#i'm not mad at anyone who thinks that other way just a bit confused on how to come to that conclusion

[merp-blerp]

Just thinking out loud about The Thunder Saga and everything connected to it.

I get why people are mad at Eurylochus for opening the windbag, but I don't understand blaming him for the crew getting caught by Poseidon. Sure he definitely sped up the event, but even if they were inches away from Ithaca right before that moment like they were in the original Odyssey (which seems to be hinted at with Ody saying "And I'm getting closer to you"), Poseidon would've gotten to them eventually anyway because he's a god, a major one at that. And gods get their will no matter what consistently, even if mortals try to twist it like how Ody does when opening the bag a second time. I can only assess what sagas we have currently, so I could be really wrong as future sagas come out, but I think Aeolus must've known that fact and that was the game he was playing. As if he's saying, "I'll help you, but I can't stop Poseidon with a bag. The Winions will even make it extra hard with a treasure rumor." The bag was supposed to aid the crew home, not stop Poseidon, so they would've had to deal with Poseidon anyway in Ithaca, which probably would've made more casualties because they would've brought their trouble to the whole kingdom. Remember Ithaca is on an island. Poseidon is the god of the sea, so Ithaca would be a perfect target for him to destroy because of that. But it's not his will to do that; he wants to play games with Ody to avenge his son. The only reason why mortals feel like they have a choice and can manipulate fate is because the gods like to play games; it's still their will if Ody wins a game like he does in "Ruthlessness" because it was their will to play in the first place, and they can win if/when they want to. Just 'cause Poseidon "lost" in "Ruthlessness" doesn't mean he actually did, he just let Odysseus go. For now. If his will changes and Ody gets no consequence from him it's on his terms, not Ody's. Just like with Circe, as I've talked about.

But back to Eurylochus, I adore the parallels between The Thunder Saga and The Ocean Saga. During The Ocean Saga, Eurylochus only opens the bag, not for treasure, but to give the crew closure, as we know thanks to Aeolus's "Now they wanna get the bag open so they can have closure". Especially if they were close to home, I imagine his thought process might've been that opening the bag was wrong but morally okay since the journey was almost done and Odysseus was sleeping so it seemed like it wasn't a big deal anymore in his eyes. But that's more my hypothesis. In terms of canon, his trust in Ody, which wasn't high to begin with, was dwindling, as Ody bragged about how no men died in war and then several died with the Cyclops. "Everything's changed since Polites, so". In The Thunder Saga, it's similar, as Eurylochus knows killing the cow is wrong, but they've all lost hope on getting home with their captain going to extremes to get there himself, killing them slowly like with Scylla. They know that deep down the whole time Odysseus wanted to get home himself mainly, only bringing the crew because he cared out of the kindness of his heart, and now that his heart has changed they know they won't get to Ithaca if the gods keep messing around (and they do). This post pointed out that Eurylochus was likely just trying to provide for the crew and himself in their final moments before another trap emerges and Odysseus decides to continue to sacrifice his men if he feels it has to be done again. Eurylochus isn't dumb, he knows their goose is cooked if they kill the cow, especially with Ody in his ear telling him, but they'll die either way, in the hand of the gods or Ody. They will die and not see home, but at least they can die not starving, and go on for a bit longer. They had nothing to lose. Eurylochus had doubted Odysseus this whole time and he does so till the end. When Eurylochus says, "But we'll die", it's not a plea to stay alive, it's him confirming out loud that Odysseus will not choose his men over Penelope and Telemachus. He's reaffirming to Ody that they'll die; almost like he's finishing Ody's sentence "I have to see her". Odysseus couldn't say it, but Eurylochus could since he'd known they'd died for so long already. In the live stream animatic, the crew attempting to kill Odysseus near the end of "Thunder Bringer" isn't them trying to escape their fate, but trying to bring Ody down with them so Ody won't get his choice. They've long accepted the fact that Ody isn't to be trusted and they all are going to die, but Ody is, for lack of a better word I can think of, cheating in the crew's eyes by having an out thanks to Zeus. In their view of fairness, they all have to die if they aren't getting home. It's a last attempt at a mutiny. It fails because that's not how Zeus wants his game to work, and he gets his will.

They are all puppets of the fate the gods have chosen, whether that fate benefits them or not.

