#he is so horrendously pathetically down bad for her

[saccharinerose]

Furina: Anyone I've ever worked with probably couldn't wait to get rid of me... Since I'm just an ordinary person now. They'll probably just laugh in my face if I go asking them for help... :(

Neuvillette, the second Furina asks him about booking the Opera Epiclese, the process for which is notably cumbersome and complex: Yes, I will take care of it immediately. Btw does this mean you will allow audiences (myself included) to enjoy your outstanding acting talents once more? 🥺

[stephanythedramaqueen]

If it were up to me they wouldn’t even kiss in the second season.

For one I’d use that season to develop Osha’s feeling for HIM. While it’s clear that Qimir is horrendously pathetically down bad for her, she isn’t on that level yet

Far from it.

She is just now maybe accepting that she likes him as a person, maybe. So s2 I’d have her raise her regard for him to the point where you can see that yeah she loves him too and not just bc he was booty ass naked in front of her.

She likes him for the vulnerability he showed her (emotionally) bc she understand him and bc they’re more alike than she thinks. And the fact that he would do anything she asks him, like a loser (affectionally)

Let the rest of the season be him yearning for her and she’s shyly receptive of it, with even more outrageous Jane Austen-esque hand touches.

My favorite trope is him being absolutely ruthless and merciless to the outside world, but then she’s the only one he is incredibly soft with 🥹

What I would do in s2 besides the soft touches is have him train her, hone those powers she inherited from her mother and them bonding over his past as a fallen Jedi, his trauma with his master who tried to kill him and her comforting him in return for that. And the both of them swearing Vernestra’s death for not only attempt murder on Qimir and leaving him scarred but then also using and manipulating Mae.

And also the two of them being so vulnerable together that they find out his real name finally.

Honestly, Leslye should hire me. Bc the YEARNING and the PINING from me between these two would be insane

[hannie-dul-set]

YOU’RE MY BUCKET LIST.

p — SHEN QUANRUI x fem! reader. g — humor, fluff, lovestruck! ricky trying his darnest to be cool. w — swearing, secondhand embarrassment what did you expect from me. 2.8k words.

note — rewriting the backstory of his leopard print shirt. my loser idolverse is expanding. no one is safe. who should i throw into the depths of patheticness next.

ricky doesn’t believe in bucket lists.

what need is there for a list of things he wants and wants to do before he dies when he can get and do everything he wants in an instant? if he wants to go bungee jumping, he can go to gangwon-do this afternoon. if he wants to date, he’s got a couple dozen numbers he can pick and choose to call. if he’s craving for authentic italian wine right out of the cellar, he can book a flight and visit all of europe with his phone as his only luggage. 

he lacks nothing, and therefore he wants nothing. ricky doesn’t believe in bucket lists— he didn’t believe in bucket lists. at least not until that damned day of reckoning, when the nonexistence of his list suddenly came to existence, harboring one thing and one thing only. 

there’s only one thing he’d like to tick off before he dies. one thing he wants as soon as possible. something that isn’t instantaneously achievable. something that unfamiliarly feels out of his grasp.

ricky, more than anything in the world, wants you to take him fucking seriously.

“you’re so pretty today.” 

is what he says, the moment you enter the office. well, two moments after you enter the office because he had to take the first moment to admire how pretty you are before verbalizing it. he’s down horrendous, he knows— totally outside of the image he’s perfectly curated for the past six months since entering university. you’re the chair of his department’s council, a third year, and by some mystical force or another (read: being stupidly whipped) he volunteered to help prepare for a department event and managed to drag the rest of his friends into it.

said friends being gyuvin and gunwook, who are looking at him in judgment and disgust after completing his daily routine of complimenting your face.

“aw, how cute,” is your reply. ricky wracks his brain for another word for pretty, but you’re quick to move one and leave him in the dust. “thank you, ricky! you’re so sweet. anyway, matthew, how’s the—”

gyuvin snorts. “hey, at least she thinks you’re cute.” ricky throws him a punch but it falls weak from the mental damage. 

cute. he hates it. he’s grown to hate it after it became the symbol of you thinking of him as nothing but your cute junior. are his daily compliments not enough of a giveaway that’s he’s lowkey fucking in love with you? what else do you want? a truckload of roses? a barbershop quartet illustrating through song how stupidly down bad ricky shen is for his unbothered senior?

knowing you, even if he gets on stage in front of the whole university and perform a three-act play of how he fell, head first with scraped knees, into the tunnel of torture that is you and your pretty smile, you’d probably just ruffle his hair and coo, “good job! you’re so talented, angel!” because he’s so cute, so lovely, so never going to be boyfriend-able in your eyes and it eats his despairing soul.

maybe if he rips his heart out of his chest and you see the gaping, you-shaped hole it’ll leave behind, you might finally get the idea.

“quit being a drama queen,” gunwook says, throwing a ball at ricky’s bedroom door that’s been locked shut for a good hour now. it bounces right back into his palm and gyuvin is laying flat on the floor next to him. “it could be that she knows you’re into her, but she’s just trying to reject your advances gently because she doesn’t want to hurt you.”

gunwook and gyuvin hear a crash from inside ricky’s room. 

“that’s— that’s, no. i don’t even want to think about that!”

they’re waiting for him to finish changing (if he is just changing. the crashes in his room are becoming sources of concern). you invited them for a nice buffet dinner to celebrate the success of the event. however, the three of them are already thirty minutes late for the restaurant appointment, and hanbin had to come over and pick them up with taerae in tow after hearing the news that ricky shen— cool guy extraordinaire— is having a breakdown over a girl. 

there are now four men waiting in front of ricky’s locked bedroom. gyuvin gets sick and tired and starts banging on the door. “hurry up! do you want to keep the love of your life waiting?”

“damn, you guys were serious,” taerae posits. “is he actually in love with her?”

“i’m afraid so,” gunwook solemnly shakes his head. 

hanbin hits another concerned knock on his door, and lo and behold, ricky finally cracks open his bedroom door and walks out—

walks out in an ensemble that they can only unanimously describe as jarring. 

leopard print. leather pants. gold chain necklace. a pair of shades are hanging on the way too low cut shirt and they wonder if he’s gonna wear them indoors. he’s got a leather jacket folded over his arm and it’s twenty four fucking degrees.

“what do you think?” ricky asks, eyes proud, expectant, and sparkly. hanbin doesn’t have the heart to break it to him. “i read somewhere that the pattern symbolizes, uh, confidence and sexiness, i think. this will make her stop thinking that i’m cute, right?”

“yeah,” gyuvin replies. “she’ll think you’re hideous instead.”

“google tells me that the leopard print is a symbol of, and i quote, absolute femininity.” gunwook has his eyes trained on his phone. he looks up and gives ricky a once-over. “if you’re trying to go for the femme fatale look, then you’re doing a good job.”

it takes a moment for ricky to react.

when he does, his reaction consists of grabbing onto the hem of his allegedly ugly shirt and starts pulling it over his head.

“whoa, whoa, whoa— what are you doing?!”

gunwook quickly tries to stop him from stripping. gyuvin is laughing his ass off. taerae has a hand covering his mouth. hanbin is stressed. “quit picking on him! ricky, you look fine!” ricky is not fine. his styled hair is not disheveled and he’s visibly upset and sulking. gyuvin is losing his mind. he’s on the floor and hitting the ground.

“are you trying to be cute right now?” taerae asks. this just scrunches up ricky’s brows even more and makes his bottom lip jut forward.

“n...no…?”

“well, shit,” taerae laments. “it’s a genetic disease. she’s never gonna take you seriously.”

the only emotion ricky knows is despair.

he’s supposed to be hot and sexy and handsome, why can’t you see that? do you have a pink filter when you look at him, or something? is that it? that’s gotta be it, right? because why else would you be so unaffected when he feigns nonchalance, brushing through his hair at a precise timing when he notices you starting to turn to his direction. it’s your heart that should be beating like crazy when he greets you with a half-smile and a nod— not his, not his, not his when you return it with a full-smile, so bright and beaming, of your own.

“oh, you’re finally here!”

ricky doesn’t believe in bucket lists. he lives in the moment. he doesn’t want things so desperately to the point where he writes them down on a checklist taped to his desk. the list definitely doesn’t have the words “get miss department chair to fall in love with me” written on it with scrawled letters. and he doesn’t didn’t give himself a deadline to date you by the end of the year.

he’s given himself until the day he dies because the moment he met you was the first time he imagined watching someone walking down the aisle. 

yes, he’s down bad. yes, he sings hopelessly devoted to you in the shower five times a week and replaced the word you with your name. yes, gyuvin has a recording. 

“ah, we’ve been waiting for you, kids,“ you say once they’ve all settled on their seats. kids. he scoffs. insult to injury. he’s pouting and picking on a plate of galbi. he feels like shit even though you’re sitting right across him all pretty and sweet like the strawberry shortcake you ordered— which he’s trying his damn best to not steal a slice from because he’s pretty sure you’re just gonna go, “oh! you really like strawberries, don’t you? so cute,” and he’d much rather choose physical over emotional torment, thank you very much.

“they were caught up in something,” taerae responds to your initial statement. your eyes gloss over them with curiosity.

“why? what took you guys so long?”

four sets of eyes are on ricky and his patterned shirt. the bossam wrap in his mouth won’t swallow down his throat. it was too late for him to change out of the symbol of femininity. mid-strip, hanbin got a text from you so he got dragged out, guilty in leopard prints and gold, out of his apartment.

don’t you fucking dare, ricky glares at the suspicious look gyuvin is wearing as he brings a glass of water to his lips. gyuvin clears his throat, “we had to wait for ricky who was dressing to impress y—” and is subsequently elbowed and chokes on his water.

hot. ricky feels hot. not the sexy kind, but the icky embarrassing kind because he wants to cover his burning face and stab gyuvin with a fork in the process.

“oh?” you voice out from across the table. you’re plucking out wads of tissue paper for a dying gyubin but your eyes are trained on him. oh my god. he wants to rip this shirt off and die, but he can’t do that. he can’t. he hasn’t been working out enough lately due to stress. “not everyone can pull off animal prints. it looks really good on you.”

huh.

“and you’re not wearing your usual silver! you look cool today, ricky.”

oh.

what.

“you really think so?” gyuvin, who has now recovered, eggs you on further in behalf of his malfunctioning friend. there’s steam rising to the ceiling and it’s not from the open grill. he exchanges glances with gunwook and taerae. they catch the signal and press on. “doesn’t he look—”

“—would you dare say—”

“—handsome?���

“hot?”

“sexy?”

you let out something in between a cough and a laugh. 

they don’t miss the flustered jitter filtering the sound coming out of your throat.

mission success.

“ahaha, what are you kids saying?” ricky doesn’t miss it either. the initial shock of you not calling him cute has worn off and now it’s up to him to finish what his friends have started. he doesn’t miss the way you try to brush them off while fanning your face with your free hand, the way you reach out for a glass of water with the other and there’s a nervous bob in your throat when you swallow. “a—anyway, let’s make a toast for the success of our event!”

when he clinks his glass with yours, ricky  maintains eye contact amidst the noise of the cheers. his gaze is deep and you’re caught off guard— escaping with a laugh and turning away as you down half of your beer glass in one go. holy crap. holy shit, it’s working.

ricky can see it. there’s hope for his bucket list. he’s gonna swear by leopard shirts and gold chain necklaces if he continues to get this kind of reaction from you.

“it’s not because of the ugly shirt.”

gyuvin snaps him back to sanity once dinner concluded and they start leaving the restaurant. “it’s because we manipulated her brain waves into finally noticing that you’re hot,” gunwook inserts. they’re all outside now. you’re bidding the other members goodbye and gunwook nudges him forward. “you’re welcome. you owe us a meal.”

now, even with the newfound confidence and hope, ricky’s knees still buckle when he approaches you from behind. why is the back of your head still pretty? why?

at the moment, it’s taerae’s turn to receive your goodbyes, wedged between two cars, one of them his. he notices ricky’s looming nervous wreck of a presence from over your shoulder. “ah, and this is my cue to leave,” he says. “thanks for the meal, miss chair. get home safe.”

“you too, taerae! thanks!”

when you turn around, you bump into him. maybe he intended it, maybe not, but god damn the uncharacteristic flutter of your surprised eyes is destroying his plans to act cool, act nonchalant, act totally unaffected with how prettily you’re looking at him under the dim parking lot lights and the night sky. “oh!” you exclaim after reformatting, after putting on your doting senior voice again and it kills him because that’s a night of progress down the drain. “are you kids heading out now? oh, sorry, this is your car, right? i’ll get out of the way.”

he frowns. totally uncool, perfectly non-nonchalant, and completely affected but he doesn’t care anymore. 

“what do you think of me?”

the words jump out before he knows it. screw his bucket list. he’s gonna proclaim his undying love for you even if it kills him.

you blink. “what?” a laugh bubbles from your throat— a mix of trying-to-brush-him-off but nervous at the same time. “ricky, what do you mean?”

his face is knotting up. he’s totally pouting right now which he’d rather be caught dead than doing, but he’s now twice the dead man. ricky takes a step forward. you take a step back until no more steps can be taken because your back hits against his car, and he’s grasping at the straws desperate to get even an ounce of a hint of a sign that you’re finally taking him seriously. “what do you think of me?” he repeats, voice a little lower this time. your expression is completely taken over by peaches of fluster, this time. no sign of the composure you’ve usually perfectly maintained.

“oh, uhm.” your hands are unsure and held hostage in the air because his arms serve as a barricade around you, palms pressed tightly against the cold glass of the front seat window. you’re nipping at your bottom lip. ricky just died thrice. “what—what i think of you? well, uh, you’re a very good, very cute, very hardworking junior that i adore, and i—i appreciate all the help you’ve offered to the counci— oh!”

ricky lets out a noise and buries his nose into the crook of your neck, arms that were once caging you are now completely wrapped around your waist. he’s putting all of his weight onto you. he is a corpse. he mumbles something unintelligible into you skin and you ask him to repeat it. “i don’t like it,” he says more clearly, still muffled, whiney all the same. “i’m not cute. i’m cool and handsome and totally in love with you but you just don’t get it.”

it’s quiet. ricky is anticipating the worst, which would be you calling him lame and a loser, but you don’t do that. you don’t push him off either.

“how can i not think you’re cute when you act like this?”

instead you pull him in closer. his eyes widen, and he feels your fingers digging into his hair, a tender touch on his nape, and he feels himself melting and turning into stone at the same time. 

“i never thought you were being serious every time you greeted me by calling me pretty. i thought you were just being playful and trying to earn extra points from me,” you hum. he sinks further. the only thing propping him up is you. “but calling someone pretty every day is barely a confession, ricky. how was i supposed to get anything from that? gosh, you’re so cute.”

“it usually works,” he mumbles. he doesn’t want to show you his face. he probably looks stupid right now. “i thought my new shirt worked too. gyuvin and gunwook don’t agree.”

“i think it’s cool.”

you finally pry him off, hands on his shoulders and he feels himself buckling. he’s pretty sure he looks stupid right now— pink and flushed and dizzy, but your face harbors no judgment. “i think i prefer the shirt owner over the shirt though.” only a familiar gaze of fondness and god, he’s so in love and you finally understand that. “now, why the hell are gyuvin and gunwook still loitering out here?”

ricky didn’t believe in bucket lists. at least not until that damned day of reckoning, when the nonexistence of his list suddenly came to existence, harboring one thing and one thing only. 

now, he’s got that one thing crossed out. he’s thinking of adding more.

YOU’RE MY BUCKET LIST. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[lixiesfreckless]

Early | l. m.

➸ synopsis: God, you want him so bad it's almost pathetic.

➸ starring: lee minho x female reader

➸ word count: 2.5k

➸ general content: acquaintance!minho, reader is horrendously down bad, insane amounts of pining, like- this entire fic is just the reader pining for him lmao

➸ warnings: mentions of alcohol, mild swearing

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: I'd like to thank @ashonheavenscloud for the ending idea. sorry for the readers I'm about to blueball

♫ early- junny, soulbysel(THIS IS LITERALLY THE INSPO FOR THE FIC)

“Yeah, I can take her home.”

Ryujin claps a little too loudly, courtesy of the several drinks she had shotgunned an hour before.

“Thank you bestest older brother in the universe,” she slurs, wrapping her arms around the older man, who was furrowing his eyebrows in mild discomfort. You stand there awkwardly, already feeling like you were inconveniencing him as well.

As bad as you felt about it though, you couldn't help the nervousness creeping through your veins at the thought of being alone with Minho.

It's not as if you've never been alone with him. You have; just in transitional spaces. Waiting for the rest of the friend group to show up. Waiting for different trains at the metro station. Waiting for the closer mutual friend to come back from the restroom. Hell, him dropping you off wasn’t really any different.

You really don't talk to him much at all, which makes it all the more ridiculous that you even have a crush on him.

And yet, you just let it fester, held back by the classic best-friend’s-older-brother unofficial rulebook. But you think even if he wasn't related to Ryujin, you still wouldn't make a move, simply too shy to find out what was under his impenetrable blank stare and trademark doc martens.

After snatching up your purse, you quickly say goodbye to your friends before catching Minho at the door.

“Sorry about all this again–”

“I was already on my way out, don't sweat it.”

Minho holds the door to the club open for you, and you step out into the crisp coolness of night, trying to appear as collected as the man walking beside you.

“My car is just around the corner, I'm just gonna grab some water for you from the store, okay?”

You find yourself nodding, although you're barely paying attention; you are focusing on averting your gaze from his face, careful as to not give yourself any more daydreaming material.

His car has one of those proximity keys, so there's no cheerful chirp letting the block know that he's about to open the passenger side door for you. Which is how it should be, because that is not a monumental occasion.

Except oh my god, Lee Minho just opened the door for you to get into his car, you might as well be married at this point.

You watch as he disappears into the little corner convenience store, and returns in record time, barely giving you any time to rehearse any cool sounding conversation starters. Then again, it's not like there would be a long line at well past three in the morning.

Shit. You're in Lee Minho’s car going to your house at three in the morning.

Your thoughts are cut off by Minho jumping into the driver’s side, swiftly starting the car and dropping two bottles of water into the cupholders.

“You live right in front of the memorial park right?”

You settle on a hum, not trusting your voice to sound calm in the slightest as his hand reaches for the gear shift. Coincidentally, that's the same time you choose to take your bottle of water from the center console.

And this is how you learn that Minho’s hands are softer than they look.

You don't stand a chance against the tidal wave of thoughts that flood your mind immediately after the accidental contact, your mind suddenly reeling with images of his hands cradling your face, sliding behind your neck, around your waist, through your hair–

“Sorry,” you squeak out, immediately seizing the bottle and twisting it open, desperate for something to lower your rising body temperature. He actually chuckles in response, and the sound has you focusing on the cool leather seat against your bare back in an attempt to round up your remaining brain cells.

