind; it was one of the most advanced potions they had attempted so far and it was likely that a mistake would be made somewhere along the way. Regardless, Remus wasn’t necessarily afraid of what he might smell, he was afraid of admitting it to his friends. 

“Cmon Moons, time to go find out what gives you a nose boner…. A noner”

“Sirius, do you hear the things that come out of your mouth?” Being best friends with James and Sirius, one might think that they would cease finding things surprising. They would be wrong.

“Nope, it’s a surprise to me as well, more fun that way. Let’s go!” Before Remus could protest or find something else to occupy his time and attention, Sirius had grabbed his one arm, James the other and Peter was standing behind him making sure that he had no choice but to move forward towards the cauldron. 

The three boys shoved Remus so hard he nearly went head first into the cauldron, a little too excited to see what the potion would reveal. When the tall blonde boy softened, and the corners of his mouth turned up instinctively at the first smell of the potion, the boys knew that look meant one thing and one thing alone: lilacs.

Remus would deny it (“Denial is a hell of a drug, my wolfy little friend”) but he had a Y/N face. James could put a bell around your neck and it still wouldn’t be as reliable as Remus’ face to notify others that you had entered a room. Then again, as he’d remind his friends, unless you’re carrying a mirror around everywhere, one can never really know what the nuances of their different facial expressions can look like. Regardless, the Y/N face never lies, and without having to ask, the Marauders knew that the potion had confirmed what everyone with a pair of eyes knew, that you and Remus both fancied each other deeply enough to impact the smell of your Amortentia. As Remus began to straighten up, the three boys exchanged looks and knew that they needed to do something to help the two of you figure out how to express your feelings before someone in your respective friend groups just put it in a Howler for the entire Great Hall to hear. 

As you went on with the rest of your day, completely unaware of what (or perhaps more accurately, who) Remus smelled in his Amortentia, your friends realized that the Marauders were up to something. After Potions, you didn’t have another class with Gryffindors for the rest of that particular day so until dinnertime (you liked to spend lunch with your fellow Ravenclaws) you wouldn’t have a really good chance to catch up with any of them. That left the Marauders free to scheme and your friends free to try and find out what their favorite trouble makers were up to. 

“Alright Pettigrew, tell us what’s going on.” Lily Evans walked up to Peter Pettigrew who, instead of using his break to go into the courtyard or even the library, was standing outside the very same potions classroom they were in that morning.

“What? Erm, nothing really… what’s… going on with you?” Peter looked around nervously wondering why now of all times, it was his turn to be the lookout. They should have known better than to come up with a plan regarding Y/N without bringing Marlene, Lily, and Dorcas in on it. 

“Come on Peter, you can’t think we’re that stupid. Now where are the other three? And what trouble are you getting into?”

“My sweet Lilyflower.” The three girls jumped as Sirius appeared behind them, having snuck up behind them silently.

“Ugh, Sirius. Come on, we know you’re up to something and I don’t have time for another one of Potter’s proposals.” Lily rolled her eyes, while Marlene and Dorcas laughed. 

“Now now Lilypad, you’re not the flower we’re concerned with today. We’re on more of a… lilac kick today.” Sirius smirked, feeling so clever as he said this.

“So it has to do with Y/N?” Marlene’s eyes lit up as she started to put the pieces together.

“What? Erm, what?” 

“Everyone knows she smells like lilacs, she’s always getting more lilac soap and perfume when we go into Hogsmeade.” Dorcas rolled her eyes as Sirius looked around, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Huh, Remus was right, everyone knows that.” Before Sirius could answer, the door behind Peter opened and James came out of the classroom. 

“Okay, we take it back Pete, maybe that is something everyone knows.” Peter smiled triumphantly as Sirius shrugged. “Anyways, follow us ladies.” The six students walked up towards the Gryffindor common room together, as the boys filled the girls in on their plan for dinner. 

Dinnertime arrived and you walked into the Great Hall, surprised to find that none of your friends were at the Gryffindor table. You quickly scanned the other three tables, taking extra time when looking at the Ravenclaw table, in case they decided to switch things up and were waiting for you at a different table tonight. You even glanced over at the Slytherin table, knowing that the chance of them being there was greater than the chance of you suddenly owning all the gold in Gringotts. 

Suddenly there was an arm around your shoulder, and Sirius was by your side. “M’lady, would you care to join me for dinner?”

“Oh well of course good sir”. You laughed as you allowed Sirius to steer you towards the Gryffindor table. You sat down next to him and saw James, Marlene, Peter, and Dorcas all walking in together, talking as they made their way over to you and Sirius at the table. You started to pour yourself a glass of pumpkin juice when you realized that your friends were definitely up to something. The girls acting this cozy with the boys? All while wearing mischievous smiles on their faces and staring at you? Yep, something was definitely going on. You wondered if it had anything to do with Lily and Remus’ absences and wondered for a moment if that meant James was planning another elaborate show of love for Lily with Remus acting as the distraction.

“Alright, you lot are up to no good, what is it this time?” You did your best impression of Professor McGonagall, making Dorcas, Marlene, and Peter burst out in laughter and earning impressed smirks from Sirius and James. 

“My dear, wonderful, talented potion maker Y/N/N, could you kindly identify this potion for us?” James pulled a vial out of his pocket, took off the lid and handed it to you. Even if you hadn’t noticed the distinct coloring, the immediate smell of chocolate and Lily’s fresh linens hit you and you knew that somehow your friends had gotten ahold of their own bit of Amortentia.

“Guys, you can’t be serious? You can’t give someone Amortentia, that’s incredibly unethical and not to mention-”

“Don’t worry my wise little friend, we aren’t dosing anyone. But, you can confirm this is Amortentia?” Sirius smirked at you while taking the vial out of your hands, all the while leaving the cap off.

“Yes of course, how did you get it? What are you doing with it?”

“Never mind that, and just wait and see.” Sirius said as Marlene leaned into your ear to whisper (“nicked it from Sluggy’s office earlier”).