(The only "exception" to the "Will of the gods" rule so far is Ody and the baby, since Jay has said it's "ambiguous" whether or not the baby is spared. If not exactly by being dropped, I'm sure he'd die some other way honestly because the gods want that. It'll probably come up again in a later saga—"ambiguous" is too cryptic of a word to use when everyone assumed he died in the first saga)

This is all just my take, by the way, no one has to agree with me.

[bbina]

"think fast! i'm a random girl!"

you exclaim as you throw your body onto chenle, who was minding his own business in the kitchen. chenle barely registered your words as he immediately wraps his arms around your body, pulling you plush against him

chenle laughs, craning his neck a bit to take a good look at your face. to his surprise, you were scowling at him

"what?"

"so you let random girls touch you like this?" you glare at the now confused boy, getting off of him

"huh?! of course not!" chenle shoots back. a little offended that you would even assume such thing. he would never!

"then why were you holding me like that?" you point out, raising an eyebrow at him

chenle's eyebrows furrow in confusion as he stares at you like you just grew a second head. what are you talking about?

"... because you're my girlfriend? the fuck?"

you huff, realizing that he didn't understand your challenge. with a heavy sigh, you shake your head

"first, you didn't listen, second, you failed the challenge, third, this is pointless" you sigh, walking away from chenle who was still evidently confused at your behavior

"you're mad that i'm being a good boyfriend? what the fuck has the world come to" chenle mutters, eyes following your frame as you walk away from him. you had to stifle in your laughter as you let chenle think about what just happened

it was silly tiktok challenge you had found yourself watching during phone time. you thought it would be fun to do with your boyfriend but looks like he had different plans

you plop back down on the couch, grabbing the tv remote while chenle follows like a kicked puppy. he sits next to you and immediately leans his head on your shoulder

"i don't get you" he says, "what the fuck was that?"

you look at him before shaking your head. still pretending that you were upset with him

"it's a challenge on tiktok where the girlfriend pretends to be a random person and gets all over the boyfriend. looks like my boyfriend lets other girls touch him the way i do" you pout, inching away from chenle's touch

when chenle finally understands what happened, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. of course you'd test him with something you've seen on tiktok. he should've known better

grabbing a pillow behind him, he playfully smacks you with it

"hey!" you yelp, holding your hands out

"you and your tiktok challenges" chenle rolls his eyes before laughing, "do it again. i get it this time" he urges, poking your sides

you swat his hand away before sitting up. "fine. but if you fail then i think it's gojover for us" you smirk, giving him a look

chenle scoffs and mentally prepares himself for your next move

you stood up from the couch and shamelessly sat on his lap

"hi–"

before you can even greet chenle, he had already pushed you off of his lap. he stands up and brushes his clothes like he was disgusted

"get your dirty hands off of me" he spits out

you couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. now that was the reaction you were hoping for during the first try

when his act was over, chenle hoists you up back on your feet

"happy now?" he teases, pulling you back to the couch with him. you snuggle closer to your boyfriend, nodding your head yes

"that's exactly how you should act when other girls who aren't me is touching you" you purr, poking his cheek

chenle laughs out loud, kissing your temple

"baby, i wouldn't even let anyone else get near me so you don't have to worry about anyone touching me"

"you better.. or-"

"or what?" he challenges

"i'll kill you"

"overkill but understandable. my dick is yours and only yours to keep" chenle jokes, completely ruining the romantic mood

"LELE!"

[womenhoops]

AAU GAME

paige x azzi (pazzi as teenagers)

inspo -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HKYqMjAf6nk

"Az, did you see we're playing against each other?" Paige's voice came through the phone, trying too hard to sound casual.

Azzi's grin flashed bright on screen. "I did, P... My mom was just telling me." She leaned closer, the camera distorting her face slightly. "Think we're even gonna be in the same hotel." A beat. Then that smirk - the one that made Paige's stomach do backflips. "Maybe you can sneak into my room... if you want.  We can finally watch that movie you've been begging me to watch - something Street? No, wait—"

"Mean Streets," Paige corrected automatically, while her brain blue-screened. Because Azzi - sweet, oblivious Azzi - had missed the nuclear-level double meaning entirely. The air between them crackled suddenly, thick with possibilities Paige shouldn't be considering about her best friend. Her younger-by-a-year best friend. The one she'd be alone with. In a room. With a bed. HER AND AZZI ALONE WITH A BED. 