He pulls the car away from the curb, beginning what will probably be the longest ten minutes of your life.

There are some things you pick up on immediately.

For one, Minho predominantly drives with one hand.

You honestly don't get how he looks so relaxed doing it either, side profile completely at ease as his right hand absentmindedly taps on the gear shift. If you were in the driver's seat, both hands would be at 10 and 2 o’ clock, just like your driving instructor taught you. Which is exactly why you take the metro; you feel like a stressed suburban mom when you drive, but don't have the time to rewire your brain to make your hands sit at 8 and 4 o’ clock like everyone else.

But he looks like he's shooting a Hyundai commercial, hand resting comfortably on the top of the wheel as the soft orange glow of the dash illuminates his perfect nose bridge and perfect eyelashes–

“Are you cold?” 

“No, I’m good,” you reply, trying and failing to keep the questioning tone out of your voice.

“Sorry- thought I saw you shiver just now,” he chuckles, glancing at you and letting his eyes drop to your legs for a split second.

Honestly, you probably did shiver; just not from the cold.

Also, why on earth did you decide to wear this dress of all dresses tonight?

Backless and short with a halter neckline, one could call this a revenge dress if you had an ex. Except it’s starting to feel like revenge on yourself, because as fleeting as Minho’s glances towards you are, they never go unnoticed, and each one makes the hem feel an inch shorter.

Granted, the slope of the seat makes the skirt ride up anyways, so it was inevitable, but you can't pull it down—he would immediately think you lied to him about being cold. Or get the idea that you didn't want him to look at your legs. Which would be ridiculous; he's practically the whole reason you wore this dress in the first place. 

You're stretching your legs out before you can give it a second thought, and you don't miss the way Minho’s jaw sets, or how his finger stops drumming against the gear shift.

Now that made you more than a little curious.

The second thing you notice is Minho’s excellent taste in music.

You assume his phone automatically connected to the car once he turned it on, because no radio station you can list off the top of your head has beats this smooth. You've never considered what kind of music he would listen to, mostly because you were worried about what he would think of your music taste. 

But this? 

These are exactly the kinds of songs you would play if you wanted to set the mood. They sound like what the world looks like after the last hues of purple leave the horizon. Indigo. Whatever that means.

You can't help but wonder if he was trying to set the mood.

Oh god, you're almost to your apartment and you haven't said anything interesting since you left the club.

You steal a glance at his side profile, once again reminded that Minho can rock any hair color he chooses as the street lights reflect blue off of his jet black hair. It gives him a darker aura, one that stops most lingering gazes on him from ever getting closer. Sure, it's not much different from the color he had before, which was dark brown, but the change makes a difference. To you at least. 

You saw its effects in action, watching all night as girls at the club try to approach him to only end up shooting their shot with his companion, who was always eager to down tequila shots with bright eyes and cheeky smiles.

“The new hair looks good.”

“Didn't catch that,” he quickly says, turning down the volume of the music with his steering wheel and slowing to a stop at a red light.

“I like what you did with your hair.”

“Really? I honestly didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“The girls at the club sure did,” you half-laugh, and he turns to look at you in bewilderment.

“You think so?”

“You could have filled a swimming pool with how much they were drooling.”

Minho laughs. He actually laughs at something you said. The sound makes you so dizzy you think someone slipped something into your drink.

The feeling of the car sliding in next to the curb pulls you back down to reality in an instant.

He puts the car into park and you slump into your seat, not at all trying to hide how disappointed you are at your performance tonight.

“Thanks for driving me home,” you whisper, not daring  to look him in the eyes as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Anytime,” he says so casually, and maybe a bolder you would take him up on that offer.

Instead you nod and smile, and reach for the door handle.

“Y/n.”

You hum and look back at him, trying your best to ignore the turmoil in your stomach once your eyes meet.

“I…this might sound a bit odd, but can I use your bathroom?” He smiles crookedly. “My place is still a ways away–”

“Sure,” you say without thinking, and he nods and jumps out of the car. You definitely can't read into that. Maybe he really can't wait until he gets home. Maybe he doesn't want an excuse to be in your apartment past midnight.

Still, your hands tremble as you twist your keys in the doorknob.

You kick your heels off upon entering, and Minho follows suit, ditching his combat boots by the door as he awaits your instruction.

Looking up, you catch him watching you expectantly, and you indulge the attention before realization dawns on you.

“Oh– the bathroom, yes. Last door on the left, sorry,” you hastily choke out, shaking your head in embarrassment. He chuckles out thanks before sliding past you and disappearing around the corner.

Water. You need water.

The coolness of the marble counter feels good against your bare back as you lean against it, trying to get a grip as cold water rushes down your throat. Maybe you should just attempt to make a move on a different night, when you have a little more liquid courage running through your veins and he’s as hazy as he is handsome. Your mind wanders back to that blissful moment in the car, when he threw his head back in a fit of laughter. That felt so natural, so easy. Why couldn’t you make him do that all the time?

Well, maybe you could, but that requires talking to him regularly, which is something you only do in your daydreams.

Minho suddenly steps out of the bathroom and you fight the urge to choke on your water, setting the glass down on the counter as he approaches you.

“I take it you like jasmine?

“The flower?” The random trivia throws you off guard. “Yeah, it’s my favorite flower…how did you–”

“Everything in your bathroom is jasmine scented,” Minho chuckles, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Ah, well…I found it helps to match everything to your perfume so it seems to last longer.”

“So you’re saying my car should smell like jasmine when I go back?”

“Only one way to find out,” you say with a smile, internally crying over how you just created a seamless segue for him to leave.

He turns to go find his combat boots, and you punch the air, frantically looking for an excuse for him to stay. But he’s standing by the door too soon, running a hand through his silky black hair before giving you a wave goodbye.

“Goodnight Y/n.”

“Get home safe, Minho.”

The door opens, then closes, and you exhale a sigh of relief, or frustration. Most likely equal parts both.

Perhaps baby steps would be the way to go. You haven’t even texted him, and you want him to make a move? Maybe he thinks you aren’t interested because you haven’t exactly been forward.

Sighing, you move towards your kitchen table, and then you freeze. The universe has never given you a second chance so pointedly before. 

Minho left his keys.

You reach for your phone, deciding that calling him would be faster than chasing after him, but stop halfway through your contacts once you hear him knocking on the door.

“It’s open!”

He steps inside to see you twirling the key ring around your index finger, and you hold it out for him to take as you walk up to the door.

“I didn’t take you as the forgetful type,” you giggle.

“Let’s just say I was distracted.” He slides the metal ring off your finger, and you know the dip his eyes make isn't a trick of the light.

He turns to leave, even opening the door, but when he takes a step out and turns to look back at you, something shifts in his eyes. Like a cat that’s seen something move in its periphery.

And in your mind, it all happens so unbearably slowly. 

He would step back in without a word, moving slowly and soundlessly as he’d break eye contact just to watch the door click shut. You’d find yourself backing into the wall next to him, hands pressed flat by your sides as you’d try to make sense of his approaching silhouette under the dim lighting. 

It would feel all too real, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressing into yours, his breath fanning across your face. Your breath would catch in your throat, and the first touch of his lips would be cautious, before diving in with unrestrained desire.

You’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Minho a million times, and with your ever-descriptive reveries, it almost feels real as you ponder the different ways he could pin you against this wall, mouth hard against yours, or light and teasing with feathery brushes of his lips.

God, you want him so bad it’s almost pathetic.

So bad, in fact, that once he lifts the corner of his lips in a smile and turns to leave for the night, it takes everything in you not to throw caution to the wind, and spin him back around. Find out what Lee Minho tastes like for yourself.

But you don’t.

You watch him walk down your hall until he leaves your sight, and even after you’re gone, you spend at least another minute replaying the few moments you had with him tonight.

Next time, you think, chewing your bottom lip as images of kissing Minho resurface against your will. 

I’ll do something about him next time.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

[trulycertain]

Been thinking about Astarion and his disapprovals when you help people. I think that yes, it's partly about envy that no-one was there to help him, but also about choice and control. (BG3 is always a game about autonomy, after all.)

So hear me out: back in the pre-turn days, Astarion was a magistrate. And if Baldur's Gate is anything like our medieval and Renaissance eras? He would've had to sign off on some pretty damn awful punishments. (Look at how he talks in the Justice test about how one has to punish thieves, and the Early Access bit where he talks about how killing Arabella would be too harsh for her stealing... they should've cut off her hand instead, the "proper" punishment for thieves and what he would've sentenced her to. He handed down an edict bad enough on a Gur tribe that he was essentially murdered in revenge.)

So how do you justify this to yourself? Well. He had money, societal power, and pretty privilege - this is almost certainly why Cazador chose him, too - and was kind of crap at empathy. And we know he likes seeing people get their comeuppance, likes seeing them taken down a peg. So he carefully ignores all the ways he's been lucky, all his privilege, and pretends he got there all by himself. He goes, "They had a choice. There's always a choice. They weren't helpless. They should have got a job, not begged, or stolen. They earned this. They brought it upon themselves. I'm simply serving them the consequences. Don't look at me like that." (I think this also ties into that later-retconned part about him giving prisoners to vampires. They're just criminals, after all, the same way the Gur are cutthroats and goblins are trash. They chose this life. They chose not to matter.)

So then he falls painfully from privilege, and gets the full horrible buffet of helplessness at Cazador's hands. He "resisted least" - see, surely there's a way to be punished less if you just do the right things, if you say the right things. The spawn who resist are doing it wrong. They made their choice. (He ignores that he's never the favoured spawn, ignores the pliers coming out again, and tells himself this.) If he can say that, he can pretend he still has control - and he so desperately wants control. His old self-justification has been turned up to eleven by the trauma of Cazador.

And suddenly... tadpole. He's free. He's also, as said, traumatised. He tells himself he's never going back to Cazador - look, Cazador can't compel him, look, he can walk in the sun, look, he's seducing Tav. He knows what he's doing! He's in control! The tadpole just being luck? He can't afford to think about that. Luck can change. Which means Cazador, and everything else, no matter what Astarion does or prepares or succeeds at, can happen again. He's helpless. But no. No. He's not some helpless damsel in distress - his first meeting with you was mocking the very thought!

But look. These people are showcasing their helplessness, almost proudly. And it's horrifying. And they keep saying familiar things - they're saying things he's said, in his more vulnerable moments. And Tav keeps saying things like, "They had no choice - we have to help them." But of course these people did. They got themselves into this situation, they can damn well help themselves out of it.

Because if they didn't have a choice... then neither did all the poor bastards he sent to their deaths or horrendous punishments over the years. Neither did those he brought to Cazador. Neither will all the spawn he's going to sacrifice in the ritual. Neither did he. All that separates them from him is luck, and luck can change. He's not in control. The thought is horrifying, so he pushes back against it. "They're weak, pathetic [...] We are better." Even as he approves of getting Wyll out of the pact and getting Mayrina away from the hag, even as he wants Lae'zel to "break her chains", because he feels a kinship with them. Even as, in a rawer moment, he tells the story about being locked in a crypt and tells Tav not to judge him for what he had to do for Cazador. If he stops to examine that too much, he'll panic. Cognitive dissonance is a hell of a drug. So move on, keep desperately snobbing.

He keeps trying that even when Tav meets his siblings and treats them with empathy (empathy that confuses and horrifies him). "They lured thousands to their deaths," he tells Tav. "I doubt Baldur's Gate will miss them." Or him. If they had control, he had control too. Life before turning taught him that if you're punished for what you've done, with cruelty or with death in a ritual, the punishment implies you still had a choice. He vacillates wildly between victim-blaming and talking about them as helpless unfortunate sacrifices while he tries to get his head round this. Even while, as Tav insists on saying, all that separates him from them is a tadpole. His victims are "criminals and brothel-goers," he tries desperately to tell Tav later - look, they deserved it!

The breakthrough is when he finally admits that the spawn are "the innocent, idiots, and the unlucky." Just like the others whose chains you've helped break, through the acts (his approval slowly starting to turn round on some of them, as this realisation creeps up on him and gains speed). Just like him - he was unlucky. (Which means he didn't deserve two hundred years of enslaved misery, and the people on this journey didn't deserve what happened to them, either. Which means he deserves to be treated with kindness, and so do others.) He can turn from that, and keep desperately scrabbling for control with the ritual (he can command others! He'll "never have to be afraid of anyone, ever again"), or he can stay a spawn, and accept that.

The kind of control he wants is an illusion. You can never truly control others without losing yourself in the process. All you can do to change people is decide whether to help - to reach out and hope they reach back. He's seen this time and time again with Tav, saw it even before he woke up in the ground. It's just that finally, he's stopped outrunning the thought and accepted it. Sometimes he still backslides, sometimes he still sees those who hurt him in the ones Tav wants to help, sometimes he's still rather an arse... but he's starting to see it now.

[talaok]

Good afternoon honey, I was wondering if you could write dark! Joel x plus size reader where the reader is suffering with body image and that night you go out to a club and meet Joel but smut? love the blog🥰

Pairing:Joel Miller x plus size!reader

Warnings: body image problems, negative talk of reader's body and self, smut| dub-con, unprotected p in v sex, a bit of degrading, and dark! Joel

A/n: ok ok ok I've never written a plus-size reader so if this is bad just tell me, honestly, I'll delete it, it's fine (yes I'm really nervous about this, I'm scared it's disrespectful) thank you so much for the ask tho babe💗

The dress looked absolutely horrendous on you. It was too tight and too loose in all the wrong places.

Your curves looked like they were stretching the fabric so much it was gonna tear the moment you took a step, and the makeup on your face now just looked like a pathetic attempt at driving people's attention away from it.

This was a mistake, you sighed, looking at the loser staring back at you from the other side of the mirror.

I should have never agreed to this, It's so fucking stupid.

You mumbled to yourself as you unsuccessfully tried fixing the dress in any way that wouldn't make it look so incredibly ridiculous.

Maybe I can pretend I'm sick or something, 

Maybe I got a really bad headache all the sudden,

Maybe I got fucking infected, I don't know, that would be believable. I can just start making some weird ass noises and I doubt she'd still want to go out with me.

"Hey, you ready?" Kora opened the door, causing all your plans to fall apart with one single action.

"yep" you forced a smile "all ready"

"Great, let's go!"

fuck my life man.

__ __ __

"Are you serious?" you asked, actually kind of mad

"I know, I know, I'm sorry"

"you've just met him" you pointed out, frustration and annoyance lacing your tone.

"I know" she repeated "but-" she sighed, glancing back at the man "he's so hot y/n, I mean-"

you rolled your eyes "Whatever, go have fun, I'm just gonna go home"

"no don't go home, you can have fun without me," she said "Maybe with someone else..." she raised her brows suggestively and you felt one breath away from punching her.

You shot her a look.

Yeah, like anyone would want to "have fun" with me

"what?" she asked, clueless

you stared at her, the same expression in your eyes.

"you know what"

"oh my god," she moaned "again with this thing? Y/n you're hot as fuck, anyone with half a brain cell can see that"

You remained silent.

You hated the pity party of having everyone constantly lie to you about how you looked.

Just tell me the truth. I look like shit.

It's fine, I know it, you know it, the whole world fucking knows it so stop talking to me like I'm a fucking baby and tell me the truth.

I can take it. Trust me, I've been telling it to myself since I was born.

"in fact..." A small smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes focused somewhere behind you " I think somebody definitely noticed" she grinned like an idiot as she stared at someone behind you.

"shut up" you stopped her "You know he's not," you said "He's probably looking at you"

"Oh no" she shook her head, that stupid smile still tugging at her lips "No he's definitely looking at you" She waved at him and you immediately grabbed her hand, forcing it down

"stop! what are you doing!?"

"I'm helping you out" she smirked "You'll thank me later," she said with a wink, turning to walk away but not before chuckling a taunting"Have fun"

Goddamnit

You could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you sneakily tried to catch a glimpse of whatever Kora was talking about.

She was probably bluffing, you thought as you slowly turned, but just then, you had to think again.

A man was looking at you, no, not looking, staring.

His eyes were pointed at you like a viewfinder in a gun. 

He was sat at a table alone, an empty beer bottle clutched in one hand, and the other one relaxed on his leg.

He looked focused, like a tiger watching a gazelle.

His salt and pepper beard suggested he was older, and so did the lines across his forehead.

But most of all... his eyes were the tell.

His deep brown eyes staring back at yo-

shit

You turned away.

Fuck

I was staring at him,

You clutched your purse to leave, but a voice stopped you in your tracks.

"hi sweetheart"

He sounded exactly how you'd imagined.

You turned to him, your eyes glimmering with shame

"hi" you breathed "Sorry if I bothered you"

He chuckled "A pretty thing like you could never bother me"

he sat down "Besides," he said "I was staring at you first"

You forced a chuckle as an awkward silence fell between you.

"I saw your friend left," he said, sitting down on the stool next to you,

"yeah" You nodded "She does that a lot"

"that's too bad" he cooed "well maybe not entirely" he considered, something switching in his tone.

"What's your name sweetheart?"

"I-I'm y/n"

"y/n" he let your name roll out his mouth with ease "pretty name for a pretty lady" he commented, "I'm Joel"

"nice to meet you" you mumbled, stumbling over your own words.

Was he coming onto you? 

"the pleasure's all mine darling"

He definitely was

But, like... why?

"I'm sorry-do you- do you know my friend?"

He grinned, his white teeth showing "no,"

"she didn't like, tell you to come here or anything?"

A small laugh fled his throat "no sweetheart"

"oh" you breathed "so you came here 'cause..." you trailed off, 

" 'cause you caught my eye from the moment you entered, and when I saw your friend leave you here all alone, I couldn't not offer a bit of company"

You felt a shy smile spill from your lips

" 'got a pretty smile angel" he smirked 

"t-thank you" 

He chuckled again "Why are you so nervous sweetheart?" he asked, his hand traveling to your thigh and stopping all oxygen from getting to your lungs "Is it me? Am I so scary?" his voice got lower as he inched closer "I don't bite y'know?" he joked "not unless you want me to"

A small gasp fled your throat, making him chuckle.

"what is it, angel?"

"I-I'm sorry I'm just not- used to this"

"Now I don't believe that" he murmured "A sweet thing like you?"

"I just-"

"What?"

"nevermind"

"If you want we could go back to my place, and you can tell me all about it with a little more privacy" he suggested, "what do you say?"

Your cheeks were as red as the fire burning in his eyes.

"I-" you stuttered

"I can show you a good time angel"

"I'm sorry" you breathed, leaning away "I'm-I'm sorry I have to go to the bathroom" You stumbled over your own words, clutching your purse and rushing off the stool and through the groups of people in the club.

You didn't even realize you were bumping and hitting every person in your trajectory as all you were focused on was that damn door right in the corner.