At that exact moment, Lily and Remus came up to the table, deep in discussion. “Hey everyone.” Remus smiled at you as he greeted everyone.

“Here, mate. You can take my seat and I’ll move over- woah, sorry Moons.” In his attempt to stand up and allow Remus to swap spots with him, Sirius slipped and managed to pour the entire vial of Amortentia down Remus’ robes. Before anyone could offer him a napkin to wipe it off the Muggle way, or could get their wand out for a quick Scourgify, Remus started laughing.

“Merlin, Sirius, it really wasn’t that important for you to prove. We get it, you don’t know that Y/N usually smells like lilacs, you didn’t need to go out and nick her perfume to prove that the rest of us recognize it.” Remus continued laughing as your jaw dropped. 

All of a sudden, it made sense. As the pieces fell together, you realized why Sirius had stolen the Amortentia from Slughorn’s office and why ¾ of the Marauders were conspiring with your friends. You quickly realized that the reason no one was quick to help clean up the mess was because unlike you, they knew it was coming and wanted to make sure that Remus would identify your scent before it was gone. You also figured that the reason Lily came late was to distract and slow down Remus so everyone else could have time to have you identify the potion, and that Sirius’ spill was as purposeful as him initially taking the seat next to you. Not for the first time that day, you knew that Remus unknowingly caused you to both smile, and blush while trying to hide both. 

“I suddenly remembered that I need to ask my girl Minnie McG about Quidditch and that I need Sirius, Peter, Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas with me for moral support.” James jumped up from the table, and after a nod from Sirius, the rest of your friends stood up and quickly headed towards the front of the room.

“All of them? That’s so odd. Y/N, your perfume is rather lovely as always, but would you mind passing me a napkin?” Remus awkwardly brought his hand up to scratch behind his ear as he sat down across from you, waiting for an explanation and a napkin.  You instead got your wand out and muttered a quick scourgify, handing Remus a glass of pumpkin juice instead.

“Erm, Remus.”

Before you could say anything else, Remus (finally noticing the hesitation in your voice and amusement on your face) panicked that he had made you uncomfortable by recognizing your perfume, “Oh so earlier the boys and I were talking about our friends and Peter mentioned that he knew that you smelled like lilacs because of that one Hogsmeade trip and then-”

“Remus!” You reached across the table and placed your hand on his, hoping that you were guessing correctly in that your scent was romantically in his Amortentia, and that it wasn’t there just as a good friend.

“Yes?” This time, it was Remus’ turn to flush, and though his hand twitched nervously under yours, he didn’t dare move a muscle.

“That wasn’t my perfume Sirius spilled on you. It was, well, it was some leftover Amortentia from this morning. Wait, hey, wait, let me finish okay?” You smiled sweetly at him, knowing that his nerves had to be extreme right now. “Do you remember the third thing I smelled this morning? The chocolate? It’s you, of course it’s you Remus. I mean honestly, do you think I fancy the cashier at Honeydukes?” You winked at him, then took a deep breath.

“Listen, Rem, if I’ve got this all wrong and you smelled my perfume platonically like I smelled Lily, just say the world and we’ll never mention this again but, I fancy you, a lot. I figure that I know us both well enough to know that neither of us are really keen on being the one to make the first move. So I was wondering if I could borrow a little of your Gryffindor courage?”

Remus (who was displaying the strongest case of Y/N face in recorded history) nodded, happy but also curious to see where you were going with this. You smiled and took a breath to steady yourself as you lifted the hand that wasn’t currently on his and placed it lightly on the side of his face. If hearts could melt, yours would have been absolute liquid at the sight and sensation of Remus smiling and leaning into your hand. You slowly started to lean in, wanting to give him the opportunity to change his mind. 

Finally, for the first time since he realized he fancied you all those years ago, Remus Lupin decided to do something about it and leaned in to meet you halfway. Remus turned the hand on the table upwards, so as to hold your hand properly while kissing you and you smiled into the kiss thinking that if Gryffindor courage meant getting to kiss Remus like this, you might talk to Dumbledore about a house transfer.

As you pulled away, you heard a noise behind you and turned around to find Professor McGonagall staring at the two of you, as you both blushed but remained holding hands.

“Miss L/N, Mr. Lupin, I assume I don’t have to remind you that public displays of affection need not occur in the Great Hall?” McGonagall tilted her head and spoke sternly, and before you could apologize, Sirius and James came quite literally running up to the three of you.

“Minnie, it’s young love!! You can’t deny them that!” Sirius yelled as James dramatically pretended to cry, hand clutched to his chest. 

“Oh pull yourselves together boys, and get on with dinner.” As soon as Minerva McGonagall turned away from you, she could no longer keep a smile from creeping onto her face. She was ready to collect her galleons from Pomona Sprout about which of the two of you would make a move first (she counted your declaration as a move as the kiss was mutual), and could later be heard laughing over pudding “Well of course, I wasn’t going to deny them that, I mean did they see me revoking house points? No, but I can’t let them know we approve, Albus, it takes away half the fun”). 

[chupacabrasmustdie]

Ovella negra

If there's one thing we love here, it's spending way too much time thinking about minor characters - and when I heard Sylvando's audiobook mentioned a circus mentor, i knew i was in for a treat.

So without further ado, have some baby Sylv meeting madam Rose. 1k words, pre-canon, gen af. Scroll down or read it on AO3!

Thanks to the ever great @venatohru ​​ for going over this <3 remaining mistakes all mine.

---

He followed the circus from a distance for a couple of days, stopping when they did, far enough to escape detection but close enough to discourage prowlers and wild animals. On the third night, his back hurt from sleeping on the ground and he was ready to make his grand entrance.

Turns out, they had little interest in who he was, and much more in what he was willing to share. The dry-cured ham put stars in everyone’s eyes; the bottle of sweet white wine (snatched from the family cellar) helped convince them to introduce him to the ringmaster.

The juggler led him away from the campfire, to a wagon parked a bit further near the treeline. Truly, a sight to behold: a pink and red monstrosity, adorned with touches of gold and floral decorations. “Wait here,” the man said, and disappeared through an impossibly narrow door. He came back after what felt like an eternity and ushered him in with a wink.