God.

And just like that, Paige was gone - lost in a mental highlight reel of all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong or maybe right. 

The truth was, Paige didn't know what to do with these feelings Because Azzi wasn't just Azzi anymore. She was Azzi-who-bit-her-lip-when-concentrating during their hour long FaceTimes. Azzi-who-still-smelled-like-vanilla-shampoo-even-after-double-OT. Azzi-who-Paige-had-seen-grow-from-a-scrawny-freshman-into-this... this... what was she? A confused senior? A kinda influencer? 

"...Paigey? Why're you blushing?"

"I—what? I'm not—" Paige's hands flew to her cheeks like they'd betrayed her. The heat could've powered a small city. "It's just. My AC's broken. Swear."

"Uh-huh." Azzi's eyebrow arched, her grin turning wicked. "Sure. You're such a dork. You excited to see me?”

Paige wanted to die. Or kiss her. Maybe both. Because she was dying to see her. 

— 

Meanwhile, Azzi remained blissfully unaware - not from lack of interest, but because her brain processed romance like an old computer. Glitchy. With frequent crashes. VERY FREQUENT CRASHES.   Part of it was fear - she'd seen enough rom-coms to know hearts didn't break cleanly. The other part? Boys. Specifically, her complete inability to understand their appeal, despite being sixteen and surrounded by friends who'd apparently all received some secret puberty manual she'd missed. They were so advanced in everything already and she had never even kissed anyone. 

"Maybe I'm just a late bloomer," she'd tell herself while watching teammates giggle over some guy's biceps. Then she'd blink at said biceps like they were a particularly confusing math problem.

The real breakthrough came last summer during training with Paige. Paige's childhood friend Jalen had tagged along - all floppy hair and misplaced confidence - and spent two hours "helping" her by:

Calling every play wrong

"Accidentally" brushing against Azzi

Telling jokes that landed with the grace of a paraplegic giraffe

But, he was not funny at all. Yet, he was important for Paige, so azzi, as the princess she was, did her best to laugh at all of them, which apparently made Paige even more mad. 

"Stop laughing at his shitty jokes," she'd hissed during a water break, grip white-knuckled on her bottle.

Azzi blinked. "But he's your friend?"

"That doesn't make him funny." Paige's glare could have melted steel. "Or subtle. Jesus Christ, the way he's touching you—"

The realization hit Azzi like a poorly set screen, did Paige think she was flirting him? And also, why did Paige's irritation sent an inexplicable thrill through her? The possibility lodged in Azzi's throat. She replayed the last hour: Mark's dumb jokes (laughing had been polite, right?), his "accidental" touches (she'd sidestepped most of them), Paige's increasingly murderous glares (which, for some reason, made Azzi's stomach flutter).

Before she could untangle this, Jalen—blessedly oblivious to the thermonuclear tension—leaned against the baseline with his signature smirk. "Hey Az, since we're all hanging out..." A pause for effect. "Wanna come by my place later? We could grab dinner."

The gym went preternaturally quiet. Azzi watched, fascinated, as her best friend's face cycled through emotions like a slot machine: shock, fury, something dangerously close to betrayal—before settling on terrifying calm.

"Wow," Paige said to the ceiling. "What a great idea."

Azzi, still mentally stuck on why Paige's irritation thrilled her more than any compliment ever could, defaulted to autopilot. "Yeah, I'd love that!" She brightened. "Paige said you have sisters, right? I'm dying to meet them!" She turned to Paige, blissfully unaware of the storm clouds gathering. "What do you think? Can we go?"

Paige's smile could've frozen hell over. "Oh, we're going now?"

Jalen blinked. "I meant just Az—"

"Perfect." Paige snatched her water bottle with enough force to crack the plastic. "Text me the address, Jalen." The name came out like a curse. "Wouldn't want Azzi getting lost on the way." It was funny because she had been there multiple times already. 

As Jalen rattled off his address, Azzi watched Paige’s fingers tap out a furious rhythm against her thigh. 