Oh my god, what felt like the first actual breath you'd taken in ten full minutes, finally left your mouth as you entered the bathroom.

"oh my god," you mumbled to yourself, walking to the sink to look at your reflection in the mirror.

"what the fuck was that?" you sighed 

Am I dreaming? Is that it?

If that's it this is not funny brain.

I'm so confused,

This is... I mean this is just-

What the fuck is this?

He's hot. Like hot hot and I'm... You looked at yourself, and I'm me.

You took a deep breath, looking around you.

The green stalls were empty, and the music was still blaring from the other side of the door.

You could still picture him, feel him. He was so close to you, and you could feel every molecule of your being dancing as his hand remained on your leg.

God, what the fuck

I don't even know how old he is.

And just then, the door opened.

You turned the faucet on to pretend to be washing your hands, but a voice startled you.

"there you are"

Your eyes snapped open

"T-This is the women's bathroom"

Joel smirked, "you thought you could get away from me that easily?" he asked, taking a step towards you.

"I-" you took a step back, but he followed.

"I was being nice there," he said "complimented you and shit" 

Your back was to a stall and he was right before you.

"and what did you do?" he asked "you ran"

"I didn't mean to, I was j-"

"what, angel?" he mocked "You got shy?"

"well don't you worry" His hand went to your chin, tilting it up "I'll fix that right up" He took another step, imprisoning you "I'll help you out sweetheart, mh?"

Your mouth gaped open to say something, but before you could, his lips were on yours, and his hands on your back were forcing you flush against him.

His tongue moved into your mouth as he quite literally shoved you into the stall behind you, pressing you against the closed door.

"thought you could get away from me?" he growled, kissing your neck as his hands roamed on your body, one of them roughly grabbing your ass "Thought I was just gonna let you go?" he asked, now looking at you.

"oh no angel" he kissed your mouth "I have to have you" he murmured "And I will" He kissed you again, and this time, you found yourself reciprocating.

This was wrong and scary and weird, and still... countless butterflies filled your belly.

"there you go" he praised you "That's a good girl" He moved some hair out of your face " 'knew you wanted this too," he said "knew you'd be good, angel" He smirked before you felt his hands go to your waist.

"turn around for me"

With a little push from him, you did, finding your cheek flush against the door.

"god baby" his hands took in every inch of you, adoration clear in his tone "Wanted to fuck this body of yours since I first saw you" he explained, as he slowly rolled your dress up to your waist until only your panties were left to cover you.

"it's what you wanted too, isn't it," he asked, suddenly grabbing your arms to force them together behind your back "You wanted to be fucked like a little slut didn't you?" he continued as his hand pulled your panties down, the cold hitting your core "didn't you angel?" he urged, his grip tightening as he kissed your neck again.

"I-" You didn't know what to say. you were feeling too many things at once.

"Tell me you want this" he breathed, and you heard his zipper being undone.

"tell me you want this angel," he asked again, his hot breath on the skin of your neck "C'mon, I know you do"

" I do" you admitted, and you felt him smirk.

"that's right" He nodded, positioning himself at your entrance "and you're gonna get it" he promised, pushing himself into you hard.

"fuck" Your moan resembled more of a scream as you tightened your fists on your back

"What angel, can't take it?" he taunted, speeding up " 's too big for you little slut?"

"y-yes" you begged, making him chuckle "I can't take it"

"yes you can" he groaned "You're gonna take it all in this little tight pussy and you're not gonna complain about it, understand?"

"understand?" he asked again, his threatening voice spilling in your ear.

"y-yes I'm sorry"

"good girl" he praised, resuming his violent pace, as a cry fled your mouth and tears filled your eyes.

He smacked your ass and you gasped, but before you could let out a moan, his hand covered your mouth.

The door had opened, and two women had walked in.

"we gotta be quiet, angel" he whispered to your ear

"can you be quiet for me?"

"can you be a good little girl and keep that pretty mouth shut for me?

"mh-mh" you nodded, your breathing made difficult by his hand on your mouth

"atta girl," he said, still fucking you, but much slower, and to your dismay, much deeper.

He was hitting undiscovered spots inside of you, and the mix of the pain from his cock stretching you with the pleasure of each thrust was making it really hard not to moan.

"fuck" he groaned softly in your ear "You've got the tightest little pussy angel," he said "Squeezing me so good" he breathed " like it's made for me"

You whined

"Like you were made to be my little slut" he whispered "and have this little cunt abused by my cock"

Your eyes were wide shut, your orgasm approaching as he kept hitting you so fucking well.

"you coming angel?" he asked and you nodded "We're gonna come together" he purred "I'm gonna fill you up real good" his breathing was ragged "and then you're gonna get out there and dance with my come leaking down your thighs"

"you understand?"

You nodded 

"no cleaning up," he said "I want everyone to know how much of a slut you are" 

The women's voices resumed. Or maybe they never stopped. You had no idea of what was happening beside your impending orgasm.

"fuck" he groaned "Such a good fucking slut" he whispered, his head falling in the crook of your neck, as the door opened again and the women finally got out.

His hand left your mouth

"you coming angel?"

"y-yes"

"then let it all out baby"

[cocogum]

Gotta hand it to the Ankama team, in just a few minutes of screentime, they managed to perfectly encapsulate the Osamodas King's personality and how his actions would play out in the webtoon: he's arrogant, stubborn, dishonourable, and refuses to own up to his mistakes and misdeeds.

And this was all established in episodes 10 and 11. In the former, he tried to "advise" Armand about how a king should behave, which in his mind is to stubbornly stand by his choices, even when he's wrong. And in the latter, he was nothing but contemptuous of Amalia and utterly dishonourable, which was especially emphasised when the team didn't even bother trying to make his abandonment of the Sadida vague: no, he outright told his daughter no one would come and to run away.

And this was all shown in the webtoon when he stubbornly doubled down on refusing to apologise for not sending help and potentially dooming the Sadida race. Just like every single interaction he had with Amalia reeked of disdain and disrespect. The whole time he looked down on her and underestimated her, which eventually cost him when she owned him and Aurora in battle.

(Though it is interesting to note he seemed more aware about how crossing her was a bad idea than Aurora, who had known Amalia for about a year. Oh, well, she was never the brightest to begin with).

And we got all this from, like, two scenes. Honestly impressive.

With everything that we’ve seen from this clown “family”, this makes me wonder if Tot purposely just made them horrendous for the sake of hating them.

These two osamodas just look like they’ve been created badly on purpose.

What do I mean by purpose?

Take a look at some of Tot’s other antagonists from the Krosmoz:

You’ve got a crazed Xelor who’s trying to kill and absorb every source of Wakfu so he can turn back in time to get his family back.

You’ve got a tired indifferent primordial Eliatrope who remembers every single detail of his many thousands and millions of previous lives. He cares for his race, in his own way, and unleashed a war just so he could visit new worlds with his sister.

You’ve got the shushu king who ate his siblings just so he could become the absolute ruler of his dimension.

You’ve got a copy of Yugo who became so uncaring and angry at life itself that he tried manipulating people in order to form a brotherhood and kill gods.

You’ve got a brakmarian mother who got separated from her son and attempted to bring back her husband by sacrificing innocent lives.

You’ve got a god-king from an entirely different planet who attempted to invade and eat another planet just so he could feed his own.

So when we see the osamodas royals, we can immediately confirm that there’s something off here.

You’re telling me these two bozos are supposed to be on the same level as these guys??? You got a chicken who hasn’t done dick shit in Seasons 3-4 besides standing around, not talking at all, wearing an ugly ass dress that doesn’t fit the colors of the kingdom she’s supposed to stay in, lying for no reason, not thinking at all when she breathes, and running away with her dad. And then you’ve got a fat gorilla who just runs away and tries to throw lessons to other kings about how they should stand their ground.

Like what the fuck?

Even Grougalorasalar, who we’ve only seen in legends, some moments in the Dofus movie (if I remember correctly), the third Wakfu ova episode, and some chapters of the great wave, has been shown to have more charisma and mystery than these inferior two insects. Plus, he’s only officially appeared in some places here and there in the past AND YOU’RE TELLING ME HE’S GETTING MORE ATTENTION THAN THE PEOPLE WHO WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE BIG THREATS IN VOLUME 1?!!??!

But another proof that makes me think Tot just carelessly placed them in the great wave was the fact that these two fought against Amalia and pathetically lost.

And not only did they fight her, but they fought her SIMULTANEOUSLY AND LOST.

How does one become a king for decades only to lose to a princess who became queen a few months ago????

Tot could’ve just made Aurora the weakest one and made Amalia swiftly defeat her so that she could have a real fight with the osamodas king.

But no. That’s not what he did at all.

We knew Aurora was useless because we were able to understand with all the scenes we’ve seen her in that she wasn’t someone who could fight.

But the osamodas king? We had no idea. All we knew was that he hangs out in bat caves while his advisor plays king for him.

And yet, despite having lots of time doing nothing away from his own kingdom, this fucker didn’t even train during his free time CUZ HE LOST TO AMALIA WHILE HAVING HIS DAUGHTER AS HIS BACKUP-

The fight didn’t even last long. It lasted like 20 minutes? And I’m being generous even saying that.

This is why these two should feel meaningless compared to the bigger picture.

How can I believe Tot seriously put some thought into them if they had so many failures and made brain-dead decisions???

How can I believe Tot seriously put some thought into them if their battle barely lasted even 10 minutes????

How can I believe Tot seriously put some thought into them if the only leverage and plot they had going on was Aurora having sex???

All these points, reasons, and facts can only lead to one thing:

Tot only brought them into the picture to be minor challenges for Amalia.

How else would you explain the many stupid decisions they made, their absences for other situations when Amalia wasn’t the main focus, the fact that they always had longer discussions with Amalia and no one else, the fact that Yugo or anyone else was never the major topic of their conversations, and their weak abilities???

Amalia was the only reason.

This cover here is greatly deceiving you 👇

It tries to make you think they’re actually worth something by showing a smirking confident Aurora, and most of all, the osamodas king in the background covering most of the sky, implying his important place in the story while holding up a finger in a quiet gesture like he has a secret he’s keeping.

Because of this cover (and the fact that he told Aurora they should wait until after the marriage), we’ve had plenty of theories about how the osamodas king was responsible for hiring a sadida who happened to be a Yugo and Amalia hater to poison them but, again, THIS WASN’T THE CASE AT ALL.

The culprit ended up being Julith in disguise who had been ordered by Grougalorasalar!!!

AGAIN, IT WAS GROUGALORASALAR WHO ENDED UP BEING MORE MYSTERIOUS AND INTERESTING THAN THESE TWO‼️‼️‼️‼️

I want you to really think about this.

Aurora and her dad were supposed to be the center antagonists for this first volume but it ended up being Grougalorasalar the real enemy. The first chapter already warned us when we saw him in Yugo’s dream. He was the one we should’ve been paying attention to the most.

Aurora and her dad were not only just there to be inconveniences for Amalia, but they were also just pawns to distract you from something bigger and FAR more interesting.

And it worked. These two blue devils were so infuriating and brain-rotting that we got thrown off guard when we found out Grougalorasalar was actually responsible.

This only pushes the fact that the chicken and the gorilla were exactly just that: a chicken and a gorilla.

Nothing interesting or redeemable.

Just things in the way of the main goal.

Tot needed some useless cattle to begin the real plot and so he made Aurora and her constipated dad, who always looks like he’s got something up his ass, to be able to start the story off after season 4.

The signs have been there since season 4.

And season 3 was only an introduction for season 4 when it introduced some blue skank.

[floredaqueen]

Eddie and my gf Nova 😌😌😌😌

NSFW

5. Favourite positions?

6. Dom/top? Sub/bottom? Any switches?

7. Genital headcanons?

9. Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?

10. First to orgasm? Last to orgasm? Who comes the most? Does someone ever end up unfinished?

11. Favourite romantic gestures during sex/ orgasm?

13. Who's loud? Who's quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?

♥︎ℕ𝕠𝕧𝕒 𝕟 𝔼𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕖 ♥︎

𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕓𝕪 𝕘𝕠𝕣𝕝♡♡ @eddiesxangel

ℕ𝕊𝔽𝕎

5. Favorite Positions?

A) For them, I'd have to say Cowgirl, because Nova loves to see Eddie practically die under her. And for Eddie it's definitely doggy style. He loves her ass.. like it's bad lol.

6. Dom/Top? Submissive/Bottom? Any switches?

A) They're both switches. They find themselves being pathetic for one another. Nova is always needy, but sometimes she needs to take a different approach to her neediness. She's the prime example, of being completely feral, and that includings taken over and being taken over. Eddie is similar, except he's pretty good under the sexual pressure. He's even better with the fire hydrant that is Nova James lmao. He can tame her♡

7. Genital headcanons?

A) Eddie has the longest, smoothest penis. Which I find very funny, LOL. It's pretty silly looking, but it's almost a long puncher, so it's cancels that out. They're both in denial about it, though, but luckily for Eddie, Nova likes a challenge lmao.

Nova waxes, so she's all smooth everywhere, bur that doesn't stop her from having blemishes and some rough bump days. On those days Eddie loves on her a little extra so she doesn't become self conscious about something that's natural and bound to happen when your skin gets irritated and your pores open.

9. Quickest turn ons? Immediately turn offs?

A) Nova loves, LOVES watching Eddie play guitar. Like when they're in his room, and he's trying out some chords for a new song, Nova finds herself gazing at his hands. The next thing they both know, she's begging for him to rut his fingers in the side of her until she's "wetting" the bed.

Eddie LOVES getting his hair pulled. It gets him harder than he likes to admit, and it doesn't help that when his neck is exposed, she kisses it. After that, he'll do whatever she wants him to do. He's down horrendous lmaoooo

Turn offs for both of them.. they are few and far between..? Like there isn't a lot that turns them off about one another. Everything that might come off as oddballish about them is what they find the most charming or unique, and they cherish getting to understand those specific parts of them.

10. First to orgasm? Last to orgasm? Who comes the most?

A) Eddie. It's always Eddie. Too many stimulants he can't escape. Her hand hands and lips caressing him. Her taking all of him at once and abruptly. Nova's moans and blatant begging. And she's pretty, so it's a lot for a guy to handle. While Nova is usually last to bust right on his lap, she's usually comes the most. He's always getting her off some way♡

11. Favorite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?

A)(foreshadowing) Eddie loves to cling to Nova, biting her neck and holding her so close when they come together. Nova likes to leave kisses on Eddie right after he shoots his load into her. She's always bubbly as hell.

13. Who's loud? Who's quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?

A) They're both pretty loud, but Nova wishes Eddie was louder. She has to beg to hear him moan or whine for her. She loves it. It turns her on SO MUCH to hear him fold♡

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥'𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕓𝕪𝕤♡♡

❤︎𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕪❤︎

[astrowaffles]

painkiller

General Audiences | Fluff, sickfic, soft iwaoi

for @theincredibleshippingqueen & @haikyuuaction!

“Are you dressed?” Iwaizumi asked when he reached Oikawa’s door.

“No,” said Oikawa, which meant yes, so Iwaizumi went in.

Oikawa was still on the floor, but had obviously gotten up and changed, so Iwaizumi judged him Well Enough To Eat. “Here,” he said, handing him the bowl. “Careful, it’s hot. I've gotta go but I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

“What?!” Oikawa’s eyes widened. “Noooo, don’t go!”

“I don’t wanna catch your disease, dude.”

“It’s not a disease!” Oikawa pouted. “I’m just ill.”

“…Are you an idiot or is that the disease talking?”

“Neither!! Stay with me, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi sighed heavily. “I can’t. I promise Mom I’d be home early today.”

Oikawa put his bowl to the side and reached forward to snag the edge of Iwaizumi’s pant leg. “Stay! Stay! Stay! St-“

“FINE,” Iwaizumi huffed. “Let me call her.”

Oikawa grinned and let go of Iwaizumi’s hem. “Yay!”

“Anyone would think you weren’t ill at all,” Iwaizumi told him. “You’re very cheerful.”

Oikawa coughed pointedly.

“Ew. Don’t do that near me.”

OR: Oikawa's ill and Iwaizumi can't help but look after him

Oikawa doesn’t complain.

Well, he does – when the injury is minor and the complaints are silly. A stubbed toe or a papercut will have him wailing like he’s had his arm cut off, proclaiming that he’s dying and that all of his friends will be sorry when he’s gone and that Iwaizumi needs to carry him in case he collapses. Iwaizumi would be forced to drag Oikawa to class or help him to the nurse’s office or corral the fangirls who would swarm him with ‘get well’ cards, and he would do it all with metaphorical earplugs so he wouldn’t have to hear Oikawa’s whining.

“This is the real reason Iwa’s arm-wrestling champion,” Matsukawa would snicker, watching his friends squabble over whether a scrape on your finger was enough of an injury to merit a band aid. “It’s the muscles he’s gained from fighting Oikawa.”

This was not strictly true. Iwaizumi’s muscles came from hard hours in the gym – and, yes, hauling Oikawa around since they were little. And genetics, his mother said, but that was besides the point.

Either way, all this goes to show that Oikawa is loud when he’s hurt just a little bit, but when he’s hurting a lot, when he broke his arm falling out of a tree or caught chickenpox or dislocated his knee, he doesn’t say anything. When he was younger he would cry, but he didn’t wail or scream. When he got older, he didn’t do anything at all; the only way you could see he was hurt was by looking at his closed-off, shut-down expression. Iwaizumi knew it well, though he wished he didn’t, and he hoped to never see it again.

That’s why Iwaizumi didn’t think anything of Oikawa’s mystery flu. The pathetic coughs followed by the immediate pouts and whines proved it wasn’t that bad. If Oikawa is complaining, he’s really okay, so Iwaizumi just patted his shoulder in consolation and got on with his day. He let Oikawa cough and sneeze his way through school, allowed him to skip out on the drills Coach assigned at practice, and only rolled his eyes when Oikawa proclaimed he couldn’t breathe and so had to go home early – with Iwaizumi as his helper, of course. He really didn’t think it was anything to be worried about, until Oikawa practically collapsed on him as soon as they’d left the school gate.

“You shouldn’t have come to school, idiot,” Iwaizumi grumped, and bent down to piggyback him. Manhandling six feet of muscle onto one’s back is never a pleasant experience, and when said six feet of muscle is horrendously ill (and uncooperative), it becomes a herculean task.

“Shut up,” Oikawa mumbled. “��M ill.”

“That’s exactly my point,” said Iwaizumi, adjusting Oikawa’s limbs around him. “Hold on, okay? If you fall off I’m not putting you back on.”

Oikawa’s arms tightened on Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Kay.”

It turned out Iwaizumi had severely underestimated this illness, which he blamed himself entirely for. If, at the start of the day, he’d spotted Oikawa’s symptoms, all of this could have been avoided. As it was, he’d just shoved a mask on his friend’s face and dragged him to school.