Inside, sitting among piles of colorful clothing, stage props and flashy trinkets, was an old woman with long, dark hair, her eyes outlined with heavy black makeup. She could’ve been fifty or sixty years old, maybe more; her face was covered in wrinkles, but her movements were still lively - graceful, even. Laying down her smoking pipe, she gave him a curious look, her large golden earrings tingling softly. “And who might you be?”

He’d had enough time to come up with a ready answer. “Ernesto, milady.”

She barked out a laugh, and waved at the tiny space around them. “Have you seen a lady here? ‘Cause I sure haven’t. Madam Rose will do.”

Ignoring the heat creeping up his neck, he nodded. “Understood.”

“And loosen up a little, for goodness’ sake. This isn’t troops review.” He rushed to unclasp his hands from behind his back; the movement caught her eye and she reached out to catch one of his hands in hers, turning it around and inspecting it closely. He resisted the urge to bat her hands away, wondering if she was able to guess who he was, somehow. He’d always dismissed palm reading as superstitious nonsense, but…

“Interesting,” she said, letting him go. “A soft hand, well-cared for…with a couple of distinctive calluses.” Toying with one of her earrings, she gave him an easy smile. “A young man of good breeding with a knack for fencing, then. Is that right, Ernesto?”

He observed a cautious silence, and realized that he’d somehow assumed the same posture she’d just made fun of, neck and shoulders rigid with tension. He willed his muscles to relax without exhaling too deeply.

“Thing is,” she continued, taking a long drag on her pipe. “We don’t usually take in runaway young nobles. It tends to end badly.”

“I’m not,” he started, but the look she gave him shut him up right then and there.

“As I was saying…” She blew a couple of smoke rings, lost in her thoughts for a moment. “We circus people have a bad enough reputation as it is. The last thing we need is angry wealthy people making things more difficult for us.”

He licked his lips, giving his next sentence some serious consideration. “You said you don’t usually take in runaway nobles.”

“So?”

“So I take it you have done it, occasionally.”

“Someone paid attention during their rhetoric lessons,” she smirked. “Yes, darling, we do welcome the occasional black sheep. But…” She gave him the once-over and the line of her mouth hardened. “You look both too young to make that call, and too old to start training with us.”

He forced a smile on his face, fingernails digging into his palms. “I’m a quick learner.”

“I’m sure you are, darling.”

“I’m fast, I have good balance. I can walk a tightrope.” She nodded, obviously unimpressed, but it was the shrill of desperation in his own voice that made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. There had to be something he could say to change her mind - a talent he possessed that would make him a worthwhile addition…

To hell with it. “I’m a good dancer, a decent singer. And I play a mean dulzaina.”

She took the pipe out of her mouth and turned to look at him. “You play the dulzaina?”

“Yes! Recorder, castanets, various percussion instruments, but mostly the dulzaina.”

“We could use another musician,” she mused. The lines around her mouth deepened as she added, “but not another mouth to feed.”

Last throw of the dice, he thought as he rummaged in his satchel to produce a small piece of velvet. Unfolding it carefully, he held up its content for her to see - and she gasped.

“Put that thing away,” she hissed. “Are you mad? Or just trying to get yourself killed?”

“No, not at all,” he stammered, hiding the offensive item as fast as he could. “I simply wished to show you I can pay for my tuition.”

“You absolute fool.” She hid her face in her hands and groaned. “Honey, if you have any common sense, you’ll keep that thing hidden until we visit a big city and you can trade it somewhat safely for gold coins.”

In the heavy silence that followed, he tried not to grin - and failed. “Does that mean you’re letting me stay with you?”

She snarled and he took a step back. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

He held her gaze until her expression softened into something almost affectionate. “Oh, what the hell… Why not? I feel it my duty to protect such a spendy, sheltered youth. And if they happen to play a mean dulzaina… how could I resist?”

The mocking made him blush - again - but he supposed he’d earned it. He knew the pearl was precious, it was the very reason he’d brought it with him; but he’d failed to realize just how precious, and how it was bound to attract greed. He guessed he really had lived quite a sheltered life in Puerto Valor.

He bowed his head, fist on his chest - a typically caballero gesture, he realized too late. “You won’t regret it, I promise. Thank you, mil-” The word died away on his lips under her stare, “Madam Rose.”

“I’d better not, or it’s back to sword fencing for you.”

Not a bad perspective, for most people; all his training companions had considered themselves lucky. But the thought of going home with his tail between his legs - of facing his father - made his stomach twist.

“It won’t come to that.”

She waved him off. “We’ll see. Off with you, now, darling…a lady needs her beauty sleep.”

Her hoarse laughter followed him out of the wagon, and back to the campfire.

[waywardnerd67]

The Family Business

Title: The Family Business Summary: (Y/N) is hired on as the newest mechanic at Winchester Automotive. Trying to prove herself, she catches the eye of the boss’s son. Pairing: Dean x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluff/Implied Smut Word Count: 1470 Squared Filled: Coworkers AU Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: None

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He was bent over the engine of an old pick-up truck tightening the cylinder head cover. It was his last job of the day and could not wait to clock out to go home.

“Dean, come see me before you go.” His dad and owner of Winchester Motors called out to him from the main office.

He let out a small groan, “Got it!” Shutting the hood, Dean washed off most of the grease on his hands and made his way over to the office.

Winchester Motors was in the heart of Lawrence, Kansas. His dad, John Winchester, had built their garage from the ground up and Dean was set to inherit it once the old man retired. His mom, Mary, worked there when needed but spent most of her days volunteering at the elementary school in the library. His little brother, Sammy, was a big shot lawyer in California with his wife Jessica. The Winchesters were the picture perfect family.

“What’s up?” Dean walked in not expecting to see a beautiful woman sitting across from his dad.