—

The Moment Hung Between Them - that seismic "Oh" stretching like the final second on a shot clock. Then Azzi's grin returned, brighter than a backboard's reflection, and just like that—

"Mean Streets," Azzi barreled on, all easy confidence again. "That's the Scorsese one, right? With the—"

"—walking into the bar scene set to 'Be My Baby,' yes," Paige finished automatically, relief flooding her veins. They slipped back into their rhythm like well-worn sneakers, debating whether De Niro's Johnny Boy was charismatic or just chaotic (Azzi's take: "He's literally you when the Pop-Tarts run out at breakfast").

Paige knew the truth, though. The moment she hit play, Azzi would be unconscious within twenty minutes. She always was—ever since their first sleepover when fourteen-year-old Azzi had snored through The Godfather, head lolling against Paige's shoulder, warm breath tickling her collarbone...

"Okay, itinerary time." Azzi clapped, snapping Paige back. "Two weeks out—priority one is snacks. I'm thinking—"

"—Sour Patch Kids and those weird peanut butter crackers you hoard like a squirrel," Paige interjected.

"Damn right, P. And we're smuggling in Dr Pepper even if the hotel charges eighteen dollars a can."

"Obviously. What are we, animals?"

They volleyed plans back and forth—practice schedules (sneaking in extra 1v1s), meal strategies (room service pancakes at 2am), even contingency plans for when Azzi inevitably locked herself out of her room ("Text me before calling maintenance this time, bighead’).

But beneath the familiar banter, something new thrummed between them—a charge Paige couldn't ignore. Not when Azzi bit her lip while scrolling their shared notes app, not when she laughed so hard she snorted at Paige's impression of their coach. Not when she said "Our room" instead of "My room" and neither of them corrected it.

——

Paige’s AAU team had arrived in the city two days before Azzi’s, giving her plenty of time to prepare—not just for the game, but for something far more important. She knew they had one free night before flying home, and she was determined to make it special.

Exploring the city had been fun, but her mind kept drifting back to dinner plans. She wanted to take Azzi somewhere nice, just the two of them—no teammates, no coaches, just good food and easy conversation. But first she needed to make sure she would not get Azzi in trouble with her parents. 

Paige knew how protective they were, especially when it came to Azzi. She was their princess. She didn’t want to overstep, but she also didn’t want to miss this chance. So, after pacing her hotel room for way too long, she finally picked up her phone and drafted a message to Katie, Azzi’s mom.

Her first attempt was… not great.

Hi, Ms. Fudd, this is Paige (just making sure yk ;} ), but I was talking to Azzi and she told me we have a free dinner prior to going back home and I was wondering if I could take her out.

NO. THAT IS DUMB.

Paige groaned, flopping back onto her bed. Take her out? That made it sound like a date, and it wasn’t a date. They were just friends. Best friends. Nothing more.

She deleted the message and tried again.

Hi, Ms. Fudd, this is Paige. I was wondering if me and Azzi could grab dinner after the last game?

Still not right. Too casual? Too vague? She chewed her lip, debating whether to add more or just send it before she overthought it even more.

Finally, she settled on:

Hi, Ms. Fudd! It’s Paige—just wanted to check in and see if it’d be okay for Azzi and me to get dinner together after our last game? There’s a really nice place near the hotel, and I thought it’d be fun to hang out before we head home. Of course, only if you’re comfortable with it!

She held her breath and hit send before she could second-guess herself again. A few agonizing minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Hi, Paige! Of course, I know who you are LOL. Did you forget you spent a month in my house over the summer? That sounds like a lovely idea. Just make sure Azzi has her phone on her.

The plan was already in motion.

Paige sat in the locker room, scrolling through her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Her leg bounced impatiently—she was trying to focus, to get into game mode, but her mind kept drifting to one thing: Azzi.

Her best friend was supposed to be halfway across the country right now, buried in her own season, her own games. But if everything had gone according to plan… Azzi should be landing any minute now.

Paige bit her lip, fighting back a grin. She had to play it cool. Azzi had no idea.

Just to be sure, she shot off a quick text:

Paige: Hi Azz, just making sure you got to the airport alright… u good?

The response came almost instantly.

Azzi: Yeah, I’m good. No worries. What time is your game today?

Paige’s smirk widened. Gotcha.

Paige: Why? Gonna cheer for me? Scream my name? 

She could practically see Azzi rolling her eyes through the screen. 