“If you have the energy to complain, you have the energy for school,” he’d admonished, which turned out to be true as far as it went, but didn’t take into account the energy required for volleyball and walking home. By the time he’d dragged Oikawa into his house, waved away Mrs Oikawa’s worry as she left for work, and hauled him up the stairs, Iwaizumi felt bad enough about causing this situation that he decided to help Oikawa get comfortable before he left.

“Get changed,” he told the room at large, depositing Oikawa on the floor. “I’ll be back.” He didn’t have great faith that Oikawa actually would get changed in that state, but Iwaizumi wasn’t about to do it for him. They weren’t at that level of friendship, and hopefully would never be. There was such as thing as being too comfortable.

Having rifled through Oikawa’s drawers to find the right pyjamas, unpacked Oikawa’s school bag to prevent him trying to get caught up on work, and waved to Mrs Oikawa as she got in her car, Iwaizumi made his way downstairs. He couldn’t make soup – neither could Oikawa – but he could heat up the food Oikawa’s mother had left for him, so he did. He knew where they kept it anyway, so who would care if he dealt with it while he was here? He threw it in the microwave and started inspecting their cupboards for snacks he could have while he set Oikawa up for the night. He wouldn’t wish a parent working nightshifts on his worst enemy.

“IWAAAAA!” came the holler from upstairs.

“He’s recovering, then,” Iwaizumi snorted, before yelling back, “YES?”

“I WANT ICE CREAM!”

“OKAY?”

“GET ME ICE CREAM!”

“IT’S OCTOBER!”

“OKAY?”

Iwaizumi sighed. “EAT YOUR DINNER INSTEAD!”

“IT’S TOO EARL-“ Oikawa was cut off by a round of hacking coughs.

“Disgusting,” Iwaizumi noted to himself, wishing he could put on rubber gloves and a mask before going near Oikawa. Unfortunately, he couldn’t, because that would make Oikawa complain even more and he really didn’t have the mental energy for that.

Rescuing Oikawa’s dinner from the microwave, Iwaizumi carefully portioned it so he could give half to Oikawa now and leave half in the oven for when Oikawa inevitably woke in the middle of the night. Iwaizumi had been his friend’s nurse too many times to count; he had this down to a fine art, from organising the food and medicine to refusing to give in to Oikawa’s ridiculous demands.

“Are you dressed?” he asked when he reached Oikawa’s door.

“No,” said Oikawa, which meant yes, so Iwaizumi went in.

Oikawa was still on the floor, but had obviously gotten up and changed, so Iwaizumi judged him Well Enough To Eat. “Here,” he said, handing him the bowl. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“No ice cream?” Oikawa enquired, accepting his dinner.

“No,” Iwaizumi confirmed, and re-shouldered the school bag he’d dumped next to Oikawa’s. “There’s more in the oven but don’t eat it yet, alright? I’m going now.”

“What?!” Oikawa’s eyes widened in something akin to panic. “Noooo, don’t go!”

“I don’t wanna catch your disease, dude.”

“It’s not a disease!” Oikawa pouted. “I’m just ill.”

“…Are you an idiot or is that the disease talking?”

“Neither!! Stay with me, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi sighed heavily. “I can’t. I promise Mom I’d be home early today.”

“She won’t care, will she? I like Mrs Iwaizumi…” Oikawa put his bowl to the side and reached forward far enough to snag the edge of Iwaizumi’s pant leg. “Stay! Stay! Stay! Stay! Stay! St-“

“FINE,” Iwaizumi huffed, letting his bag drop on the floor. “Let me call her.”

Oikawa grinned and let go of Iwaizumi’s hem. “Yay!”

“Anyone would think you weren’t ill at all,” Iwaizumi told him. “You’re very cheerful.”

Oikawa coughed pointedly.

“Ew. Don’t do that near me.”

Oikawa sneezed instead, looking slightly triumphant, and picked his bowl back up. “Call your mom and come back, Iwa~”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and went to use Oikawa’s house phone, which his mom insisted he did just so she would know he was actually in a house and not out on the streets or wherever she thought teenagers hung out. When he came back, Oikawa had fallen asleep right on the floor, bowl almost tipping from his hand.

Iwaizumi sighed and took the food away, taking a bite himself. “I can’t have been gone longer than three minutes,” he mused, watching Oikawa attempt to breathe through his nose, fail, whine, and start mouth breathing instead. He winced in sympathy with Oikawa’s future dry throat and mouth. “Does this mean I can go home?”

But he’d just called his mom and he’d promised Oikawa he’d stay a while, so he sat on Oikawa’s bed to finish eating Oikawa’s dinner and watch Oikawa sleep. When did everything become about Oikawa? This was terrible.

As revenge, he turned Oikawa’s TV on and put on Godzilla (1954) while he waited for Oikawa to jolt himself awake again, as he usually did when ill. He was half an hour in before Oikawa coughed awake, spluttering a little and immediately sitting up to avoid choking.

“How long was I out?” he croaked, before he noticed the empty bowl and his expression flattened. “Did you eat my dinner again?”

“No,” Iwaizumi lied, and paused the movie. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Oikawa said, voice rough, and crawled over to the bed, extending slightly pathetic grabby hands. “Help me up.”

Iwaizumi sighed, but Oikawa was ill after all; he reached down and hauled Oikawa into a standing position, allowing him to collapse forwards onto the bed and arrange himself around Iwaizumi.

“Lie down with meeee,” he whined, poking Iwaizumi’s side.

“There’s no room,” Iwaizumi pointed out; Oikawa was sprawled across the whole bed, curved around the one spot where Iwaizumi sat.

Oikawa straightened himself out so he only took up a little more than half of the bed, looking up at his best friend with pleading eyes. “Now?”

With a huff, Iwaizumi lay down. “Can I watch Godzilla now?”

“No,” Oikawa told him, throwing an arm over Iwaizumi’s waist in a half-hug. “E.T.”

“No. Godzilla.”

“E.T.”

“Godzilla.”

“E.T.”

“Godzilla.”

“E.T.” Oikawa punctuated this with another cough, making Iwaizumi lean far enough back that his head hung off the edge of the bed.

“Ugh,” Iwaizumi complained, “That was horrible. I’m gonna get sick from that.”

“Good, then maybe you’ll understand how I feel,” Oikawa said unsympathetically. “E.T.,” he added.

“Fine, E.T.,” Iwaizumi agreed, and got up to change the DVD.

Oikawa hummed in satisfaction, although his scratchy throat slightly ruined the usually musical sound. When Iwaizumi came back to the bed, Oikawa shuffled forward so Iwaizumi could climb in behind him and arrange them so they were properly curled around each other.

“Cozy,” Oikawa commented, which would normally have earned him a slap on the shoulder; out of sympathy for Oikawa’s illness, Iwaizumi just poked him in the ribs. “Ow.”

“That didn’t hurt,” Iwaizumi said, but patted the spot anyway. “Now watch your film.”

It really was lucky that they’d both seen the movie so many times before, since Oikawa’s loud coughs tended to occur over key lines; each one shook the bed a little and jostled Iwaizumi, and then Oikawa would fussily resettle himself and ruin any chance they had of catching the action onscreen. There had been a vague hope in the back of Iwaizumi’s mind that the familiar film might lull Oikawa to sleep again, but it didn’t. It did, however, make him crave ice cream again, making Iwaizumi rustle around the freezer until he finally found some.

Once he’d been equipped with ice cream and Iwaizumi was back on the bed with him, he happily settled in for another alien movie – this one much less of a classic, just a silly, low budget horror Iwaizumi had found while channel surfing. Oikawa was, as usual, getting far too into it, concocting plans as to how he’d survive the apocalypse (and how, naturally, he’d save Iwaizumi too). By the end of that film, Oikawa had finished the ice cream and it was put with Iwaizumi’s empty dinner bowl on the floor by the bed. Whatever ridiculous horror channel they’d found started playing the next film. Oikawa insisted they get under the blankets for this one because he was getting cold; instead, Iwaizumi tucked all the blankets around Oikawa, leaving space for himself to lie next to the roll of fabric that was his best friend.

By the end of the fifth movie, Oikawa was asleep. Iwaizumi almost followed after him, only just managing to wake himself up and start to clean up the scattered snacks, bowl and ice cream tub. Oikawa was snoring loudly, making Iwaizumi laugh to himself – it was rare to see the usually elegant Oikawa so undignified. It was golden moments like these that kept their friendship alive, in Iwaizumi’s opinion.

Just as Iwaizumi was about to leave, Oikawa unconsciously reached out a hand and grabbed Iwaizumi’s jacket.

Iwaizumi snorted. “You never stop, do you?” he sighed, delicately untangling Oikawa’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he could stop himself, he dipped to give Oikawa a gentle kiss to the forehead. “Get well soon, idiot,” he told him, before shouldering his bag and quietly slipping from the room.

A03 | Exclusives | Tip Me | Commissions

[theoryofarson]

10 BL Characters I Want Carnally

I don't even need to be tagged to be horny. Let's go!

In no particular order:

Third (Theory of Love)

He's so pathetic! He cries so much! He's so rude and mean and bitchy! His shirts are so big and his shorts are so small!

In conclusion, I would treat him right - the way Khai does NOT.

Nick (Only Friends)

Speaking of PATHETIC!!!! THAT'S MY TOXIC BABYGIRL! MY CANCELLED BOYGIRLWIFESBAND! Sand really wasted an opportunity in that van. It should have been me...

Pa (Bad Buddy)

You know who's taller than you, Pa?? Me!!! The thought of being the one to make her flustered...pick her up and brush her hair back...dear lord.

Ok this list is really starting to look like I want to be the one doing all the manhandling. I promise you I am also down to be handled. Let's switch it up a bit.

Porsche (KinnPorsche)

Listen. You know I LOVE VegasPete as a ship.

But if we're talking about who *I* desire - first of all, your bitch is NOT prepared for the kinkery VegasPete get up to. Second of all, I genuinely think Apo Nattawin is one of the most objectively attractive men on this planet. Add to that Porsche's layered dip of a personality (fidgety jokester, devoted big brother, practiced fighter, willing killer, dutiful guard dog...), and I am quite sold. Give me the problematic mafia sex.

Hyeong Da Un (Blueming)

Dude. I barely even remember this show. I had to look up the character's name. But he's BAD. And he always had like...this teasing superiority toward the main character? Like he knew they would end up together and was just waiting for MC to catch up to that realization? Yeah. That...that's hot.

Ueda Minoru (Our Dining Table)

I believe this man was crafted in a lab to be as attractive to me, specifically, as possible. He looks like a bit of a delinquent, but he's a sweet and dedicated family man. He is troubled by the notion that he'll never be good enough. He's in love and afraid to say it. He's a bleach blonde with earrings and a bump in his nose and an Adam's apple that makes me want to follow the footsteps of Eve in the garden.

Mhok (Last Twilight)

Lord, there is not enough time in the world for me to say all I want to say about this man.

I just want it to be stated, on the record, that I have been well aware of Jimmy's attractiveness since Bad Buddy days. Unlike others, I never let Wai's horrendous personality distract me from his absurdly hot face, which, at the end of the day, is the important thing.

And now that we have Mhok? Literally the perfect character - rugged yet tender, clueless yet hypercompetent, jealous yet selfless - full of desire and restraint and humour and sadness in equal measure - I genuinely cannot think of what else I would ask for.

And did I mention his hot face?

Finally, to round out the list, a special triple whammy:

Neo, Miw, and Shin (3 Will Be Free)

Yes, all three. At once? Separately? I don't give a shit. For all I care, it could be me in this trunk and them looking down at me in disdain. That'd keep me going for like, a year. Just let me be in the orbit of these three ridiculously hot people and their ridiculously hot dynamic. Joss, Mild, Tay: if any subset of you is ever free, at any time at all, I am also free. At that time. Forever.

Whew!

That was really fun. Tagging: Whoever wants to do it!!!! Go. Be horny. Be free.

[bluedemiknight]

You know what would be interesting? If Amy fell into an alternate world (a bad fanfiction) where she does not play her part and deal with the shxtty versions of her friends. If they aren’t to act like actual friends, then they aren’t her friends.

She’s trying really hard to find her way back home, but the (poorly characterized) alt ver. Of her friends won’t leave her alone.

They won’t listen or respect her as a person.

They refuse to believe anything she does isn’t evil or clingy.

Point blank she decides that this is not her life, world, or family.

Like I imagine she is sipping tea while people around her are reprimanding her for something she clearly didn’t do, sighs, gets up, walks a way while ignoring them.

Princess Sally acting like a bxtch Instead of an intelligent leader? Who the Fxck are you, I’ve never met you in my life?

Sonic is being sleazy and cruel? Whoever you are, I will beat the shxt out of you if you even think of touching me.

Shadow is being a creepy stalker because he’s in love? Nope, not happening. (Kick him in the quills girl, he won’t like that.)

Tails is acting like an idiot and blindly following Sonic without making his own conclusions? Never heard of you, kid.

Rouge is being unnecessarily mean? Never met you, miss.

Knuckles is a way from angel island and is picking fights for nothing? That’s it, I’m kicking your xss back to your post.

The people around me are imposters and I’m not a weak hearted pushover that will put up with this.

I’m Amy Rose! I’m a hero and a friend!

She doesn’t back down and she doesn’t run a way. She uses logic, clear reasoning, and her unwavering will to get results.

——-

“Get over me Amy, I’ll never love you!”

“…did you just break into my house?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“I’m calling the police.”

“What?”

“Hello? A strange man broke into my house!”

——-

“Who do you think you are Amy Rose? You’re nothing! You ugly girl.”

“That was the weakest insult I’ve ever seen in my life. It was so pathetic, I feel sorry for you. You’re so insecure that you have to bully others just to feel pretty.”

“You’re just jealous!”

“??? I don’t even know who you are???”

“Ha! Of course you do! Just last week-“

“I just got here! You know the multiverse exists so why are you hxll bent on treating someone you just met like they are below you? I thought you were a ruler that cared about your kingdom? Do your people mean nothing to you? What kind of monarch abuses their power just for the sake of feeling superior? God I want to go home.”

———-

“I’m going to make this clear. Shadow the hedgehog. I… am not the Amy Rose you are “ in love” with. So I have no idea what history you two have. I am not a substitute and I refuse to entertain this horrendous behavior. If you continue to follow me home or spy on me, I will not be quiet about it.”

———

“Knuckles. Why aren’t you guarding the master emerald?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you or do you not live on angel island and the sole Gaurdian of the master emerald?”

“I do and I am.”

“So why aren’t you there right now?”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s what I want to say. Look, if we go to angel island right now and find the master emerald gone, I am going to throw a fit.”

“Please, I can take on Sonic’s obsessive fan girl!”

“That’s the thing. I’m not her. I’m not from here. I don’t live here. I don’t know you or any of you on a personal level. You. Don’t. Know. Who. I. Am. So tell me, exactly, what is my favorite color? What’s my favorite book? Do I have an allergy? What’s my mother’s name? These are things, I’ve told you. But you aren’t him and that hurts me.”

“We don’t talk….”

“Like I said. I’m not her and you’re not him. I want my brother back. I want to hug him and I can’t. I’m away from home and it’s killing me. I want my family and I don’t want to be alone.”

“….”

“Go home, Knuckles. Before you lose it like I have.”

———

“You said your name is Tails. This is the first time we’re talking together and the first thing you say to me is to call me a stalker. Tell me, where have I been the last month and a half?”

“….. uh…. What are you talking about?”

“I’ve said this countless times, but I’m from a different world and you know different worlds have different rules. I’m not her. So why do you treat me like I am? What have I done so far?”

“You… haven’t done anything other than fight Eggman.”

“Exactly.”

————

“Well if it isn’t the fake pinky.”

“Why do I have to be fake? Why can’t I just be Amy? I’m Amy. My name is Amy. Why are you hurting me? Why? What did I do to you? We just met? You know I’m still Amy, but apparently I’m fake? I’m done.”

“What’s your deal? Can’t handle-hey! Come back!”

“Why should I? Do you think I’m running way? Alright. What makes you think I’m going to let you speak to me like I’m stupid?”

“Because you are naturally.”

“I hate you. You are shallow imitation of my friend. She’s smart, beautiful, and fun. We weren’t very close before, but I respected her. I admired how clever and cool she was.”

“I’m smart!”

“You can’t tell the difference between me and the girl you hate, taking it out on me. Absolute loser behavior.”

———

Ah I think Sonic should come find her and take her home in the end because they are friends and had worried about her. She wasn’t a stranger, a no one- she was his friend. He also dropped off the other Amy, she is somewhat reformed and had said she would continue her visits to therapy and coax the others to do so.

“Remember, if they don’t want to, you can’t force them. It’s not your responsibility, you are the only one in charge of you.”

Idk

[sketchiefoxie]

Explore the lab for clues.

(Optional Soundtrack/Ambience)

April made a small sound, clutching tightly at the hem of her shirt, twisting it around her fingers. "Donnie, please, I don't know what to do!" She whispered, throat tight. It felt like if she were any louder, something bad would happen.

She watched as Donnie's eyes grew hazy, and he lost focus. His whole body slumped down, face pressing against his keyboard, cheeks pressing down upon the keys, still making that simple yet repetitive clicking sound.

April quickly looked around, trying to see if she could find anything to help. There wasn't anything within immediate eyeshot, as the lab itself was dark. The corners were so dark, it was almost as if the room itself was permeated by a pitch black mist.

The only place with some semblance of lighting was the area near Donnie's computers. The remaining screens fizzled pathetically, static buzzing loudly. Only the one computer was on, still playing the same video. Though the volume was incredibly quiet, and April presumed Donnie had either turned it way down, or had connected his headphones to the computers.

Donnie hadn't moved. He hadn't given April any indicator as to what was wrong, how she could fix it, or anything. He just laid there, eyes trained on the screen, clearly unfocused. As if he were forced to watch it, and didn't want to. It unsettled April to no end.

Slowly, she pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight, adjusting the setting to a dimmer light. Her phone battery was a lot lower than she'd prefer. The battery was really draining fast, much faster than it should have been.

"I'll be right back, ok?" She promised, backing away from her brother. His vacant stare, and slack jawed expression did nothing to assure her. That weird rainbow stuff was still leaking out of his mouth.

Turning around, April shone her light across the lab.

It was a horrendous mess. Tables overturned, projects destroyed, and memories trashed. The only time April had seen Donnie's lab in such a mess, was when the Shredder destroyed their first lair, and Donnie had been heartbroken over that.

Carefully, she stepped over the numerous piles of broken things. Unlike the rest of the lair, none of these piles were sorted, which was almost more unnerving. April had started getting used to seeing neatly stacked piles of violently destroyed wall rubble.

This whole thing was really freaking her out. What had happened here? Why was Donnie just laying in front of a dying computer screen? How come she had forgotten him? Where were the rest of her brothers? Was he dying?