She looked up at him first, her brilliant (Y/C/E) eyes trailing down his body. Dean smirked arching an eyebrow at her. As she stood, Dean’s eyes made a similar path down her body. She was only an inch or two shorter than he was in her black heels that made her tone legs go for days up into her simple black skirt. A simple pale yellow blouse showed off her perfect curves and plunging neckline showed just enough cleavage to entice his interest.

His dad cleared his throat catching his attention, “Dean, I want you to meet (Y/N). She will be your newest mechanic in the shop, so I want her to shadow you for the first couple of weeks.”

“Mechanic? Really?” He looked down at her perfect manicured nails and flawless skin.

She chuckled then the most beautiful sound hit his ears, “Don’t let the girly get up fool you. I can handle myself around a car.”

Dean sucked in a shaky breath before laughing softly, “We’ll see about that sweetheart. When does she start?”

“Tomorrow.” He caught his dad’s eye roll.

“See tomorrow, bright and early. Leave the heels at home.” Dean snarked as she stood in front of him.

“I look forward to working with you. See you tomorrow.” She stuck her hand out to him shaking his, “Oh and make sure you leave the chauvinist pig opinions at home. Sweetheart.”

Too stunned to think of a comeback, Dean watched as she walked out of the office saying goodbye to his dad.

His dad started laughing as soon as the door shut, “I think you met your match, Dean.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before waving goodbye to his dad. The whole night, he tossed and turned the image of (Y/N) haunting his dreams. Then there was the whole dynamic of having a woman in the garage. His crew was the best of the best, but they were also typical men around one another. Gross and crude.

As daybreak hit, Dean decided to get some early breakfast at the 24 hour diner down the street from the shop. Pulling in the lot, he parked next to a beautiful red 1970 Chevy Chevelle. Even he had to admit that his own ‘67 Chevy Impala did not look as good as the Chevelle. After ogling it for a moment he went inside the diner.

“Mornin’ Darla, if you could be a dear and whip up my usual.”

The morning waitress winked at him, “Sure thing handsome.”

As he turned around he found (Y/N) smiling up at him from a booth, “Come here often?” She motioned for him to sit across from her.

She looked completely different from yesterday. She had on jeans with a pair of black work boots. He could see a simple black shirt underneath her Chevy zip up hoodie and her hair was tied back. She was even more beautiful without all the make-up and girly nonsense.

“I’ve been known to come here from time to time. Let me guess, the Chevelle is yours?”

She nodded, “Rebuilt her when I was eighteen with my dad before he passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He spoke softly as Darla brought over a mug with coffee in it, “Thanks sweetheart.”

(Y/N) chuckled as Darla’s cheeks turned a soft pink, “You know you have quite the way of rendering women into a pile of goo.”

He let out a rich laugh from deep in his belly, “I guess I do, but not with all women.”

Their eyes connected for a brief moment before she averted her eyes to her own mug of coffee. After that, their conversation was effortless. They talked about everything from their childhoods to her recent change of careers from teaching to mechanic.

“Come on, we should get to the shop before the other guys. I’ll show you the normal routine before opening.” Dean left a couple bills for their meals and a hefty tip from Darla.

(Y/N) blended right in with the rest of the guys. She was smart and quick witted, giving back as good as she got it. The guys tested their boundaries with her and she put them in their place quickly. Dean was thoroughly impressed and even more so when she started working under the hood. Seeing her stretch her gorgeous coverall body over an engine was a sight to behold. He found himself having to look away to keep himself from crossing a line. He had a sneaky suspicion that she was doing some of it on purpose when she looked over her shoulder and smirked at him.

The day went by in a flash and the guys informed her of the newbie’s responsibility of cleaning the shop after close. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand leaving a grease mark across it before taking the broom from one of the guys. Dean decided to check in with his dad before he left for the day.

“So, how’d she do?”

He handed Dean a glass of whiskey, “She did great. She didn’t let the guys get under her skin and she really knows her stuff.” He downed the drink, setting the glass back on the desk.

His dad refilled it, “Will you be able to work with her?”

Dean was taken back by the question, sipping his drink this time. “Absolutely. Why wouldn’t I be able too?”

“A woman who knows her way around a car, drinks whiskey and is pretty. Sounds like the perfect girl for you…” He trailed off giving him a knowing smiling.

He finished off his drink, “I think you’ve had one too many of these,” he held up his glass standing from his chair, “Goodnight dad.”

“Night son.” His dad’s chuckling filled his ears before the door shut between them.

Dean decided to pull his Baby in and work on her for a little while to clear his head. (Y/N) was finishing the sweeping when he heard his dad’s truck pulling out of the lot. He looked up to watching her cleaning up her tools with the coverall top tied around her waist. The black tank-top clung to every curve she had making his own jeans a little more uncomfortable.

“I-I can finish up cleaning since I’ll be here for a little while.” He stammered slightly.

She smiled softly as she unzipped the rest of her coveralls sliding them down her body, “That’s okay. I’ll finish up and pay my dues.”

Dean bit his lip watching her bend over to pick them up and toss them on the toolbox. As she continued moving about the shop, he found himself more and more distracted. The tension between them was building as (Y/N) decided to help him tune Baby. He turned around to grab a tool turning back around to see her ass up in the air.

“Damn…” He whispered, readjusting himself.

Her laughter filled his ears, “Enjoying the view?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

He took the opportunity to grasp her hips pulling her down off the car. She gasped as he held her tightly against his body wrapping his arms around her waist. He lowered his lips grazing across her shoulder.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” He murmured against her neck as her head rolled back against his shoulder.

“About time Winchester. I was beginning to wonder if you were even interested in me.” She turned around his arms and pressed her pouty lips against his.