Azzi: You wish, Paigey. You wish. - And to be fair, Paige mind was so excited for the dinner she planned that she did not even think about the double meaning in her words. 

Paige laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she read Azzi’s latest text. Oh, just you wait.

Meanwhile, at the Airport…

Azzi adjusted her hoodie, keeping her head low as she weaved through the terminal. Her phone buzzed again—another message from Paige. She bit her lip to stifle a grin. This was gonna be good.

Her flight had landed early, and now she was just waiting for her ride. The plan was simple: sneak into the arena, blend into the crowd, and then—BAM—surprise Paige mid-game.

Her phone lit up again.

Paige: So you’re definitely NOT coming to my game, right?

Azzi smirked, typing back with exaggerated casualness.

Azzi: Nope. Super busy. Got my own stuff to worry about.

Paige: Cool, cool. Just checking.

Azzi could practically hear the skepticism dripping from Paige’s words. Good. The more Paige doubted, the sweeter the surprise would be.

She slipped onto the team bus, heart pounding like it was the fourth quarter of a tied game.

Paige stepped onto the court, her eyes flicking to the stands out of habit. No sign of Azzi.

Yet.

She forced herself to lock in. First quarter was strong—she drained a three from the wing, then threaded a no-look pass to her teammate for an easy layup. The crowd erupted, but her mind was elsewhere.

Where was she? She was suppose to be here because her flight had arrived (Paige of course was tracking that!) 

Then, midway through the second quarter, she saw it.

A familiar face in the third row, half-hidden under a snapback, grinning like she’d just pulled off the heist of the century.

Azzi.

Paige froze mid-dribble, nearly losing the ball. No. Way.

Azzi waved, her smirk widening as Paige’s jaw practically hit the court.

Game on.

Paige recovered just in time, firing a laser pass to the corner for another three. But her focus was shot. Every time she sprinted down the court, she caught Azzi’s eye—mocking, triumphant, alive. By the fourth quarter, Paige’s team had sealed the win, but all she could think about was the showdown waiting for her off the court.

Her best friend that she had not seen in a couple of months. 

——————

Paige pushed through the locker room doors, still buzzing with adrenaline, and there she was—leaning against the wall like she owned the place.

“You’re dead.” 

Azzi pushed off the wall, grinning. “Had to see the look on your face.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight her own smile. “You almost made me turn it over.”

“Almost?” Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I saw that fumble.”

Paige shoved her shoulder, laughing. “Whatever. You just wanted an excuse to watch me dominate.”

Azzi’s grin turned sharp. “Nah. I’m scouting.” She leaned in, voice dropping to a challenge. “Because when my team wins tomorrow—which we will—you’re gonna see me across the court. And you’re guarding me.”

Paige’s eyes flashed. “Oh, it’s like that?”

“It’s exactly like that. We all know that I am just the better player”

Paige held her stare for a beat, then broke into a slow smile. “Bet.”

Azzi mirrored it. “Bet.”

And then, Paige broke the distance.

She yanked Azzi into a hug so tight, the air rushed from Azzi’s lungs in a startled oof. For a second, Azzi just stood there, stiff—before melting into it, her laughter muffled against Paige’s shoulder.

Paige squeezed harder. “You’re such a liar.”

Azzi��wheezed, patting her back. “Okay, okay—dying—”. But she did not pull back at all. 

Paige finally let go, but only far enough to grip Azzi’s shoulders, her eyes blazing. “You knew I’d see you.”

Azzi smirked. “And you knew I’d come.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but her grin gave her away. “Whatever. You just wanted to psych me out.”

“Did it work?”

Paige scoffed, but the flush on her cheeks was answer enough.

Azzi’s smirk softened, just for a second. “Good game, by the way.”

Paige tilted her head. “You saying that before yours tomorrow? Bold.”

Azzi shrugged. “I’m not worried.”

“Oh?” Paige stepped back, crossing her arms. “So when you win—”

“When,” Azzi confirmed.

“—you really think you can guard me?”

Azzi matched her stance. “I know I can. It is you that should be worried about that, Paigey”

The air between them crackled—half challenge, half something neither would name.

Paige’s smile turned dangerous. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Azzi held her stare. “Guess we will.”

——————

The next day, Paige was at Azzi’s game.