This entire thing just screamed 'horror mystery' and April wasn't particularly pleased by it. She didn't really feel like living in Bendy and The Ink Machine or Five Nights at Freddy's, thank you very much.

With swooping motions, April scanned the lab, waving her flashlight back and forth to illuminate her search. There wasn't much so far. Mostly just broken junk.

On the back wall of the lab, there were numerous papers written in hasty scribbles, and strings strung to every corner. It reminded her of a spiders web, but only if the web was made of blood red string.

April briefly wondered if the writing on the wall had any important significance. Though, as this was Donnie, there was a good chance that it was all just equations for abandoned projects.

Except...

Not all of those looked to be Donnie's notes. Carefully, she approached the walls, and began to read over some of the papers.

They weren't as exciting as she hoped, with the bulk of them being exactly what she expected. Maps of the lair, equations, and blueprints. The largest blueprint seemed to be of some strange machine called the "Anti-Mutation Radiation Chamber." Yeah, as if that wasn't hella creepy. Was this what Donnie meant when he had been talking about helping the mutants who didn't want to be mutants anymore? Seemed a little late though, as most of the mutants had found themselves lives to live.

Though, off to the side, and tacked over some other papers, were numerous lists of rations. Most of the rations were lists for food, water, laundry, the works. But they were mostly scribbled out. To be honest, when she thought about it, it was a concerning amount of rations...

At the bottom of one of the notes, in hasty writing, was the words "Angelo got it covered." April glanced backwards, thinking of the spilled soup bowls. She couldn't really see them in this lighting. Somehow, the knowledge that Mikey had it covered, was sorta unsettling. 'Got it covered' how?

At least it was confirmed that Mikey was here. He was the one who most likely took her gun, which was even more concerning! Mikey should have no need for a gun.

April frowned deeply, and pushed those thoughts to the back burner, and moved her flashlight along the wall to better scan the rest of the tacked up blueprints. Then something caught her attention. Over in the corner, was a pile of junk, and a lump under a tarp.

The tarp was a suspicious shape, and all around it was leaking puddles of fluids, and deep red stains. Without even needing to look, April could guess what was under the tarp. Her blood immediately grew cold, and she had to swallow numerous times to keep from gagging.

She didn't even want to think about what was under that tarp, but at the same time, she couldn't deny the impending sense of dread she felt. April was no stranger to the smell of death. After the Krang attacked, the streets had been filled with it. It was a very distinct smell, not one to ever be forgotten. The smell was becoming more and more horrendous, pungent and thick.

How had Donnie been living like this?!

She quickly turned her attention away from the tarp to look back in Donnie's direction, and she almost flinched. His head was off his keyboard, and he was watching her from over the back of his fancy chair. From this angle, it looked like his head was backwards, though April knew he had just shifted in his seat.

April offered him a hesitant smile, heart hammering. Donnie didn't reciprocate the smile.

Oh gosh, she was really really beginning to hate this.

April hesitantly turned her attention back to the pile and the tarp, and her eyes grew wide. That was her portable charger in the pile!! How had it gotten there?

She glanced over her shoulder again, making eye contact with Donnie, shivering at the dull eyed stare he gave her. April slowly stooped down, scooping up a twisted piece of metal. Donnie still didn't move. April wasn't even sure if he was really watching her. He wasn't even moving.

Slowly, April began to creep forwards, gripping her makeshift weapon lightly. She didn't even know what she was so scared of! Ok, that was a lie. There was everything to be scared of.

Upon closer inspection, the pile of junk was made up of... Her things... Her first aid kit, her gun, her headlamp, and even an extra phone. There were two or three of each item. April took a double take, and quickly shrugged off her backpack, shining the light into it. She had everything she had checked for when she had pulled out her first aid kit to clean her chin.

How... What... Just, how?

Slowly, April's gaze drifted over to the tarp, and she swallowed thickly, never in her life more grateful to have her perfume scented face kerchief. It certainly didn't block the smell, but it made it a little less horrible.

April reached out to grip the tarp, reluctant to touch the clearly soiled surface. She needed to know who was under there, and why Donnie clearly had a dead body in the corner of his lab.

"April..."

April froze, breath catching in her throat, and her hand twitched, shifting the tarp. Someone whispered her name behind her, raggedy, and hoarse. Donnie's voice.

She remained frozen, jaw tightly clenched, eyes downcast. She could practically sense his presence behind her. But she hadn't heard him get up, or move, or anything. Her phone flashlight was still on, illuminating where she had shifted the tarp.

There was a hand beneath the tarp. It was a little hard to tell, as the skin was beginning to change colors from the obvious decay, but the skin was brown. Like hers.

"April..."

Her breath hitched again, and her whole body got goose bumps, chills running up and down her spine. Glancing at her phone, she realized she could faintly make out a reflection upon the dark screen.

Barely, just barely, she could see the outline of Donnie's face, and just his face, the darkness swallowing him up from the neck down.

Next ->

<- Previous

Masterpost

[thekinkyleopard]

Just This Once

A Zilya x Tass Canon Sequel

Sequel to Caught’cha!

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Blood drinking kink, Casual Snz Insert, Smut,

Dom/Sub, induce

Description: Zilya took a huge risk choosing to punish Tass for snooping, rather than feeding themselves. They feel weak. Tass feels…guilty? Empathetic? He can’t place it but offers the vampire a taste to get them back on their feet….but it goes too far.

Author’s Notes: Horny on main! Horny on main! Horny on main! 🥳🥳 I just wanna write vampire smuuuuuut sorry not sorry 😂 @aller-geez did the cover art and owns Tassian!

It was miserable, Zilya couldn’t get out of their coffin, they hadn’t been this weak in centuries. Not since they had been a slave. Hunger hadn’t ever really been a problem but with the cold winter months turning everything to hibernation, and the hunting seasons getting longer, producing less and less for the vampire to consume. It was taking its toll. The last few days, not another animal in sight.

They tried, gripping the sides of the wooden containment taking a deep breath to heave themselves over but only managing to flop halfway out like a dead fish. Groaning with displeasure and disdain. “Whyyyyy…” they moaned through the horrendous inability to get to their feet. Suddenly, the sound of a gentle jingle began to titter its way across the space. Abyss, their little black papillon familiar, cautiously waltzing toward her master with an ever so softened look across her little puppy face.

“Mommy doesn’t feel…..right….little love…” Zilya sighed through lips that barely moved. The little dog whimpering softly, before brandishing their hand in tender dog kisses, almost offering herself to them. “Oh…my sweet girl….never you,” managing to muster up a loving smile toward his ever so faithful companion. “Too small….and precious…go, go back to bed….darling,” their voice was staggered as they fought between breathing and staying awake. They wouldn’t die. Vampires do not die from starvation, but they will go comatose until they are given blood. A defense mechanism of sorts.

The little black dog huffed helplessly through her tiny muzzle before tick tacking her way back to a very large and fluffy dog bed. She did not sleep but kept her worried gaze on her debilitated owner.

At this same moment of their pathetic current existence, Tassian came storming inside the room, flinging his dead cellular device back and forth, clearly distraught. “Look! We need electricity, I am SICK of having to go into town to charge my charging block, just to charge my phone. This is my litera-…” he paused, the creature that was normally so strong and alert, practically a puddle on the stone floor now. “H-Hey….?” His entire demeanor changed, what was this? This wasn’t normal? Tassian now fully concerned, got closer to the splayed vampiric lord.

“Leave me to dieeeeee…..” Zilya grumbled through a lazy throat, both of them surprised they could muster the strength to even speak they looked so poorly. Sunken eyes, more so than average, normally pale white scleras now blood shot, and their veins were almost bursting from behind their scarred flesh.

“Wait, no, seriously, Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” Tassian asked with a more softened tone now, dismissing his previous woes.

“I-I’m just…so hungry….” The vampire responded, slowly shifting their gaze to look up at the other’s face.

“Shit that’s right….you haven’t fed…” The Jackalope cursed, looking down at the sunken creature with guilt, and slight frustration with themselves.

“Nope…. Too busy and-….” When they were suddenly cut off by the other’s nervous assumptions.

“Hey! I never asked you to-…” Zilya let out a breathless chuckle and shook their head.

“Food shortage as well….not your fault….” Tassian automatically feeling bad yet again for even suggesting he’d become a burden to the immortal within a few days.

“O-oh….right….” His gaze shifted, he looked toward the ground now, but still reaching over he to gently pat the weakened creature’s shoulder in an effort to comfort themselves both.

“Leave me….come spring…..bring blood….” Zilya spoke with genuine despair, trying to roll their eyes shut to accept a fate that wasn’t necessarily theirs for certain.

“Spring?? No way! I need you! What if someone invades the castle? You can’t expect me and Abyss to hold anyone back!” Aby looked up, her head turning sideways at the sound of her name, but without it being her master’s voice, she simply returned to her previous position. Tass panicked looking around and then furrowing his eyebrows with utter desperation he couldn’t stop the next sentence that came out his mouth. “What if I fed you?”

“You?” The vampire’s eyes now slowly slid back open, raising a thin brow curiously.

“Yeah, just this once, you could….drink from me….JUST !!!” He paused, his voice getting very loud, very serious, Zilya squinted in agony. “Don’t kill me please,” the other almost wanted to laugh at such an Insinuation, but it was valid. As intelligent as they were, they were so hungry they weren’t cognitive to the very real fact this would be their first time drinking from another person, ever.

“I….wont,” they spoke with a softened voice that still somehow exuded confidence, brows furrowed inward with determination. Still desperate to keep themselves conscious. 

“Okay well…uh…here let me….” He helped drag the vampire fully back into their coffin, but sliding Z into a sitting positon. The vampire helping by keeping themselves steady, gripping each side of the coffin’s edge. “Okay, and then I guess I’ll….just…” sliding into the coffin, getting themselves accompanied in Zilya’s lap.

They hadn’t been this close since Tass got busted snooping in places he shouldn’t. Which, as much as he enjoyed it, he couldn’t just let the vampire think they could just, own him. Pft. Right?…despite how much that secretly turned him on.

Despite his carnal lust, his natural instincts to adjust and adapt in relation to a predator, were far greater. He had learned relatively quick to ask permission for almost everything he did. It was slightly bothersome to the once lonely vampire. Someone always asking them to do, or for, something. Though, they had to admit, they did enjoy the influence they realized they now had on the castle guest. Being on the other end of this little, dance.

“Okay….” Zilya closed their eyes, responding back, to more than anything, keep themselves from passing back out and hibernating for the next several weeks. Tass took a deep breath in and slowly removed his shirt to make it all around easier to deal with.

“Okay…go uh…g-go ahead,” His legs trembled and his heart raced, Zilya reached out and placed a palm down upon it. They smiled.

“Thee is shaking….” Making a casual note out loud that almost sounded concerned.

“Well yeah! Not every damn day you feed a vampire on purpose! Can you just, okay?” Zilya chuckled breathlessly, shaking their head now with an almost solemn response.

“No,” a simple word, but one that carried enough weight to slap the other across his ego. What did the vampire mean NO.

“What?” His brows fell and crossed inward, the fuck was this guy’s problem?

“No,” Zilya repeated simply.

“Why?” Taking a slow deep breath in, Tassian thought maybe there was a reason, some sort of connection between the answer and his offer.

“Thee is scared….I can’t….it’s not….” Shaking their head slowly, trying not to make themselves too dizzy with the motion.

“I’m not scared,” his brows tightened at the other’s response, avoiding eye contact as he looked down at his hands, his body sitting across the weakened vampire’s lap.

“Thy legs….are shaking….heart racing….” Z simply didnt want Tassian to know what it felt like. To be used. To be a meal. It felt wrong. There was too many moral paradoxes to this situation, Zilya just didn’t want to scare the Jackalope away.

“Promise…it’s not fear,” he wasn’t lying, truthfully, it wasn’t every day that something like this came to be. He had just realized Vampires were real and if they’re hot, why not right? Couldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Okay…thou is certain?” Zilya looked back up to meet the other’s gaze, searching for any sparkle of doubt but only seemed to find first time jitters.

“Oh my g-…just…okay?” Tassian now mustered up the courage to look the vampire deep within their tired, glossy gaze and beg for it. Truthfully tired of playing this back and forth game, he was already more than mentally prepared. “Please,” confident now he repeated himself, his face freshly painted in a bright pink flush.

There was something that had long ago been locked down and snuffed out. A feral part of Zilya that they had not yet discovered til that moment a few days ago, and here it was. Back again. When that please dripped off Tassian’s lips. They leaned closer, mouth just barely grazing the soften skin of his neck, mere inches away, the sensation caused the Jackalope to tremble.

Tassian held his breath and within a few seconds as Zilya extended their long teeth with a stretch of their jaw, they pierced through the elastic flesh. A sharp gasp could be heard from the small male’s stuttering lips, hands shaking as they reached for the lapels on the vampire’s coat, gripping them desperately. The sharpened chill of Zilya’s teeth penetrating his neck, was a temporary feeling. The one that came after was what caused his body to suddenly start twitching and gently convulsing. Like a cold burn that ignited every one of his nerves to stand at attention.

Zilya had never drank blood from another living being beside his Masters, this was so incredibly new. They almost couldn’t believe the feeling of it. The taste, the connection, the power of it. Zilya’s fingers tightened within the little hybrid’s locks of hair, pulling the other’s neck closer to them. The vampire moaned, dangerously, a deep guttarl sound that surprised them both, their body feeling stronger every passing second they drank.

Tassian’s eyes rolled back in his head, mouth falling open while he squeaked another pleasured mewl from what little he could breathe. “Z-Zilya…” warning the other, unsure how long it had even been but his voice wasn’t very assertive, and the vampire ignored him. It fueled them.

Zilya grunted again, pushing, hovering, looming over the slowly shrinking Jackalope, overwhelmed with a sense of lust, intoxicated by it, realizing they could feel both theirs and his combined. The little hybrid wasn’t lying, he wasn’t scared. Gods. They weren’t sure they could stop. If ecstasy was a liquid, Zilya had found it. Slowly while the strength began to return to their body, Zilya’s grip tightened, and desperately they continued sucking the younger almost dry.

Tass moaned, pushing himself further into the numbing, ice cold pierce of Z’s fangs, his body twitched as his blood supply grew less, and less. Dancing on the edge of life and death they both let out a series of desperate grunts, moans and whimpers. Without conscious thought, Zilya began to move his hands away and tug at the jackalope’s jeans, and his own. The pleasure becoming too great, now they moved upon their hunger.

The frantic movement, the sudden exposure, Tassian began to fluster with several different emotions, but unable to push past the feral lust the two of them now shared. “W-wait….” he gasped his eyes fighting to open, fluttering, the other’s mouth tightening around his flesh. “Z-Zilya w-wait….” He tries again his palms pushing at the other’s chest. The vampire grunts, angrily, animalistically.

At this point they had stopped extracting blood, aware they were playing with fire if they stole but a drop more. Yet, Zilya refused to let go, now pushing their new connection, Tass, could hear the creature’s voice echo inside his skull.

“Hm? Is this not what thee desires? I can taste it in thy blood….thee wishes to be mine….” Like rhythms dancing and bouncing around his suddenly empty head, his body flushed, wanting. Tass whimpered as his resolves weakened, unable to brush through the fog. He couldn’t lie his way out, they were connected, he was exposed and as terrifying as that was to Tass, it was blatantly erotic. No one could ever have such control over him like this, no one else could make his body feel like it may just explode with so little to show for it. Zilya snarked from behind the tightened clench of his jaw, still clasped to Tass’s neck. “Figured as much…”

Once again, the vampire continued their motions to strip the other of his lower clothing, and ripping off the underwear that protected him underneath. Tassian blushed deeply, his eyes fluttering to stay alert, but his body had no problem responding to every slide of Zilya’s fingers across his heated flesh. “Hah~…” he gasped from behind his trembling lips, Z’s cold hands touched his inner thighs, spreading him apart and toying with the other’s clenching cheeks. “Surrender to thy wants my little prey….stop denying ourselves this moment…I can feel thy needs growing stronger…..” Tassian could hear the vampire’s chocolate tone melting inside his cranium, and they were right. He wanted it so terribly bad, for the first time in probably his entire life, he was desperate for it. If nothing really, he was just too chicken shit to admit it. His body trembling, palms grasping now at the fabric of Zilya’s ruffled shirt pulling them closer to him. Trying to signal the vampire in any way he could that he was slipping away from reality. Their bodies brushed up against one another, and Zilya took their opportunity.

Swiftly taking themselves out of their own pants, and teasingly rutting their rock hard length up against Tass’s own twitching cock. With hesitation, the vampire finally unlatches their mouth from the smaller’s now weeping neck. Lines of crimson trickled down his scarred and slashed shoulder. Zilya took notice of the other’s afflictions, curiously like their own. Was this what connected them? Two tortured souls, come to be one?

They spoke not a word as they stripped themselves of their shirt, exposing their bare scarred flesh. Littered in degreeing bite sizes. Tassian reaches up with shaking palms to trace them with the pads of his fingers tips.

Zilya’s eyes were brighter now, the blood having drained from their scleras. Yet, they avoided the other’s gaze when he laid touch upon their many scars. The dominant being suddenly a hint of shy, they weren’t used to this level of vulnerability, nor intimacy, neither of them were. As both bodies led with instinct rather than permission.

The vampire reached for the jackalope’s hand, bringing it upwards to place gentle kisses across the younger’s softened fingers. “I trust you,” fell out of Tassian’s mouth as he watched the other adorn his fingers.

Zilya let this sink in, reluctant yet lustful eyes brought themselves back to meet his little mate’s gaze. Neither of them said anything more, as Zilya’s tongue slid from between his lips and captured Tassian’s index and middle digits. Coating them, purposefully. The dark haired male could only gaze with a slightly agap jaw, lids fluttering as desire filled him. No one had ever done such a thing, he couldn’t look away, almost curiously, he slipped another digit in the mix. Zilya now taking the fingers into their mouth fully, slipping and twisting their dampened tongue around each finger.

Tassian whimpered almost soundlessly while he watched, his cheeks redder, unbelieving of the display, but as fast as the moment came, it also went when the fingers fell out of the warm cavern within seconds. “Take your fingers, and insert them….” They paused, grabbing the other’s wet hand and leading it toward Tass’s puckered entrance. “Here…..” pink eyes hungry as they gazed over the male’s twitching hole. As much as they hated to, they looked away but only to meet the other’s face once more. “Nothing else….fail to follow thine instructions….” Leaning closer, his words now trailing directly into the smaller’s ear drum. “And face consequences, understood?” Zilya asked with an authoritative calmness that brought Tassian to a shiver. “Understood?” Their tone tighter now, more aggressive, inpatient, as they awaited confirmation.