They were lying in the backseat of his Baby, their naked bodies wrapped around one another. “Welcome to the Family Business sweetheart,” he kissed her temple.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

[unsteadygalaxy]

all is soft inside chapter 12

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3, my username is the same there!

previous | next

12. give me a piece of your heart

A quick note: I have the Pathfinder's Quest book and I finished it today (Feb 2nd 2021)! It was mind-blowing and amazing and SO, SO GOOD. Unfortunately, this fic can no longer fit into canon because of what we find out about Bloodhound. Don't worry, I won't be spoiling! I had a story set up for them before I read the lore book, and that's the story I'll be sticking to. Maybe one day I'll write some canon things, but for now, this story is no longer canon-compliant. Part of me is sad to have all the answers, but hey! That's what makes canon-divergent fics so fun :)

Elliott practically flies down the street towards the Legends’ apartment complex, bursting with nervousness and energy as he goes. The torrential downpour of rain doesn’t even manage to dampen his mood; he’s got a heavy-duty umbrella and an upbeat attitude that could make the skies clear up in moments. Bloodhound’s proposition hangs in his head, and he clings to it with an embarrassing neediness. ‘Would you like to visit me in my apartment later this evening?’ they had asked, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. He feels like a dumbass for the way he had reacted- god, he was so lame. Falling over his words, making the simplest mistakes… What fourteen year old in the area had reached out and possessed him? Whoever it was, he’d have to have a strong talk with them later.

After arriving back to his apartment above the bar, he’d scrubbed himself clean and very meticulously arranged his hair. He’d eventually chosen a deep purple sweater over a light blue button down, a pair of his nicer dark jeans, a black belt, and sneakers to wear for the evening. He’d hemmed and hawed in front of the mirror for at least twenty minutes, rolling and unrolling his sleeves, second guessing each outfit choice he made until he settled. He had decided to keep the sleeves rolled up, but the easy confidence he usually has in himself has chosen to take a pointed leave of absence.

Elliott really does feel like a teenager obsessing over their first date all over again, but he has to remind himself it’s not a date, it’s just a talk. A nice evening in. A nice evening alone with Bloodhound. His cheeks blaze, and the enormity of his crush on them plummets onto his head all at once. 

Ahh, shit.

He finally lets his thoughts race and wander while thinking about them. For the first time in days, he lets himself linger on his memories of their face, though the quick glimpse he had gotten had not left him with much to remember. Their gorgeous red hair, their piercing green eyes, the striking contours of their face… They are so beautiful, and he would do anything to see their face again.

A giddy smile crosses his face when he thinks of all the times they’ve touched him on the arm or on the shoulder, or held his hands so softly. They had exuded kindness and compassion in those moments, the genuineness of which Elliott has not truly felt in a while. Bloodhound’s quiet vulnerability in the bar the other night had struck him as both odd and humbling; their increasing trust in him is something he definitely doesn’t want to take for granted. 

The complex comes into view and Elliott’s heart starts to pound harder in his chest. It takes a great deal of effort to not run all the way to their door… until he realizes he doesn’t know which floor is theirs, much less which door.

Bzzt! His phone vibrates in his back pocket, and he jumps a little before retrieving it. A message from an unknown number is emblazoned across the lock screen:

Second floor, number 14.

-BH

Excitement and happiness surges through his veins, and he immediately saves their contact information. God, is he really that pumped about having their number? A big stupid smile stretches across his face, and he wants to smack himself. Chill, Elliott, chill. You’ve gotta get ahold of yourself before you get up there. He takes a deep breath and sends a quick reply to Bloodhound as he continues down the sidewalk, valiantly avoiding the puddles. 

Nearly there! How’d you get my number?

A reply flashes through faster than he thought it would.

Renee owed me a favor. I hope it is all right that I asked her.

Oh, yeah, that’s fine! No problem :)

He has to physically restrain himself from adding a little heart; Renee or Octavio or Makoa were used to his nonsense, but he figures Bloodhound would only find it strange for him to be adding those things to his texts right off the bat. He’s busy smiling off into space when his phone vibrates again.

I am looking forward to seeing you.

Elliott’s heart practically explodes in his chest, and he steps right into a puddle.

------

Bloodhound can’t stay still.

Ever since those traitorous words had fallen from their mouth, they’d been on red alert, their brain and body a hopeless torrent of conflicting emotions that hadn’t quite settled. They think it’s fitting that it is raining; it seems the Allfather is showing his sympathies in the smallest of ways. The rain patters against the windows in a steady rhythm, and under any other circumstance it would have been very calming. They would have shed the mask and goggles and snuggled into the couch with a book and a cup of tea, but tonight, that isn’t an option. Instead, they’re wandering aimlessly around their apartment- cleaning corners that don’t really need to be cleaned, tending to Artur, and sipping at a glass of water every time they walk by the kitchen.

They’d hopped into the shower immediately after arriving home and cleaned every inch of their skin with an annoying attention to detail. Their anxiety had mounted in their chest until they had had to sit on the cold tiles of the shower with their head between their legs. Everything is going to be fine, they’d repeated to themself over and over again. Elliott would never hurt you.

The thought is ironic because of the stubborn headache at the base of their skull- Boone’s pain medicine had done little to abate the throbbing in their neck. As they think back on their day, they feel a surge of pride for Elliott. It seems that he is finally allowing himself to succeed, instead of limiting himself like he had before. He had truly surprised them today. Where they had once seen hesitation and worry, it had been replaced with deadly precision and focus, and Bloodhound would not change the outcome of the match even if they could. Elliott had been a wonderful sight to behold.

The frantic fear is nearly gone, but it lingers just enough to make them a little self-conscious. Opting not to wear their Games attire, they’ve picked a thick turtleneck, fitted cargo pants, woolen socks, and a slimmer pair of gloves that will hide their hands but not hinder any movement. The mask is laid on the table, ready to be put on at a moment’s notice. They’re already wearing the helmet, their goggles, and the leather cap. They’ve always hated having to pile wet hair under the hood, but their plans left them no choice. Bloodhound hasn’t cared much about their physical appearance in years, but for some reason, the idea of being alone with Elliott again makes them want to hide away in embarrassment.

An eager knock at the door startles Bloodhound, and they very nearly knock over their glass.

Their heart starts pumping in their chest, and their fingers fumble a little as they clip the respirator to the cap. Immediately, their breathing comes easier, and they scold themself for going so long without it this evening. Bloodhound makes their way to the door and opens it, revealing an absolutely drenched Elliott holding a broken umbrella in one hand and a pair of sopping wet sneakers in the other. 