She sat in the stands, hood pulled low, but her eyes never left the court. Azzi was dominating—slicing through defenses, pulling up from stupid range, and making it look effortless. If Azzi asked why Paige was staring so hard, she’d say she was scouting.

But the truth? Azzi was mesmerizing.

To start, she was clearly the best player on her team—by miles. Her teammates were all borderline 18, and Azzi had just turned sixteen. By halftime, she’d have had 25 assists if they could actually finish her passes. Paige remembered how easy it was playing with her at Team USA—the chemistry, the unspoken reads, the way Azzi always knew where she’d pass her the ball. They were the best backcourt in the nation. 

Now, watching Azzi’s teammates fumble her perfect feeds? How they did not see THE AZZI FUDD wide open on the wing? It made her low-key furious. 

They didn’t deserve her.

But to be fair, Paige wasn’t even looking at the other players. Just Azzi.

And, to be even fairer—so was everyone else.

A group of guys in front of her kept leaning forward, whispering loud enough for Paige to catch every word:

“Her shot is unreal.”

“Look at her handles—how is she that quick?”

“Those dimples, man…”

Paige’s grip tightened on her water bottle. That was her best friend, and those guys seemed like dirty or something. 

Then the comments took a turn.

“I heard she’s single.”

“No way. She is legit so hot. Have you seen her ass” 

“You think she’d say yes if—”

“She’d say no.”

The words were out before Paige could stop them. The guys twisted around, blinking at her.

One smirked. “You know her or something?”

Paige held his gaze, voice icy. “Yeah. I do.”

One of the guys smirked, twisting fully in his seat to face Paige. "Oh cool, you think you could give her my number? Or, y’know… give me hers?"

The air around Paige went cold.

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to something low and dangerous. "Yeah. Not happening."

The guy blinked. "Damn, okay—"

"Ever." Paige cut in, her stare unwavering.

Something in her tone—the razor-edge protectiveness, the claim in it—must’ve registered. The guys exchanged glances, then slowly turned back around, muttering under their breaths.

But as Paige slumped back in her seat, a sudden wave of confusion hit her. Why had she reacted like that?

Azzi wasn’t hers to protect. Not like that. They were best friends—teammates, rivals, partners in crime. That was all.

Right?

On the court, the whistle blew. Azzi caught the inbound pass, took two dribbles, and launched from three steps behind the arc.

Swish.

The crowd erupted. Azzi backpedaled, her grin lighting up the arena—and then, like she knew, her eyes locked onto Paige’s section. A smirk curled at the corner of her mouth.

Just for her.

Paige’s stomach flipped. Her chest tightened. That look—the way Azzi’s eyes sparkled when they met hers, the way her smile softened just for Paige—it sent a jolt through her that she couldn’t explain.

Damn it.

Because that wasn’t just pride in her best friend. That wasn’t just admiration for a fellow player.

That was something else entirely.

And that? That was terrifying.

————————

Paige waited until the arena cleared out, until she and her teammates had grab dinner, until she was sure no one else would be around to witness this.

Then she knocked on Azzi’s hotel room door.

It swung open, revealing Azzi in sweats, her hair still damp from the shower. She blinked. “Paige?”

Paige strode past her into the room, arms crossed. “Those guys in the front row were trying to ask you out.”

Azzi’s brows shot up. She shut the door slowly. “...Okay?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“I mean, I don’t really pay attention to—”

“They were leaning over the railing,” Paige cut in, pacing now. “Talking about your dimples. And about your ass.”

Azzi’s lips twitched. “You memorized their commentary?”

Paige whirled on her. “I was right behind them, Azzi. They were being gross.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying Paige’s face—the tight jaw, the way her fingers kept flexing like she was itching to steal a ball. A slow smirk spread across her face.

“Wait.” She took a step closer. “Are you mad?”

Paige scoffed. “I’m not mad—”

“You’re definitely mad.”

“I’m annoyed,” Paige corrected, jabbing a finger at her. “Because you were out there dropping 40 on a bunch of high schoolers like it’s nothing, and meanwhile, randos are treating you like—like—”

“Like what?” Azzi challenged, stepping even closer.

Paige’s breath hitched. Azzi smelled like her stupid vanilla shampoo, and her eyes were all lit up with that I-know-something-you-don’t gleam.

Damn it.

“Like you’re not the best goddamn player in the gym,” Paige muttered.