“U-Understood…” Tassian could hardly breathe, between being light headed from blood loss and euphoria. The Jackalope reached between his thighs and with slickened digits, pushed through his cheeks and started to tease and work his hole. His eyes slid shut, tight, squeezed with force, Zilya glared.

“Look at me,” voice commanding, almost cold. Tassian slowly slipped his orange orbs back open, only for his eyebrows to fold upward.

“H-Hn…I f-feel so…l-lewd…please Zilya….” Their gazes never broke, and the vampire’s lips spread into a thin, but satisfied smirk.

“I love the way my name sounds from thine lips….” They expressed this in more of a relieved sigh, than solid words. Zilya’s own lidded gaze sweeping upon his conquest’s movements. “Just stay like that, my dove,” licking their lips they reached down within the the pile of discarded clothing. Out they pulled from the inside of their crumpled jacket, that same, feather.

“Z-Z…?” Tassian questioned nervously, but unable to express himself properly as he felt his fingers massaging and wiggling inside his own body, length twitching and leaking against his stomach.

“I was considering a little treat for you, treasure, what do you say?” Licking their lips hungrily. “Don’t you want to feel really good?” The words were so tantalizing while they left the creature’s mouth and as Tassian watched with his glossy orange orbs, Zilya twisted and turned the familiar feather he had become acquainted to a few days prior. Looking between it, Zilya and trying to keep his eyes open as he pushed his fingers in and out of himself, all he could do was whimper pathetically in response.

“H-hAh ~…” silently inviting the other forward, Zilya leaned in, watching intently swiping the feather across his nostrils in a quick, teasing motion. It beckoned forth that feeling. That prickle, the static of an oncoming storm.

“Say please,” Zilya demanded gently, voice a bit tender as they leaned in close.

“Hnn….” It wasn’t that Tassian didn’t want to answer, it’s that he found himself at a cross roads of being unable to speak without finding himself fighting for his life not to blow. His nose scrunched, and his head tightened. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before it was to come flying out of him.

“Say, please,” The vampire persisted, causing the smaller male to make a decision. He chose, wisely.

“Please…” Zilya smirked at the success of having such an effect on the smaller male. Licking his lips again, they drew the feather closer once more, pushing and twisting the object into Tassian’s already huffing nose. The flickering gasps of air only causing the feather tendrils to split and tickle his inner walls. Watching the younger squirm helplessly underneath their antics and pleasuring himself was enough to send Zilya over the brink of control.

“Come on little rabbit, I know you have it in there…” praising the struggling Jackalope, leading him through it. “AHT, AHT, don’t get too distracted now, my darling Prey,” goading the black haired male while his fingers continued to twirl and shove the feather across the other’s twitching nose.

Tassian’s breathing hitched, and caught. His eyes watering and he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Actually, he went to open his lips to say something and all that came out was a loud, over due, unfiltered sneeze. “ehh’SCZTIEW!” He sprayed across Zilya’s flickering hand, the pressure that had built within his head finally releasing. It felt entirely too good as he continued to pleasure himself through it.

“Mmh, you can do better than that…” Zilya clicked their tongue with mild disappointment, slipping their body between Tassian’s legs and in between relentlessly tickling at the jackalope’s poor nostrils, that now started to leak, the other hand reached to stroke their length. “Give me something special, puppet,” purring with a lustfilled drawl, pushing the tip of their cock at the other’s fingers, signaling them to move with assertive action.

“Ah-…I-…H-hih’ESCH’iew!!” Releasing them as they came, Tassian felt the reserve of holding back at a loss while they both relished in the desires between them. “S-so full…it’s soo full….Zilya please….” Whimpering, he tried to sniffle his sinuses clear, loudly. “SNDdffF!!” To no use but the fact this was doing something for the vampire, made it acceptable for him to otherwise ditch the efforts.

“Shhh, that’s okay, little dove….feel how full you are…embrace it,” taking in a deep, sultry breath the vampire pushed their way forward, teasing, pricking and poking at his entrance. “I’m about to make you fuller…” Tassian whimpered weakly, the softened object still fluttering across his sensitive face. He blushed, he bit his lower lip, and his reddened nosey dribbled slowly as Zilya’s actions persisted.

“Z-Zily-Hhhhhh…..” his nose stretched and scrunched, another one almost stuck as he himself used what little strength he had left in his sore neck to alleviate it. Almost like a cat rubbing against their owner’s leg, the Jackalope pushed and nuzzled the feather, praying to get the stubborn sneeze out. In time Zilya watched this motion, sucking their lower lip with blissful agony, they couldn’t take it anymore.

Zilya plunged deep within the small male, who cried out in pleasure only for his echoing sounds to be cut off with an explosion. His body tightened, muscles clasped around the vampire’s hard, thrusting cock, they shuddered. A mistral cloud of saliva fell upon their flesh and Zilya’s delicate breaths became labored inhales and shaky exhales. Hips snapped forward to soak their cock in convulsions while Tassian spasmed around them. “HIXTTSHH’ieu!” Zilya dropped the feather and brought both their palms under Tass’s tightened jaw, using it as leverage, they also pushed their foreheads together.

“So fucking good for me, aren’t thee?” Their voice almost possessive the way it trickled out of Z’s mouth, the vampire snipped and licked at Tassian’s swollen, wet lips. “My delicious treat,”

“S-so….good,” the submissive repeated, almost completely broken from all the forcible pressure still ailing him.

“Hm, thy like that don’t thee? Like when I make thee release from thine head to thy groin?” The vampire snickered, eyes still casing the jackalope’s twisted face. Pleasured, mouth hanging slightly open, a small wet line that trailed from his left nostril, around his mouth, and down his jaw. “Thy looks so ravishing…certainly thee has another for me?” Never breaking eye contact as they spoke with a shakey, raspy voice. “I’m so close, puppet…” their hands grew tighter as they gripped his head. Tassian’s sinuses still swollen enough that he was almost certain he could oblige. Quickly, almost too quickly the smaller nodded his head in response and waited.

Unexpectedly, Zilya brought their face extremely close, brushing their lips just gently upon one another, dropping a soft, tender kiss, before breaking away. They then used the tip of their own nose to bump and skate past the other’s in a motion almost as light as the feather.

This was far more intimate than what he had pictured, had in mind, expected? He labored, gasping slowly, huffing. Zilya continued his movements, tenderly thrusting himself within the other’s flushed body while working delicately to squeeze one last blow from the melting jackalope.

“Hnnn…hmm….” Tassian focused, his eyes squeezed shut.

“You can do it, my little puppet, I know you can,” egging and encouraging the dark haired male, their bodies starting to glisten with sweat while Zilya’s hips worked to fill and pleasure Tassian’s hole.

“Aaahh…H-..Hh’Ik'shiew!” His throat had tightened up, and his eyes squeezed shut as the sneeze racked through him. Arms flexing and twitching with instinct to cover himself, but the vampire lay in his way.

“There it is, I’m so proud of thee…” Zilya’s eyes sparkled with admiration as their cock pulsed inside Tass’s tightened walls. “Shit…” they hesitated before their hips snapped wildly. “Shit I’m gonna fuckin….cum…fuck…” the jackalope had never heard so many foul words come out the other’s usually eloquent mouth. Tassian reached down and stroked himself loosely, fingers teasing and slipping over his sensitive head.

“M-Me too….” Responding breathlessly as his orange eyes locked onto Zilya’s pleasured expressions, watching their face twist the closer they reached their peak.

“Yeah? My little treasure’s going to blow? Hm? Tell me…tell me, I want to hear thy lips speak it…,” the words that fell out of their mouth were surely commanding but also a hint of desperate, needy.

“You’re going to make me cum, Zilya…” the words that echoed inside of the vampire’s ears were silky, erotic and while the smaller blushed brightly he used a tone that could only be described as utterly sinful.

Zilya’s hips buckled and shoveled themselves deep inside the other’s hole as far back as their cock would reach before spilling over. They continued to pump, loosely, in uncalculated motions while the jackalope continued to jerk his length, before also, completely over flowing himself. “Fuuuuuuuuck…..” Tassian whispered in a long, strained tone, moistened eyes had fallen back inside his head.

The vampire watched with hungry, lidded pupils, their hips still slowly rocking, almost unwilling to pull out. “I don’t want to stop….” They admitted lazily, tired eyes still drinking the other in.

“Then absolutely don’t…” this time Tassian wrapped his legs tightly around the vampire’s waist, ensuring there would be no where for the creature to go. Besides for round two.

“Good” taking the opportunity, Zilya moved to thrust their arms under the other’s motions. Lifting the jackalope’s legs now, they hooked at each of the vampire’s strong arms in a very tightened missionary position, their dribbling cock still hard as it continued to barrel through him.

“F-Fuck…Z-Zilya….” Their foreheads pressed together while lips barely touched one another. Savoring each the other’s hot, ragged breath against their own.

“Say it again…my name…say it again….” they couldn’t get enough. For once, someone wanted them, was desperate for them, was a pathetic mess, for them. The power, the ego. Zilya’s hips snapped harder, faster, as the smaller’s pleas fueled their hunger.

“Zilya….” Tassian carelessly gave in, it mattered not how much it inflated Zilya’s head, or how it made him look in fact. For once the jackalope was finding pleasure in sex, someone on the same wavelength as him.

“Again, ” the vampire growled from deep within the pit of his chest.

“Zilya,” the dark haired male obliged, every time, happy to provide, grateful to serve. He would say it a million times if needed.

“I want to carve the sound of thy voice into my brain…Say. It. Again” they almost spat with a lust fueled rage whilst they commanded more.

“Zillyyyaaa…” His body bounced while the vampire roughly fucked him into the tightened, yet cushioned space of Zilya’s wide coffin. Though it was made with the intention of extra elbow room, it served just enough space to plow the shorter jackalope.

“Shhhhh……it…” shoveling their arms underneath the smaller male now, Zilya hooked themselves around his arms and gripped the jackalope’s sweating and scarred shoulders. They pushed their hips upward once more and came again, this time sure the orange eyed prey would leak from overflow.

Tassian gasped, body tightening around them, he hadn’t felt pleasure like this before, continuous, desirable….it was almost addictive. Dangerously considering never stopping, almost completely hooked. Drunk off the Vampire’s essence and how every inch of motion just felt rightfully connected to him. This would easily become addictive. Tassian knew, this was only the start.

His back arched and he moaned helplessly at the feeling of Zilya’s cum filling him up. His own body succumbing to pleasure as he milked his length for a second orgasm, body pulsating, and twitching under the vampire that was trying to desperately keep themselves from collapsing onto the smaller’s frame.

“If I…don’t stop….” Pulling their twitching, leaking length out from Tass’s greedy hole, they both gasped for air, trying to peel themselves apart. “I never will….thy body is addictive…sweet treasure,” Zilya managed to crack a half smirk from his tired, and spent expression.

“I won’t lie…I’m pretty sure that was the best sex of my life…” finally taking a moment to catch his breath, the jackalope slumped from within the space.

“Me as well,” Zilya admitted, sitting back on their heels they ran their hands up to tie back the locs that had fallen from their once pinned state. Securing it all in a bun with a long stray loc.

“Hey, you don’t need to say that just because I did, you’re like what? 1000?” Chuckling with slight embarrassment. He couldn’t have been that good, surely the vampire had been around the block or two.

“700, and thy would be surprised….but I speak the truth, thee is truly a drug…I worry for thine safety if I can maintain my control,” raising a cocky brow, they snickered followed by a slow bite of their lip.

“W-well….uh…” blushing profusely, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was this immortal creature’s best? A drug? Someone so beautiful….so interesting….liked him? He cleared his throat. “Then, don’t,”

“Don’t control myself?” Zilya was incredibly confused, they’d never met someone like this, what did he mean?

“Yeah, don’t….I’ll be yours but…” now the other was looking away, avoiding eye contact as he stuck himself out on a limb.

“But?” Intrigued with what the other had to offer, Zilya listened closely, looking the other’s nervous body expression over for clues.

“You have to also be mine….” It came out sort of mumbled, not entirely the confidence he’d been going for but there was something so exotic about the immortal that flustered him.

“Deal,” Zilya shrugged simply, reaching a hand out to make it official.

“Deal?” Tassian looked over now, hesitantly, but looked over none the less, and slowly…took the other’s hand, as they shook on it.

“Deal…now get the absolute hells back over here…it’s been centuries I have a lot to make up for,” gripping the back of Tassian’s head the vampire initiated him back in for hours more of newly discovered bliss.

The End

Author’s Notes: OOPS IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MY PRIORITIES HAVE BEEN WHACK AF. I’ve been playing Baldur’s Gate like an insatiable beast. WE ALLLLLL KNOW who Zilya is based off okay…..Don’t talk to me T^T anyways this was probably the hottest fic I’ve ever written, personally. 🫠🫠🫠🫠

[realmermaid333]

Weyler fluff idea: Wednesday doesn’t know how to show Tyler that she wants to hold hands, be kissed etc. And it’s not that Tyler doesn’t want to do that but it’s because he thinks Wednesday doesn’t like it that much but deep down she wants it (he respects her borders)

I had a lot of fun with this one.

It was a beautiful day, cloudy and gray with bits of rain here and there. The rain wasn’t so potent that it soaked clothes and hair, it was a perfect, infrequent sprinkle— Wednesday’s favorite type of weather. 

She and Tyler sat shoulder-to-shoulder beneath a maple tree in the Jericho Cemetery. It had become one of their favorite places to go ever since he brought her to see his mother’s grave. Wednesday loved cemeteries her entire life— especially the family cemetery back home. They were creepy, quiet, and full of history and ghosts. She could always clear her mind among the headstones, new and old, and the smell of mown grass. And she found that dead people made great company.

But right now, her mind was far from clear. It was ruminating over something silly, something she could hardly admit. It clouded her usually confident and logical brain and left her feeling horrendously frail. 

She couldn’t figure out how to hold Tyler’s hand— or really do anything else besides kiss him. It should be easy to do such a thing, all she has to do is grab his hand with hers and the rest should flow from there. But when? How? Can it be too abrupt? What if she takes his hand too roughly? Would it be weird? She didn’t usually care about people’s feelings like she did his— the hold this boy had on her was, at times, incredibly frustrating. 

She still had no idea how she so abruptly kissed him that one time at the Weathervane, it was like some sort of love demon possessed her. Ever since then, when they kissed they leaned in simultaneously. And as strange as it was they’d kissed many times, usually when saying goodbye— but never held hands. Tyler respected her boundaries a little too much for her liking. It was sweet, his gentleness was endearing, but she wished he’d just grab her hand and make it easy, she knew he wanted to.

One time when they were driving in his car, their hands touched. Tyler had his right arm resting on the middle console when Wednesday dropped her pen on the floor of the passenger seat. When she leaned down to grab it she held onto the console for support, placing her hand near his. After leaning back in her seat, she noticed the close proximity of their pinky fingers, her heart jumped. She left her hand there in hopes he’d take the next step, her heart missed another beat when his own hand gravitated towards hers, hovering over it for a split-second— but then he stopped, quickly placing it on the wheel instead. It was terrible, bad terrible. 

Tyler’s voice yanked her from her thoughts, “Are you good? You’re real quiet.”

“Yes, I am fine. I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

What was she supposed to say? “About holding your hand, I’d like to hold your hand.”?? Well, that’s exactly what she’d say, but she couldn’t— it was like her mouth was a venus fly trap, and the words were but a helpless arachnid struggling to escape its marginal spikes. 

Tyler furrowed his brows while she wordlessly stared at him. 

“About… Just about— My homework assignment. I must finish it later.”

“You told me you didn’t have any homework?”

God damnit, Tyler. 

He studied her with his eyes, tilting his head to the side, “You can tell me anything, you know.”

She did know that, although telling him things was something she greatly struggled with. She wasn’t very good at talking about her feelings, in fact she was absolutely horrible at it. She was good at many difficult things— cello, fencing, lock-picking, martial arts, and archery to name a few— but she wasn’t good at being social. She couldn’t even tell her own boyfriend she wanted to hold his hand. Pathetic. 

“I’ve been thinking… That I want… I’d like,” her face felt hot. 

He seemed amused by how flustered she was, a smile was creeping on his lips. She looked down at his hands; large, warm, and resting in his lap. She wanted to grab one— No, she was going to. There was no going back, she’d been staring at them for far too long as Tyler grew increasingly confused. 

Impulsively, she grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm from his lap, and put her palm under his. Just as she hypothesized, the rest of it flowed from there. He chuckled and laced his big, warm fingers through her smaller, colder ones. It felt just as she’d imagined it, but better, his hand enveloped hers like a warm blanket— or, even better, a toasty straight jacket. 

He gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she gave into her urge to explore the skin of his hand. With her free fingers, she traced his smooth knuckles and a scar on his dorsal side from the fight with Enid months before. His hands were soft but sturdy, there was a mole on the knuckle of his thumb and another on his ring finger, his nails were freshly trimmed. 

“So, this was what you were thinking about?” He smiled cheekily. 

The corners of her lips turned upward a little, “Yes.”

“I would have done this already if I thought you’d like it.”

“You didn’t think I would?”

“No, I’ve been under the impression that you don’t like being touched.”

“I like being touched by you.”

He grinned, “Noted.”

Wednesday leaned further into Tyler, pressing their hips and shoulders firmly together, and rested her head on him. He placed his head atop of hers and gave her hand a squeeze. Soon, the sky darkened as evening approached, so they drove back to Nevermore. 

Before departing to their respective dorms, Wednesday kissed Tyler. For the first time ever, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. She didn’t understand how kissing felt so drastically better with something as seemingly miniscule as his arms around her back, but it did. The kiss felt much more intimate with their bodies pressed together— she wondered if she closed her eyes long enough if she’d be able to tell where her body ended and his started.

“Keep doing that when we kiss.” She asked when they pulled apart.

“I will.”

Wednesday entered her dorm feeling like a weight was lifted off of her chest. Holding hands was easier than she thought and she felt foolish for being so bent up over it. Her anxiety subsided, she was pleased to find that initiating touch wasn’t so bad at all. Tyler wanted it just as badly as she did. 

And, of course, Enid immediately noticed something was different about Wednesday.

“You’re nearly smiling. What happened?” She blurted out. 

She couldn’t hide anything from that girl.

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 40: Continuous Battles

Fandom: Harry Potter (Hogwarts years 1-7) Pairing: Draco x OFC

taglist:@ocappreciationtag @arrthurpendragon  @maaaaarveeeeel @stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic @kmc1989 @caplanbuckybarnes 

​​​​Story Masterlist // Romina’s Masterlist

Fanfic • Ao3 • Wattpad

If you’d like to be a part of this OC’s work/edits, let me know

Romina was half asleep when she pulled herself together enough to head out for breakfast. She was not expecting Angel to be so chippy and loud greeting her in the morning.

"Ready for breakfast?"