“Hey! I, uh, definitely stepped in a ton of puddles on the way here. I usually watch where I’m going but these ones were sac- ski- scattered everywhere, so I couldn’t see them at all, and then of course the wind picked up and shredded my umbrella, so I’m totally soaked.” He shrugs helplessly and shakes the bent umbrella off a little, showering Bloodhound’s feet with droplets of water. “Ah, shit. Sorry!”

They shake their head at him and sigh, and a shiver goes through their body as they think about being drenched in this weather. “It is of no consequence, Elliott, I can very easily change socks. Please, come in,” they say, and they lead him into their apartment.

They try not to look at him as he takes in their apartment, suddenly insecure about how simple and bare it looks. The apartment had come furnished, but it is not quite to their tastes. Bloodhound prefers a more homey and warm feel, not the modern, sleek look that is so popular these days. The windows in the living room are quite large. Bloodhound had had a tinted effect added to them immediately- for their anonymity and so the light coming in would not be quite so harsh on their sensitive eyes. The furnishings are a combination of aesthetically pleasing colors and fabrics, all tones of white or grey or brown. A couple of plush blankets are draped over the back of the couch, and minimalistic frames are hung on the walls, great white voids containing typeface quotes and old cliches. The fireplace is an inordinate monolith of dark stone, and if Bloodhound had thought of it, they would have started a fire to make it seem less dull and boring. The thought occurs to them that they should have made this place more welcoming, but they are not vain enough to care in the long run. After all, will Elliott even want to return after he receives the answers to his questions? Bloodhound thinks not.

“Wow,” Elliott remarks, leaning his umbrella against the wall by the door. “It’s so clean.” He strips off his socks and rolls up his pants a little so the soggy ends aren’t rubbing around his ankles. The cuffs fit tightly around his very sculpted calves, and Bloodhound blushes before looking away pointedly.

“This space is not to my tastes,” they reply, watching him walk around. “My real home is much more notalegt- cozy- and warm. Not cold and unfeeling like this place is.” 

“Your real home?” he asks, glancing at them. “You don’t live in the Legends complexes full time?”

“I stay in the buildings during the on season, but during the off season, I retreat to a modest cabin in the woods,” they explain, and they realize they’ve made their first confession of the night. That... wasn’t so bad. “There are bookshelves from floor to ceiling, a large fireplace, plenty of furs to keep warm, and a view that would take your breath away. I quite enjoy it.” 

“That sounds amazing,” he grins. That smile… Bloodhound has to take a deep breath.

“Maybe I will show you one day,” they say, surprising themself with how easily they offer. “It is a beautiful place, and I think you would like it.” 

“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’d, uh… you’d let me go with you?”

“Perhaps,” they murmur, and their heart starts to beat hard in their chest again. They notice he’s still carrying his wet shoes and socks, and they move to take them from him. “Here. Let me start a fire. Your shoes and socks will be dry in no time.” 

“Oh, thank you!” he replies cheerily, and the smile he gives them makes their heart skip a beat. They take the soggy items from him, cringing a bit at the questionable texture, and set them on the mantle for a moment. Overly aware of how closely he’s watching them, they kneel down, turn the gas knob, and light the fire quickly. In moments, a rosy glow emanates from the fireplace and Bloodhound pulls the screens over to eliminate any chance of Elliott’s things going up in flames. They reach up and place the shoes and socks on a small rack in front of the fire, and then they stand and retreat to their room for a moment.

Before long, they return to the living room wearing a fresh pair of socks and carrying a pair for Elliott. “Here,” they say, holding them out to him. “So your feet are not cold. It can be drafty in here when it rains.”

A pink tinge comes to his cheeks, and he accepts them hesitantly. “You’re way too nice,” he grumbles quietly as he sinks down onto the couch. He puts them on and then pushes his floppy wet hair out of his face. “Hey, can I borrow your hair dryer?” he asks, giving them a questioning glance.

“I… do not own one,” they reply, face burning. “Mine gave out a few weeks ago and I have not yet had time to buy another.”

To their surprise, he grins widely and looks away, suddenly very focused on the fire. “That’s all right,” he says, and his voice is curiously flustered. “I can just sit in front of the fireplace for a bit. You’re about to see the fluffiest hair the Outlands has to offer.” He laughs and rolls his eyes, raking his hands through his messy mop. 

The thought of Elliott with an untamed mess of curly hair makes them smile like a lovesick teenager, and they’re so, so glad they’re still wearing the mask. “So your hair is not perfect all the time?” they tease, sitting down on the couch next to him. They leave a respectable distance between them, but the distance is smaller than it would have been two or three weeks ago. “Ah, so he does have a flaw. Artur, can you believe it?”

They look to Artur’s perch where the bird has been sleeping peacefully throughout all of this. The bird shakes his beak and gives a soft caw before shuffling along his branch, completely ignoring Bloodhound. They shake their head at him. Unhelpful creature, they think affectionately.

Elliott scoffs and says, “Psh, no! I’m absolutely fal- flo- fu- perfect. My hair just has a life of its own sometimes.” He flips his hair to the opposite side and gives Bloodhound a ridiculously goofy expression. It takes everything in them to not burst out laughing, and they would have given him a deadpan expression if they could.

“Like your aim with an R-99, then,” they reply, keeping their voice as even as possible.

His mouth drops open, but he’s smiling. “Wh-What? Was that a joke? Did you actually just tell a joke?” A huge, incredulous laugh escapes his throat and he grabs his chest, and Bloodhound almost loses it. “That’s a little unfair though, considering how I absolutely lasered you today.”

It’s Bloodhound’s turn to laugh, and their face hurts from how much they’ve smiled lately. “You are correct, Elliott,” they admit, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. “I was very impressed with your skill this morning. Your precision and focus made you a formidable opponent, and I was honored to fight with you.”

Instead of the cocky, arrogant response they have come to expect from him, Elliott actually blushes. It is a welcome change; his cheeks turn a lovely shade of red and he looks away, biting his lip. “Thanks,” he says simply, and his voice is… bashful? 