Azzi blinked. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh my God.” She wiped her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” Azzi grinned, poking Paige’s chest. “You didn’t like them looking at me.”

Paige swatted her hand away. “I didn’t like them wasting your time.”

“Mhmm.” Azzi’s voice dropped, teasing. “So if I had said yes to one of them…?”

Paige’s eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t.”

Azzi held her gaze, the air between them suddenly charged. “Why not?”

Paige opened her mouth—to say what?—when Azzi’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

They both glanced at it.

A text notification lit up the screen:

Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Jason from the game. Wanna grab food?

Paige’s entire body went rigid.

Azzi bit her lip, she had given Jason her number because she seemed nice. “I forgot to tell you about that”

Paige snatched the phone, thumbs flying as she typed:

Azzi’s Phone: Nah. I only let real shooters take me out.

She hit send and tossed the phone onto the bed.

Azzi gasped, laughing. “You did not just—”

“Problem solved,” Paige said, smug.

Azzi shook her head, but her cheeks were pink. “You’re insane. Get out”

Azzi was actually mad. Paige could go around kissing girls and all, but she could not have one date with a nice guy? 

Paige went still.

Shit. Was Azzi actually mad? 

The playful glint in Paige’s eyes flickered, replaced by something uncertain. “You… gave him your number?”

Azzi folded her arms, suddenly defensive. “Yeah. And? You go around kissing girls at parties like it’s nothing, but I can’t have one date?”

Paige’s expression shuttered. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because—” Paige cut herself off, frustration flashing across her face. “You know what? Forget it.” She turned toward the door.

Azzi’s chest tightened. This wasn’t how she wanted this to go. “Paige—”

But the door clicked shut behind her.

Silence.

Azzi stared at her hands, guilt twisting inside her. She hadn’t meant to snap. But Paige had this way of pushing her buttons—of making everything feel like a game Azzi didn’t know the rules to.

A knock.

The door creaked open before she could respond, and Paige stepped back in, shoulders tense. “Okay. I’m sorry.” The words came out rough, like she wasn’t used to saying them. 

Azzi blinked. An apology? From Paige Bueckers?

“But,” Paige continued, dragging a hand through her hair, “you’re right. It’s hypocritical. I just—” She exhaled sharply. “Jason’s a scrub. You deserve better.”

Azzi snorted despite herself. “That’s your apology? ‘Jason’s a scrub’?”

Paige’s lips quirked. “I’m workshopping it.”

The tension between them eased, but Azzi’s chest still felt tight. She picked at the hem of her shirt. “It’s not even about him. It’s just… you make it look so easy. The flirting, the kissing, all of it.”

Paige tilted her head. “Wait. Are you saying you’ve never…?”

Azzi’s face burned. “I’m a sophomore, Paige. And my whole team is, like, stupidly experienced. Maya’s had three boyfriends, and Liv’s already you know—” She cut herself off, mortified. “God, forget it.”

Paige sat down beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. “Hey. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say,” Azzi muttered. “You’ve probably kissed so many girls and like everyone loves you.”

Paige laughed, but it was softer now. “It’s not a competition, Az. And most of those ‘kisses’ were dumb dares or people trying to prove something. And like even tough I have kissed some girls like it never got serious” She hesitated, then nudged Azzi’s shoulder. “First times are supposed to be… I dunno. Not like that. I have not had mine either if it makes you feel better”

Azzi peeked at her. “Then what are they supposed to be like?”

Paige held her gaze, and for once, there was no smirk, no teasing—just something quiet and real. “With someone who actually matters.”

The air between them shifted.

Azzi’s breath caught. Paige was close, and her mind was going a million time for hour. 

Then Paige leaned back, breaking the moment with a grin. “But seriously, if your first kiss is with this Jason guy, I’m disowning you.”

Azzi shoved her, laughing. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Paige said, bumping their shoulders together again, “you keep me around.”

“But I mean it az, your first kiss should be special. Actually, scratch that, you are so special, so everything you do should be special” 

“You are only saying that because you are my best friend” Azzi said, rolling her eyes—but her heart thumped unevenly when Paige didn’t laugh.

Paige’s smirk faded into something quieter. “Nah. I’m saying it ‘cause it’s true.” She flopped onto Azzi’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “And ‘cause my first kiss was so not special, I’m basically an expert on what not to do.”