"Mhm," Romina nodded. "You want to take me there? I might fall asleep on the way."

Angel chuckled. "It would be my pleasure." He interlocked arms with her and headed out of the common room with her.

"Something like that," Romina mumbled. "I had these weird dreams...just so bombarding. I kept waking up like every hour."

"That sucks," Angel said, leading her up the stairs. "You're not the kind to have bad dreams."

"No, I left all the stuff from last year behind me," Romina said with a sour smile. "Because trust me, I have plenty of material to dream about that could re-traumatize me all over again."

"Maybe it's just the stress getting to you."

"The school year just started, Angel. I'm not that behind on work yet."

"I wasn't talking about academic stress, Romina," Angel said and gave her a sharp side-eye. She knew what he meant and sighed. He had been present last night when she and Pansy had a row about the dumbest thing. "You really should try to just, I don't know, ignore her or something," Angel said.

"It's not as easy as you think. She's everywhere. I literally changed dorms to get away from her!"

"Yeah, Carol was really happy about the switch too. She'd never say it but she's kind of scared of Pansy, always has been growing up."

Romina snorted. "Nobody should ever be afraid of Pansy. I'm not scared of her, she just aggravates me."

They entered the Great Hall and went straight to the Slytherin table where their friends were sitting.

"I need some dark roast coffee stat," Romina said as they sat down together.

"You drink dark roast coffee for breakfast?" Angel chuckled.

"Sometimes," Romina shrugged. She had to pause to cover her yawn.

"Oooh, did somebody not get enough sleep last night?" Pansy's voice stopped the pair. She had come along with Millicent, the two going straight for the open seats near Draco, Crabb and Goyle.

Romina lamented that her bad morning was even worse now. "I'm not—Parkinson, keep it to yourself. I'm too tired to deal with you today." She should have at least a few hours to really wake up before she had to insult someone.

"I know," Pansy said, far too sure of what she was saying. "You know, I figured that since you keep ruining Draco's day, somebody should ruin your nights."

"What…? What did you do to me?" Romina left her breakfast as it was. Her eyes flickered between Pansy and Draco, expecting one of them to give her an explanation. Had she been less focused on the shock, she would've realized the flash of confusion on Draco's face.

"Simple nightmare potion," Pansy explained. The malicious glint in her eyes was strong and proud. "Even an idiot could make it."

"And an idiot did," Angel said, earning a brief glare from Pansy in return. "That is very low of you, Pansy. What were you thinking?"

Romina was flabbergasted. Her mind spun to think of when Pansy had slipped that potion to her. It was infuriating not knowing. "So this was some revenge ploy? A sleepless night?" She scoffed. "And really, Draco? Getting Parkinson to do it on your behalf? Beyond lazy!"

Draco glared and pointed his fork at her. "Would you stop calling me 'lazy'? I didn't ask anybody to—"

Romina rolled her eyes, not wanting to hear a word from him. "You're just pathetic. Instead of just apologizing for such a horrendous act, you make it even bigger!" She glared over at Pansy; the latter couldn't be any happier with the results.

"Better luck next time, I suppose," Pansy shrugged, her tone ever so calm.

Romina barely resisted the urge to throw her goblet upside Pansy's head. She pushed herself up from her seat and stormed away. It's too early, it's too early...

"Oswell!" She heard Draco's call not too far behind her.

Oh, God no. She picked up her pace in the hallway, deciding to head back to the common room instead. "Leave me alone!" She yelled back. "Go back and sit with your dear partner in crime!"

"I didn't ask Parkinson to do anything for me!" Draco expected the hard scoff Romina sent his way. It was the only place he could start. "It wasn't my idea!"

"Oh please!" Romina whirled around, finding he was closer to her than she thought. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

Draco's face expression was nothing if not incredulous. "Because I didn't do anything?" He was sure that was the best reason he could offer. "I'm guilty of many things, Oswell, but of this? No."

Romina still seemed mighty unconvinced. She folded her arms. "Yeah right! I just want to know when Pansy slipped it in. Was it while we were arguing last night?"

"Ask her! I didn't do it!"

Romina started backtracking from him. "Forget it, I don't believe you! Just know that I will get you back for this."

"Oswell, if you would just—"

"No! Don't say another word to me!"

Draco rolled his eyes at her. She had no idea. "But listen—"

"Not another word!"

"You don't want me to say anything else?"

"Exactly!"

"Even if it's actually important?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. I won't say anything else then," Draco promptly said. His small smile was confusing but Romina didn't want to give him any more of her time.

She turned around to continue on her way but the moment her foot stepped forwards, she found the ground wasn't there. She was at the staircase. She flailed and fell forwards—she never made it down. A strong tug on her arm yanked her back before she slid off.

Next thing Romina knew, she was looking at a smug-faced Draco right in front of her. "Didn't know you'd be falling for me, Oswell," he said. He really couldn't help it. It was too big of an opportunity to let pass.

Romina's scowl was imminent. "I...hate you! You saw me about to fall!"

"You told me not to say another word," Draco reminded her. He laughed when Romina tried to smack him, or at the very least "tap him" as she'd claimed she'd done the last time. She was locked between his arms no matter how much she attempted to free herself.

"You're an absolute jerk!" And perhaps a strong one at that. Romina groaned at her failed attempts. "Let me go before I punch you!"

"What? Not comfy?" Draco was clearly enjoying the moment. He could smell her rosy scent perfectly. Now he wondered if it was her hair or her perfume. Did she wear perfume?

"I am very prepared to throw both of us down these stairs," Romina declared.

Draco laughed earnestly for the first time in a long time. "You are very competitive, Oswell. Gotta say, I like it. You're making my days fun."

Romina scoffed, head turning away. "Please. Couple days ago you said I was being ridiculous."

"And I stand by it but you're funny when you're plotting. And kinda cute."

Romina's head snapped back in his direction, tilting up to meet his gaze. His silver-blue eyes were already on her, filled with nothing but confidence.

"That a bother?" he asked her.

Before Romina knew it, she was shaking her head slowly. Speak! She blinked at her own stupidity. Warmth flourished up her neck and face within seconds. SPEAK! "You…" This wasn't working—holy shit this wasn't working! She shoved Draco far away from her. "Stay away from me!"

Draco laughed and by God it was a graceful laugh too. Romina wanted to shove him down the stairs.

"C'mon Oswell, can't we call it a truce?" He asked, sending her a smug smile. "I think it would be better if we plotted together."

"In your dreams," Romina spat and went down the steps.

Draco would take it as a win that she hadn't yelled this time. Piece by piece. He just had to put those pieces together. He turned to head back for the Great Hall.

"Where'd Romina go?" Angel bumped into him under the threshold. "Did you say something to her?"

"Sod off, Angel," Draco snapped. "This is none of your business."

"It is when you're continuously messing with Romina. I just went over this with Pansy back there and I'll tell you the same thing: back off."

"Yeah, you're not as threatening as you think you are," Draco said. "But I suppose I can give you points for effort."

Angel glared at him. "I mean it. Romina's taken enough crap these past years. You're supposed to be her friend—Pansy was supposed to be her friend — but you keep trying to make her life miserable."

"I am, but she's being a little difficult right now. Just a bump in the road, certainly nothing you need to stick your nose into. I mean seriously, are you trying to be overly blatant with that crush? It's been almost four years, Angel. Remember what I told you during our second year?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "No."

When Draco smirked, Angel knew that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to be infuriating.

Draco was happy to repeat himself. "The sad part is, she's never going to notice you." He clapped Angel on the shoulder. "And I was right. Four years." He wiggled four of his fingers and laughed on his way into the Great Hall.

Angel drew in a deep breath, a very deep breath, and balled his hands into tight fists. He had to calm himself before he did something he would regret, and worst of all do something that could hurt Romina along the way.

~ 0 ~

Romina had found small ways to appease her desire for revenge. Pansy Parkinson would not be making a move against her for a good while, not when she had undiluted bubotousse pus to deal with. Romina thanked Madame Pomfrey for the second lesson and the glorious opportunity she unknowingly provided. Pansy couldn't prove that the accidental squirt of pus wasn't accidental at all. She could complain all she wanted up in the hospital wing. That Thursday, Romina would focus solely on the double session of DADA, their first session of the term. It had been pushed back for some reason, though allowing for the extra Herbology lesson.

Romina sat down beside Hermione and was surprised to see that the girl wasn't there yet. She looked back at Harry and Ron who sat in the desk behind them. "I'll bite, where's Granger? She's never late and much less for the first class of the year."

Both Harry and Ron shrugged their shoulders, equally confused.

"She's been zooming through meals," Ron said. "Dunno where she gets into lately."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Romina remarked. "She seems kinda upset, though. Did you two do something?"

"That's offensive," Ron said sourly, glancing at Harry for some help.

Harry was frowning. "Of course not, Rom. Whatever Hermione's up to, we'll end up learning about it soon enough. Like the Time Turner."

Romina had to give him the point. Just as she was turning to face forwards again, she caught sight of the bushy haired Hermione zipping into the classroom.

"Made it!" Hermione said in utter relief when she plonked down beside Romina.

Romina eyed her friend curiously and slightly concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Course! Yeah! Why do you ask?" Hermione eagerly started pulling out her book and quill and parchment and everything else they would probably need for the class.

Romina still watched her strangely. "Just...curious…"

Shortly afterwards, Moody finally entered the classroom. He made his way up to the front, commanding silence with his bare walk. "You can put those away—those books," he started, his gruff tone startling the class, "You won't need them."

Hermione was deeply disappointed unlike Ron who couldn't put his book away quick enough.

"I'm here because Dumbledore asked me, end of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?" Moody didn't exactly wait for any hands to raise. "When it comes to the dark arts, I believe in a practical approach. But first, which of you can tell me how many unforgivable curses there are?"

Unsurprisingly, Hermione's hand was the first one in the air. Moody gave her the nod to answer. "Three sir."

"And they are so named?"

"Because they are unforgivable. Use of any one of them will…"

"Will earn you a one way ticket to Azkaban. Correct. Now the ministry says you're too young to see what these curses do. I say different!" Moody said with a particular snap in his tone. "You need to know what you're up against, you need to be prepared, you need to find somewhere else to put your chewing gum other than the underside of your desk Mr Finnigan!"

Finnigan jumped at the sudden call of his name, all heads turning his way while Moody went up to the chalkboard.

"Aw no way, the old codger can see out the back of his head," Finnigan murmured to his partner.

Moody threw a piece of chalk in his direction but went on with the class as if nothing happened. "So, which curse shall we see first? WEASLEY!"

Ron jumped. "Y-yes?"

"Give us a curse!"

"Well, my dad did tell me about one...the imperious curse."

"Ahhh yes, your father would know all about that. Gave the ministry quite a bit of grief a few years ago. Perhaps this will show you why." Moody opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a jar with a spider inside it. As soon as Ron saw it, he leaned away as if the spider was about to come his way. "Hello. What a little beauty. Imperio!" Moody raised the spider into the air with his wand. "Don't worry. Completely harmless."

The class watched as the spider went side to side, up and down, in circles. Snickers started erupting when the spider was sent over the tops of several students and soon enough most of them were laughing. Ron certainly didn't laugh when the spider danced over his head.

"Get it off! Get it off!" He slapped his own head in an attempt to rid himself of the spider. The class roared with laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" Moody chose Draco to silence amongst the class by sending the spider to his nose.

Much like Ron, Draco swatted his hands over his face to throw the spider off. There may have been some extra laughing with the sight.

Mad-Eye sends the spider onto Draco's face.

"Scores of witches and wizards have claimed that they only do did you-know-whose bidding under the influence of the imperious curse," Moody explained, "But here's the rub, how do we sort out the liars? Another.. Another…" His gaze swept over the class for another volunteering hand and to everyone's surprise, Neville did it. "Longbottom is it?" Neville nodded silently. "What is it?"

"There's the um...the Cruciatus Curse," Neville responded, gaze slightly downfallen.

"Correct! Correct! Particularly nasty. The torture curse. Crucio!" Moody said, and suddenly the spider was writhing. Its legs were twisting and turning in angles that it shouldn't be.

Romina's face twisted with fright. She really wished she wasn't sitting upfront. What was more odd, at least to her, was that it seemed Moody was lost in the spell, focused solely on the pained spider. "Professor?" she decided to call, though not sufficiently loud enough.

"STOP IT! Can't you see it's bothering him, stop it!" Hermione yelled suddenly, Everyone near her looked at her but realized she was looking not at Moody but at Neville who couldn't be more positively disturbed.

Moody gave the spider a break and looked at Hermione. "Perhaps you could give us the last unforgivable curse Miss Granger."

Hermione shook her head defiantly, a very surprising move for the other students.

Romina then raised her hand, expression emotionless. For a fourteen year old girl, it should be rare to know it but she wasn't exactly raised like the rest of her companions.

"Oswell," Moody gave her the nod. Romina swore that he knew, and why wouldn't he?

"The murder curse," Romina said, hands balling into fists over the desk.

"The killing curse," Moody corrected for technicalities.

"Is it not the same thing?" Romina challenged and earned a small smirk from the man. "Avada Kedavra," she said slowly and clearly.

"Avada Kedavra!" Moody's wand emanated a green flash of light that instantly stilled the spider in the air, Romina and Hermione flinching when it landed on their desk. "There is no countercourse for this, no blocking either. Only one known person has ever survived it and he's sitting in this room."

It was fairly quick how Harry's excitement for the class vanished in a matter of seconds. He couldn't wait to see the end of the session so he could hide under a rock from all the looks.

"I can't believe he actually used those curses," Hermioe muttered when they were finally free. Moody took a head start out of the class, ironically, as if he had somewhere else to be.

Romina slid out of her seat and cast a wary look at the chalkboard that was full of notes on said curses. She had to admit that Moody's teachings were very different from their previous professors' styles. "We can only hope this was the worst lesson to learn."

"Fat chance," Ron said, nearly exclaiming. He was the only student who remained excited about the lessons.

"Harry, you alright?" Romina asked, noticing how quiet their friend was as he put away his roll of parchment. She had a pretty good idea what he was thinking about. The last unforgivable curse was the reason he was an orphan.

"Yeah, course," Harry said quickly, even throwing on a fake smile for show.

"Neville's not," Hermione said, watching as Neville walked out of the classroom in a sort of haze. Hermione was quick to follow, prompting the others to then follow her.

"Oswell," Draco called, standing up from his seat when Romina was to walk by. "I heard what you did to Parkinson…"

Romina had long ago mastered her innocent expressions, even in the face of accusers (Draco) and the suspicious (Hermione). The latter had figured it out a while ago and wasn't backing down despite Romina's assurances that she didn't do anything.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Romina said, shrugging her shoulders.

Draco tilted his head at her, eyes narrowing on her with a small smile. "Yeah, sure." Romina shrugged, truly committed to her role of innocence.

"Rom!" Harry called by the doorway. Thinking it wasn't enough, he marched over to grab Romina's arm. "Whatever he's saying, don't even bother responding!"

"Even if she did, she knows she's lying," Draco said, eyes still glued on Romina. "Isn't that right?"

Romina opened her mouth to shoot down such accusations but Harry never gave her the chance. He yanked her away.

"Rom, I've told you not to provoke him!" He began to say once they were out in the hallways.

"I didn't!" Romina exclaimed in a mix of laughter and incredulity. "Why does everyone think I'm doing it?

Hermione heard the last question and had the answer up and ready. "Because you are doing things. Did he accuse you of hurting Parkinson? Because if he did, I hate that I agree with him."

"Hermione!" Ron was horrified. "How could you ever agree with Malfoy of all people?"

Hermione gestured towards Romina. "Because she is doing that stuff and one of these days, you're going to push too hard, Romina, and you'll get really hurt."

Romina scoffed, entirely unconvinced. "C'mon, Neville looks terrible right now." She walked towards the boy who had become like a statue in the hallway, staring endlessly out the window. "Neville?" Romina approached him slowly and cautiously.

"Oh, hello," he cleared his throat to say. He turned away from the window, looking as if he was trying to wake up from a dream, probably a bad dream. " interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm-I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you alright?" Hermione asked him despite the answer being clear as day.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville said, his tone just a pitch too high, "Very interesting dinner—I mean lesson. What's for eating?"

Neville didn't always make sense but this was too strange even for him. Concern filled each of the other students as Neville continued his efforts to make a coherent conversation.

"Um, Neville…" Harry had started when Moody of all people was returning.

"It's alright, sonny," the professor put a hand over Neville's shoulder, "Why don't you come up to my office? I have some books that might interest you." Neville didn't exactly look eager to go with Moody but since no one said anything, he had no choice but to walk.

"What was that about?" Ron asked as soon as they were alone.

"Something we don't know, clearly," Romina said, watching after Neville and Moody. "The way Neville acted...there's something on his mind."

"Some lesson, though, eh?" Ron cracked a smile. "Fred and George were right! Moody really knows his stuff, huh?"

"I'm pretty sure what he taught us wasn't supposed to be on the syllabus," Romina shook her head. Hermione agreed.

~ 0 ~

Romina was acutely aware of Pansy's dirty looks in the days after her unfortunate puss mess had been cleared. There was nothing Pansy could do to prove that anything malicious had been done to her and it was just infuriating, Romina knew it and she was proud of herself.

Now as the drawing of the Goblet of Fire was nearing, many students of all ages had taken a liking to hanging in the very room where it was being kept to watch those potential candidates drop their names inside the goblet. Romina came in that afternoon and immediately spotted Hermione sitting at the bleachers with a book in her hands. She was a little wary to greet Hermione due to the matter with the SPEW stuff.

Romina, much like everyone else that she knew of in Gryffindor, were all a little tired of hearing Hermione's badgering to join her elf welfare club. Romina admired Hermione for taking such an initiative but she really doubted that it would go anywhere. She saw Harry and Ron milling around the Goblet, as much as they could anyways. There was a circle barring anybody from getting too close to it.

"Whatcha doing?" Romina startled the pair of boys behind them. She smirked when they jumped and turned her way.

"You know, just looking," Ron said, shrugging casually even though his eyes were sparkling with yearning for the Goblet.

"Mhm," Romina nodded sarcastically, "And I suppose neither of you have attempted to put your name in there?"

"We can't, Rom," Harry said, "Not of age."

"Has anybody come to put their name in?" Romina curiously asked. She gave the room another look and saw that Carolinha had come in and had made the mistake of starting up a conversation with Hermione. No doubt the Gryffindor would be pulling out one of her SPEW badges.

"Angelina from our Quidditch team did half an hour ago," Ron said, giving a big thumbs up. "Oh, and I heard Cedric Diggory did too."

"Really?" Romina raised an eyebrow, absolutely dazzled with the idea.

"Not you too, Rom," Harry rolled his eyes.