Bloodhound does not quite know what to make of that.

------

His face burns fiercely and he can’t meet their eyes. He loves getting praise from his fans and from his friends, but getting praised by Bloodhound somehow means so much more. Maybe it’s because they’re so skilled, or maybe it’s because he respects them the most out of any other Legend, but such high compliments coming from them renders him a little speechless. 

“Hey, I know this is dumb since we’re paid to kill each other, but, um… Sorry about today,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Taking an entire clip of ammo to the head always gives you a nasty headache.”

Bloodhound huffs quietly, and Elliott takes that to be a soft laugh. “Do not worry, vinur minn. I am perfectly fine. It was simply the Allfather’s will for me to lose today, and I am not offended.”

Elliott lets out a small chuckle, relieved. “Well, that’s good to know. I was worried I might have broken your mask.”

They tap their mask firmly, and it makes a solid thunk sound. “You see? Perfectly fine,” they reply, and Elliott can hear the smile in their voice. “It is quite solid and substantial. Unlike much of your humor.”

Elliott stares at them open mouthed. “I’m wounded, Bloodhound, truly!” he rebutts, scandalized. He flops back against the couch dramatically, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. Bloodhound, making multiple jokes in one night? The world must be ending, he thinks, and he doesn’t even care that the jokes are coming at his expense.

Bloodhound laughs, and God, he’s missed that sound. The gentle lilt, the soft breathiness of their voice… Elliott blushes even as he giggles, and he treasures the noise they’re making. 

“I have been known to be humorous now and again,” they say, still chuckling. 

Elliott can only smile and shake his head in wonder as the two of them laugh, and soon, he’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Wow. Okay, out of all the things I expected tonight it definitely wasn’t that.”

“And what have you expected for this evening, Elliott?” Bloodhound cocks their head and leans back into the couch, folding their arms.

A thrill of joy runs its course throughout his body when they say his name, and he finds it strange. Bloodhound has surely said his name hundreds of times, but this feels different. Elliott is sure he’s overthinking it, but the way they had said it feels like they were humming a song. 

His entire body glows with warmth. “You promised me answers,” he says carefully as the giddiness starts to drain away. “You don’t have to go into specifics but… still, you promised answers.”

Bloodhound is silent for a moment, and their hands fidget lightly in their lap. Then they nod. “Yes. I do owe you answers, so please, ask whatever you would like.” Their voice is guarded and serious, and the shift in attitude is sobering. 

Elliott notices how discomfort begins to creep into their posture, and so he resolves to not push them any further than they are willing to be pushed. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the air hissing between his teeth as he leans back and begins to think. “Okay, um… Well, I was worried about your mask breaking because I don’t know how it works or how it helps. Can I ask why you need it?”

The question only makes Bloodhound’s body language tighten up more. They are silent for several long moments, seeming to ponder and consider his question. Was that too much right out of the gate? he thinks frantically, and he’s about to redact his question when they let out a big breath and begin to speak.

“When I was a child, I was… in an accident,” they say, but something about their admission feels shallow, as if they have more to tell. “No. I made a grave mistake.”

Elliott takes a deep breath and readjusts himself on the couch. He can tell this story will be a long one, and he intends to listen to every word.

“In my culture, young warriors must endure a rite of passage that shows our strength and our transition into adulthood,” Bloodhound explains. “My test was to slátra a prowler beast. I was afraid, but... I knew the Allfather would guide me.” They pause for a moment, and Elliott hangs on to their every word. “I followed its tracks to an abandoned IMC facility deep in the woods, but what I found there was far more hryllilegur. Horrible,” they add when Elliott raises an eyebrow. 

“A jötunn had made its home there. It is a terrifying beast, all horns and teeth and claws. It is as large as some of the buildings in Slum Lakes, if you can recall. I began to run away, but I found a prototype Charge Rifle and shot the beast. I thought it was dead. I collected its horn to present to my uncle, but he was... disappointed in me.” They sigh deeply as dread begins to pool in Elliott’s stomach. “I had rejected the sacred laws of the Hunt by using a gun in order to defeat this beast. Artur was steadfast, immovable in his convictions, and no matter how hard I tried to convince him of my victory, he would not validate it.

“I left in anger. I was a child, only fourteen years old, but if the other village elders knew what I had done, they would have exiled me. I was... so ashamed.” Bloodhound swallows, and it sounds like it takes a lot of effort. “I retreated to the forest to be alone, as I often did, and… the jötunn was there. It was not dead, as I had hoped. It sought revenge.

“I tried my best to fight it off. My uncle was alerted to my cries, and came to help, along with many other villagers. They fought, and…” Their voice tightens, and Elliott’s heart breaks. “Many died. Including my uncle.”

Their voice has become achingly vulnerable and soft the longer they’ve spoken, and Elliott wants nothing more than to reach out and take their hands again. He shifts closer to them on the couch, closing the gap ever so slightly. His eyes stay glued to their mask, and the lenses of their goggles reflect the flickering light of the fireplace. He’s always found the mask to be either intimidating or expressionless, but Bloodhound’s sadness speaks for them, and the mask seems to be considerably more morose than usual. 

“I sought the beast out,” they continue, and Elliott is surprised by how quietly angry and low their voice is. “It had returned to the abandoned facility. The halls had been equipped with coolant lines in case of an explosion or other emergency, and I broke them in order to immobilize the beast. But I breathed too much of it in, and… it dehydrated and froze my skin and lungs, leaving me scarred. Fortunately, I was able to find an oxygen mask just before I succumbed to the cold. Once the beast was frozen, I killed it with my uncle’s axe, fulfilling my test.”

Bloodhound is quiet for some time, and it takes Elliott a moment to realize they’re done talking. He knows he’s staring, and he knows he looks like he’s pitying them, and he fights to find an adequate response. “I’m so sorry, Bloodhound,” he murmurs, and he reaches out to them hesitantly. He takes their hands ever so softly, giving them every opportunity to pull away. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with such horrible things when you were younger. That sounds really tra- tor- traumatizing.” He’s struck by an incredible urge to pull them into his arms and hold them close, and a wave of embarrassment runs through his body as he presses that urge down.

Bloodhound’s hands begin to tremble in his, and he’s alerted to their discomfort immediately. Their breathing comes quicker and shallower even through the mask, and he holds onto them tighter. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, worried.

“I-” Their voice breaks and Elliott’s heart clenches in his chest. “I- I am sorry, Elliott, you do not want to see me like this-” Bloodhound makes an attempt to pull away and stand, but Elliott holds on tight, keeping them right where they are.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes. “It’s okay! It’s all right. I’m not bothered by you being emotional. It’s actually pretty refreshing, honestly. Makes you feel more normal, like the rest of us.”

They laugh weakly, and Elliott sighs in relief. “T-Thank you, vinur minn. I just- I am prone to anxiety attacks, and…” They suck in a huge lungful of air, but they’re still shaking. “That is why I left the other night. When you asked me about Artur, I was overcome and needed to leave as quickly as possible. Please do not take any offense- it was not your fault.”

Elliott’s chest fills with a strange sense of compassion and guilt, and he squeezes their hands comfortingly. “It’s okay, Bloodhound,” he reassures them. “I’m not mad. Just… worried.” The admission makes him feel exposed and overbearing all at once, and he really hopes he’s not making them uncomfortable.

An idea comes to his mind. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Breathe with me.” 

Bloodhound stiffens, and Elliott hopes to God he hasn’t somehow offended them. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and after a moment, he hears Bloodhound inhale greatly as well. He finds himself rubbing his thumbs back and forth across their rough gloves, just like they had done to him a few nights ago. He lets the air calm him and settle his racing heart. He still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or if he’s even doing this right, but to his delight, Bloodhound’s breathing begins to slow and even out. They gradually stop shaking, and he smiles. 

Elliott opens his eyes. “Better?” he asks, and he gives their hands a quick squeeze. 

They are quiet for a moment. “Nearly,” they murmur, and they pull their hands away. Elliott’s face falls, and rejection begins to rise in him, but they take off their gloves and reach for him once more. He eagerly closes the gap between his shaking fingers and theirs. The place where they make first contact with his skin- a small place near his thumb- tingles pleasantly, and the warmth of their hand settles in his. He inhales sharply, and beams as their fingers curl into his own. 

“Better.” They are so quiet and soft as they speak, and Elliott almost misses what they say. “Your kindness is a blessing to me, kæri vinur. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, trying to find their eyes beyond the lenses of their goggles. Despite his happiness, he finds himself wishing that he could search their face for meaning, for emotion, for clarity. He knows why they need and wear the mask. He knows why he will likely never see their face again. But, damn, does he desperately want to gaze upon them just one more time. He doesn’t know what kæri vinur means, but he can’t help but notice the similarities between it and what they usually call him. 

He doesn’t dare to hope it means anything.

...does he?

“Do you… do you want to talk about it, or…?” he trails, attempting to do what they had done a few nights ago. 

“No, Elliott,” they reply, but their voice is not unkind. Their grip on his hands tightens for a moment, then they loosen, and it sends a thrill down Elliott’s spine. “Your help was more than enough to calm me.”

He adjusts himself on the couch, and his knee brushes against theirs. The only light in the room comes from the quietly crackling fire, and it highlights Bloodhound’s features with a silhouette of warmth. His heart starts to pound in his chest once more, and every sense heightens. Elliott suddenly becomes aware of how intimate and vulnerable this little bubble of space is, and his shoulders tense in anticipation of something he knows will never come. He wants to pull them close. He wants to lace his fingers in theirs. He wants to…

“Can I trust you, Elliott?”

They sound so… exposed. So afraid. His breath catches in his throat for a moment. “O-Of course, Bloodhound. You can trust me with anything,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumbs across their knuckles reassuringly. He’s surprised by how rough their hands are, and it’s only then that he remembers the silvery spider web scars stretching across their skin. 

“Then… there is something I wish to share with you,” they reply, and their hands begin to tremble in his again. They let go of him, and to his utter shock, their hands go to their helmet, edging towards the many clasps that fasten it to their goggles and respirator.

“W-Wait, hold on,” he stutters, and he reaches for their hands again. “A-Are you- hey, you really don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, I mean- I mean, are you absolutely sure?” He stares at them in confusion and worry, and his stomach is an unintelligible knot of emotion. Elliott searches their mask and their body language, trying desperately to figure out what the hell they’re thinking.

“If I was not sure I would not be doing this,” they chide gently, and they remove their hands from his grip. “Please, just let me do this. Ég er svo- I am so tired of hiding.”

Elliott can’t argue with that. 

“Okay,” he says, still very unsure. His hands fall back into his lap.

------

The child inside them shakes and trembles horribly as they raise their hands to their head. Part of them screams and begs for them to stop, and it’s only in this moment that they realize that part is the terrified twenty-five year old that had had their mask shattered in front of all those people so long ago. That crowd had been so cruel, but Elliott could never share their vitriol, their hatred. Bloodhound has seen into the man’s heart more than they ever thought they would, and no trace of cruelty exists inside him.

How long has it been since they willingly showed someone else their face? Five years? Ten? Ajay seeing them had been a complete and total accident- one that they had learned not to mind. Boone had grown up with them, of course, so he does not count. But Elliott… At the beginning of this night, they never would have dreamed of doing what they’re about to do. But Elliott is so kind, so thoughtful and accepting that their heart yearns for him greatly, and they can ignore that fact no longer.

Their fingers fumble with the straps of their helmet, but something drives them forward. It drives them to be vulnerable- to be open and take a risk. Elliott has seen their face already, so why are they so nervous? He has seen the scars they bear- why are they trembling like the young one they used to be? They do not know, but they hope that the price of them being so vulnerable is a price he’s willing to pay. 

There is no turning back now, they think. 

With trembling hands, they remove the helmet, cap, goggles, and finally, the mask.