Romina giggled. "He's just cute. And mysterious. And polite." Ron made a yapping motion with his hand, making Harry snicker and Romina frown. She smacked Ron's hand down. She was about to scold him for that bit when she heard familiar voices entering the room. Looking back, she saw Draco, Crabb and Goyle laughing about something.

"Oh great," Harry muttered and soon Ron was donning the same face.

"You know I heard that Warrington from the Slytherin's Quidditch team put his name in," Ron remarked, shaking his head. "Can you imagine if we had a Slytherin champion?"

"Well," Romina's tone was sharp enough to have both him and Harry wincing. She folded her arms over her chest. "You guys are sure making me feel welcomed."

"You know we don't mean that about you, Rom," Harry was cautious when he patted her arm.

"So, everyone else, then?" Romina tilted her head. "My friend over there, Carolinha," she pointed over to the brunette speaking with Hermione, "She's pretty great. I'm sure Hermione is talking her ears off right now but my girl Carol is too sweet to cut anybody off. And her brother? He's the same. Harry, you know Arden since we were dumb kids. Are we calling her bad too?"

"No, of course not," Harry shook his head. "Sorry." He did have the decency to look a little sorry which was why Romina elected to move on from there.

"Were there any Ravenclaws who put their names in?"

"We're not—"

"We've done it!" They heard the voices of Fred and George announcing. They hopped up to the first bleacher, looking mighty happy about something. They commanded the attention of the whole room with it.

"Thank you, thank you, well lads we've done it!" George exclaimed.

"Done what?" called Romina, fairly curious of what they were cooking up now.

"The Aging Potion my dear Ali—"

Romina caught the first part of her nickname and immediately glowered until they fixed it.

"My dear Romina," Fred began anew, "It is the Aging Potion! One drop each. We only need to be a few months older."

"You can't possibly think that'll work," Hermione said, shaking her head. The twins rapidly came up to her seat, forcing Carolinha to scoot away a bit so they could lean on both Hermione's sides. "Dumbledore drew the age line himself." She made a nod towards the circle around the flaming Goblet.

"So?" challenged George.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So, a genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by something pathetically dimwitted such as an age potion."

"That's why it's so brilliant!" Fred exclaimed, straightening up along with George.

"I mean...they could be onto something," Romina whispered to Harry and Ron who both chuckled with her. Sometimes, you don't need to think so much. The solution was simple and straightforward.

"Ready George?"

"Ready, Fred!"

Both twins interlocked their arms with each other and drank their potions. They then hopped off the last bleacher and walked up to the Age Line. They paused for a moment before taking synced steps forwards. And they made it through.

Everybody cheered for them—mostly everybody—as they walked confidently up to the Goblet of Fire and dumped their names inside. They high-fived each other as the flames ignited behind them. But, just like that, the flames exploded and threw the pair out. Smoke covered them and most of the room for a few seconds.

When it cleared up and the twins sat upright, they were sporting heavily long beards that matched their new set of grey hair.

"You said.." George pointed at his brother.

"You said," accused Fred.

They lunged at each other. Most of the room cheered as they rolled and fought each other, including Ron himself.

"I stand corrected," Romina shrugged to Harry. "Point to Hermione."

"Yeah," Harry said, unable to hold his laughter in.

Romina had to move carefully around the groups of students lest she wanted to be caught up. Some people were really into the growing fight. Among those were even Crabb and Goyle, something Draco wasn't too pleased with.

"That's what you get for hanging out with idiots," she told him. "Blaise, Theodore, and Angel busy or something?"

"Zabini and Nott have zero interest in this until names are actually drawn," he retorted. "And as if you don't know that Angel has newfound animosity towards me."

Romina paused and looked at him. "What? What did you do?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Like you don't know."

"I don't. Usually, you do something."

A loud bang startled the pair. Karkaraoff was leading the Durmstrang boys into the room, forcing the crowd to separate. Even the twins had finally given up trying to kill each other. Romina was sure that most of the attention was going towards Victor Krum, the star of that school. She was absolutely dumbfounded when he and Draco exchanged nods.

"Since when do you know Krum?" she had to ask. It was a force beyond her, honestly.

Draco smiled smugly. "I do know how to expand my networks, Oswell. One of the many talents instilled in me."

"The others being…?" Romina made a gesture for him to list them specifically. She doubted the list would be long.

The Durmstrang boys were on their way out of the room, each of them having slipped their names inside the Goblet.

"Show off," Romina huffed at Draco after he'd waved at Krum.

"Me? Never," he smirked.

Romina shook her head at him. "I'm surprised you haven't bragged about this. I would've expected the whole school to know about it, actually."

"Stories about me get told anyways, Oswell. You wouldn't believe the ones I've heard." The way he smiled ever-so-widely warned Romina those stories had to be ego-inflating.

"Yeah, not interested."

"Oh, c'mon, you'd…" Draco trailed off when Madame Maxime led her Beauxbaton students in.

Romina rolled her eyes heavily enough to make her feel twinges of pain. "Are you going to finish that sentence?"

"Mhm," Draco nodded, but no actual words came out afterwards.

"Seriously!?" Romina huffed and looked away, soon noticing that the same thing was happening to every other male student in the room. "For the love of God!"

The Beauxbatons each dropped their names inside the Goblet and turned, in a neat line, after Madame Maxime who promptly led them back out. By the time Draco came to, Romina was long gone.

~ 0 ~

Arden was nose deep into her Unfogging the Future book before class when she heard the noise of someone dropping into the seat beside her. She looked up and frowned. "You're not Parkinson. I can't decide if that's better or worse."

"I've got a problem, King," Draco said, frowning when she snorted in return.

"No, you've got many problems but there's not enough time in the world for me to list them."

He decided to ignore Arden's little jab. "It's Oswell."

"Shocker."

"She's continuously pissing me off and I would rather fix it before this becomes permanent."

Arden put her book down on the table, now deeply interested in where the conversation was going. "You actually want to fix things?"

Draco nodded. "It's got to be better than having to look twice when she's around. Her apt for retaliation is commendable but also a growing pain in the ass."

"Fair," Arden agreed. "But you do know what you have to do, right?"

"If I knew that, I would not be here, would I?" Draco gestured to his current seat. He had managed to shake off being Arden's partner this year and he would like to keep it that way. She got stuck with Pansy which was a win for him. The never ending jabs at each other were hilarious to watch and hear.

"I know what happened in the forest," Arden said, keeping her voice low, "And you were out of line. That's what Romina's upset about. And instead of apologizing, you made it worse by turning it into a game of tricks."

"She started it," Draco drowned. "Have you met her?"

"Yes," Arden said slowly, "Since I was seven. And you're right to be wary of her when she's in this mood. Back in our muggle school, this girl basically did the same thing to Romina and it did not end until Romina was suspended from school for a whole week."

"What she do?" Draco curiously asked. Being a troublemaker wasn't really part of Romina's personality. Mischievous was, but a full on troublemaker wasn't.

"She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the girl's hair in one snip." Arden could still vividly remember the screaming she and the rest of her family had heard coming from the Oswell residence next door that same night. She didn't see Romina for a full month after that.

Draco was frankly bemused and stunned with what he heard. "She did not," he said, barely holding his laugh in.

Arden nodded earnestly. "She did. I love my best friend but she has a nasty temper when things get too much. If you don't want to end up like Gale Perry, apologize now."

"I will do no such thing," Draco said, shaking his head. "I want to see how far Oswell will go with this."

"That wasn't the point of my story!"

"Yeah, and it was better. Thanks King, you actually can help sometimes." Draco promptly got up from his seat and moved on up the steps towards his actual spot.

Arden made a face, her teeth gritting together as she realized the conversation did not go the way it probably should have. She had the feeling Romina would kill her if she found out that she'd basically spurred the games on.

~0~

A few days later would have Angel finding an empty spot with Draco, Theodore and Blaise at their table in the Great Hall. It was a study session, the first one of the year.

"Didn't expect you to sit anywhere near here," Draco spoked quietly as Snape was making his rounds.

Angel shook his head. "I've been thinking. What you said a couple days back?"

"I say a lot of things, you'll have to be more specific."

"Stop acting dumb!"

"It's not an act, mate," Blaise remarked, snickering with Theodore when both Draco and Angel sent them the same glares.

"I'm being serious," Angel said.

"So was I," Blaise said.

"Eyes on the essay, Zabini," warned Draco. Blaise shrugged and continued to scribble over his parchment. "And as for you—" Draco glanced at Angel beside him, "—what the hell are you talking about?"

"In your own fantastically mean way, you've pushed me to act with Romina," Angel said, shrugging her shoulders. "I guess tough love really does work."

"No," Draco said sharply, "I did not do 'tough love'. I don't do 'tough love'. I didn't do anything."

"More like he never does anything anyways," mumbled Theodore which, once again, sent him and Blaise into another fit of snickers.

"This time you did," Angel insisted. "I mean, it's been almost 4 years and I should, logically, be able to do something. So, I thought I'd maybe ask Romina if she wanted to go together on the first Hogsmeade trip that's scheduled."

"It's funny…" Draco said slowly, eyes flickering to the side, "I don't remember…"

Angel made a face at him. "What?"

"I don't remember...asking to hear this conversation."

Blaise and Theodore laughed and eventually had to duck their heads to keep it covered before Snape heard. Angel deadpanned the two; they could never take anything serious.

"You can't stop being sarcastic for a minute, can you?"

"Oh, I wasn't being sarcastic. I was being honest," Draco clarified, "Because I'm pretty sure nowhere in my previous conversation with you did I give you the idea that I would want to talk about this."

"I was just letting you know—"

"Why?"

"Because you and Romina have entered this little war with each other and since you're both my friends I would rather you put an end to it already."

"Yeah, I spoke to King about that and it's not happening. Did you know that Oswell had a record? I'm talking about a serious record." Days after talking with Arden, Draco was still impressed with the story. He would've given anything to see Romina cut that muggle girl's hair.

"Draco, c'mon," Angel said, "It's been—what?—two weeks since this started? It's getting tiring. She did not appreciate the exploding ink bottle you left for her, by the way."

Draco's smirk didn't express disappointment. "I sure enjoyed it."

"I'm just telling you to back off already. It's not funny anymore."

"On the contrary, I think it's quite fun," Draco shrugged. "You're just boring, Angel. That's going to have to change if you're actually going to do something for the future."

Angel would've liked to strangle him at that point. "You just can't take things seriously!"

They heard the heavy footsteps of Snape nearing them, cutting the conversation short.

~0~

Romina had just finished dotting her last 'i' on her letter she was sending to her grandmother when she heard somebody coming into the common room. She looked up briefly to catch sight of Blaise walking in, shaking his head about something that seemed funny.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Blaise Zabini laughed," she called from her spot. She'd recused herself to one of the individual tables by the wall to complete her homework.

Blaise stopped in the middle of the room to scoff. "You're not funny, but I will admit that what you're doing is rather amusing."

Romina made a face as her eyes landed on her letter still in her hands. "Writing a letter to my grandmother is funny to you? That's a sad sense of humor you got there, Blaise…"

"I meant with Malfoy and Paes! You know they're arguing over you, right?"

Now Romina was the one laughing. "What? Last time I heard, they weren't exactly on speaking terms."

"Yeah, because of you," Blaise pointed. "It's funny as hell but I'm also a little concerned they're going to end up hurting each other."

Romina stopped to seemingly ponder. "Well...are they still arguing right now? Think I can catch them?"

Blaise shook his head at her. "Great, you can't take things seriously either!"

"I can too!" Romina said, but her lips were already curving into a smile that would no doubt turn into a laugh if she pushed it. "I just...like fun stuff. What exactly are they arguing about anyways?"

"Well…" Blaise swayed his head, "Angel is demanding that Draco apologize to you for whatever he did to piss you off."

"I like Angel," Romina nodded, "Everybody should listen to Angel when he says that I'm right."

"He didn't say that—"

"That's what I heard, Blaise."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Can you just fix it, please? It's bad enough that I have to hear Draco complain about your incessant retaliations. I don't want to hear him bickering with Angel too over you. You are not that special."

Romina raised a hand to her chest, feigning offence. "How rude. But I commend your bluntness. I'll talk to Angel."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to fix things with Draco already?"

"Yeah, if you want me to take the loser's path." Romina snorted and went back to folding her letter nice and perfectly. "Losing's not my style, Blaise. I'm talking to Angel. She smiled to herself when Blaise groaned and headed for the hallway.

Later on, Romina gathered her things to bring them into her dorm. There was still enough time to get her letter to the owlery before dinner. She was coming out of the common room altogether when she saw Angel coming down the stairs.

"Hey!" He greeted her with his typical cheery smile. "Not getting dinner already, are you?"

"No, I've got a letter to send to my grandma," Romina waved her envelope in front of her. "Wanna come with me?"

"Yeah!" Angel nodded, turning on his heels to walk with her. "Everything good in that letter? I mean—your grandmother's okay?"

Romina chuckled. "Yeah, I'm just letting her know that I haven't really gotten a chance to talk with Madam Maxime yet."

Angel snorted into a laugh. "Why would you want to talk to her?"

"Apparently, she was the headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy when my grandmother went there. They're close, I guess."

"Oh boy. What would you even talk about?"

Romina laughed and shook her head. "I have no bloody idea! As far as I can tell, my grandmother was this pristine young woman back in her day and I—" she put a hand on her chest, "—don't have a lick of pristineness in me. I've heard rumors that I have a big mouth, actually. And by 'rumors', I mean Arden."

"You're just fine," Angel patted her arm. "Perfect, actually."

Romina smiled shyly. "You're too sweet." She led the way up the stairs in silence until they reached the last one. "So, Blaise and I were talking earlier…"

"Really?" Angel's heavy disbelief was simply too amusing not to laugh at.

"We can talk civilly sometimes," Romina said, sobering from her laugh. "And he was saying that you and Draco have been arguing. Angel, you don't have to fight anyone on my behalf. I think I can handle it on my own."

"I can't help it, Romina," Angel shrugged. "I don't like seeing you get hurt and I definitely don't like it if someone's doing it for fun."

"Draco's not hurting me, first of all," Romina said, shaking her head. "It's harmless jokes that I willingly participate in. In fact, I'm pretty sure I started it."

"Yeah, but only because you're upset. I know it, I see it." Angel stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, forcing Romina to do the same. He turned to face her and looked directly into her dark eyes. "You're laughing and smirking but I know that Draco did something really bad to hurt you."

Romina absolutely didn't like the way he read her with ease. She wanted to avoid Angel's gaze. "He didn't hurt me."

"Not physically, that much I know for sure," Angel said. "But he did something to...to deeply upset you."

"He disappointed me and when he didn't apologize, he pissed me off." Romina shook her head. She started walking quicker than before. She was not going to show any tears, no sir.

"And that's why I'm demanding that he apologizes," Angel was quick to follow after her.

"You're wasting your time, Angel, he's not going to do it anytime soon!" Perhaps that was what hurt Romina the most. "And I don't want him to do it because somebody demands him to. It wouldn't change anything."

"Hey," Angel grabbed Romina's arm to stop her altogether, "See this is what I mean."

"It's not your fault," Romina said, gently taking his hand off her. "Ironically, I suppose it's not completely Draco's fault either."

"What? You just said—"

"Sometimes I can't help wondering who I would have turned out to be if my parents had raised me," Romina said quietly. "If I had lived with everybody who thought as twisted as they did." She genuinely shuddered at the idea each time she thought of it. "I got lucky. My parents are murderers. Under their influence...I don't know who I would've become."

"Your situation is not the same though," Angel gently pointed out.

"I know, but our parents...Angel, they ingrain stuff. Their past can very well be our future."

"Romina…"

"I understand myself, Angel," Romina cut him off before he said anything else, "And I may be daft but last year was terrible for me and, as surprising as it may sound, Draco actually helped me. People thought the worst of me but he didn't. He never did. Somewhere inside him there has to be a shred of genuine guilt and if I have to annoy him until we graduate for him to finally own up to it, I will."

Angel couldn't take the fact Romina was both smirking and overly determined. It was kind of scary how determined she was. There was no way in hell anybody would be talking her down.

[the-owl-tree]

I really wish that Bramblestar was supposed to be an asshole, because at least then his bad behavior would be compelling. But that would require the Erins to actually give him consequences for his behavior (like Squilf leaving him for good after he gets Leafpool killed, the three disowning him after he disowned them, etc). Then again, even though it's infuriating that it isn't the case and he's ~so~ honorable and niceys as the leader/deputy of ThunderClan as he throws his weight around to punish Ashfur and Squirrelflight for having * gasp * fun collecting bedding in TNP.. It does make it kinda funny how Ashfur was able to seamlessly steal his identity in TBC and nobody noticed besides Squirrelflight it was Ashfur. Like, I don't think they realize the implications of ThunderClan seeing Ashfur be needlessly cruel and going 'yeah. that's normal i think' huh lol

I think I would really like Bramblestar if they played into what an insecure and pathetic person he is. How concerned he is with how others perceive him and how he doubles down on shitty decisions and shitty treatment of others because of it. But nope! He's a good noble leader :) don't mind how controlling and awful he is to his mate :)

(got real rambly after this lol)

Squirrelflight's Hope does a really good albeit unintentional job of setting up why ThunderClan doesn't notice...because he really exhibits a lot of shitty and horrendous behaviors in this. These behaviors aren't limited to just this super edition, as people like to claim, they've been present throughout his entire character but they're so egregious now because there's nothing stopping the framing from revealing how awful he is.

Ashfur is controlling and obsessive and so is Bramblestar; he uses his authority to demand she stop disagreeing with him in public, demands she runs every little decision past him to the point where he throws a hissy fit because Squirrelflight didn't check with him before bringing a very wounded cat to the camp to be treated, with the book emphasizing that she needs swift medical attention.

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Ashfur plays on "us vs. them" code mentality and faith in StarClan, Bramblestar is willing to abide by his Clan's xenophobic sentiments and risk allowing a cat to die because he insists on getting the word of StarClan on what to do. (Side note: this is soooo frustrating to read. I miss when cats did shit without having to consult StarClan, now they wonder if they have to ask whether or not to wipe their asses). He risks this cat's life because he sees her as a rogue, and whether or not the Erin's intended this, they wrote it so the subtext is that she is lesser and undeserving of their help.

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Ashfur will physically harm Squirrelflight, well guess what! Bramblestar was just about willing to physically stop Leafpool from treating a dying cat. Squirrelflight outright thinks he's going to fight her. There's no reason the rest of the Clan wouldn't assume he's not capable of getting physical with Squirrelflight. Full scene just so you can see how fucking pathetic he is here and how badly the authors want you to pity him:

I've not read any further but Bramblestar's behavior is abysmal and every single action and word he says is just adding onto the pile of red flags. I wish so badly that this super edition ended with Squirrelflight recognizing this and leaving him....but of course not -_- It really would be a great set up for TBC if it was intentional.