Azzi’s curiosity flared. Paige never talked about this stuff seriously. She crawled onto the bed beside her, propping herself up on one elbow. “…Okay, now you have to tell me.”

Paige groaned. “Ugh, fine. But you cannot laugh.”

“Zero promises, Paigey”

Paige flicked her forehead. “Eight grade. Skate park behind the 7-Eleven. This guy, Derek Pelinski—”

“Derek Pelinski?” Azzi wheezed. Not sure if the. Fact that it was a guy or the fact that that was the funniest name ever. 

“I said don’t laugh!” Paige shoved her, but she was grinning now. “Anyway, he dared me to kiss him while his friends watched. Tasted like nacho cheese and bad decisions.”

Azzi wrinkled her nose. “That’s… tragically unromantic.”

“Right?” Paige sighed dramatically. “And then he immediately tried to feel me up, so I kneed him in the—”

“Paige!” Azzi gasped, equal parts horrified and delighted.

“What?” Paige shrugged, unrepentant. “Dude learned a valuable lesson about consent.” Her voice softened. “Point is… you deserve better.”

Azzi swallowed. Paige was looking at her like—like she was precious. It made her skin feel too tight. “So, what? I should just… wait for some magical moment?”

Paige’s gaze dropped to Azzi’s mouth, just for a second. “Nah. Just someone who actually sees you.” She cleared her throat and sat up abruptly. “Anyway. Now that you’ve heard my trauma, you owe me ice cream.”

Azzi’s pulse hadn’t slowed. “You’re such a dork,” she muttered, but she let Paige drag her up, their fingers tangled just a beat too long before pulling apart.

"That doesn’t count," Azzi said, swatting Paige’s arm. "You were, like, twelve. And also—" She hesitated, then smirked. "You’re gay, Paige. A boy kissing you at a skate park is not your real first kiss."

Paige’s eyebrows shot up. "Excuse you, I was bi-curious in seventh grade—"

“Sure, P.” Azzi rolled onto her stomach, grinning. 

Paige groaned, throwing an arm over her face. "Ugh, fine. But my actual first kiss with a girl wasn’t much better."

Azzi's breath caught. This was uncharted territory—Paige never volunteered these stories. She nudged her knee gently, voice softening. "You've actually never told me about it. You sure you want to now?"

The care in Azzi's question made Paige's chest tighten. She peeked out from under her arm, the usual mischief in her eyes tempered by something warmer. "Why? You taking notes for your big moment?"

"Shut up," Azzi muttered, cheeks flushing. She tugged at a loose thread on Paige's comforter. "Just... if you want to tell me."

Paige sat up, the mattress dipping between them. "Fine. Softomre year. Party at Jess Marino's house." She picked at her nail. "Taylor Nguyen—"

"Taylor?" Azzi's head snapped up. "As in, soccer varsity captain Taylor? The one who—" Her voice caught. The mental image flashed unbidden: Taylor with her confident smile and toned arms, the way she'd dominated every game with effortless grace. Azzi suddenly became hyper-aware of her own knobby knees and the baby fat still rounding her cheeks.

"The very one," Paige said, a hint of that old pride in her voice that made Azzi's stomach twist. "Anyway, we kissed, and she assumed I was... experienced." A dry laugh. "Pulled me into a bedroom, kept moving my hands to you know and she wanted to go all the way“ 

Azzi's hands balled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. "That's bullshit." Her voice dropped to something dangerous. "Did she even ask if you were comfortable with that? Did she force herself?”

Paige blinked, thrown by the venom in Azzi's tone. Since when did shy, sweet Azzi get like this? "I—"

"Because if she didn't," Azzi barreled on, eyes blazing like lit coals, "then she didn't deserve to touch you at all." The words tore out of her with a violence that shocked them both, raw and fierce like a gut-punch confession.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Paige's lips parted slightly, her usual arsenal of witty comebacks failing her for the first time since Azzi had known her. Azzi was close now—dangerously close—close enough that Paige could see the faint scar above her eyebrow from that childhood bike accident, could track the frantic jump of her pulse in the delicate hollow of her throat. The air between them hummed with electricity, thick with the promise of summer lightning.

Azzi's breath caught when she realized Paige's knee had slotted between hers, that her own fingers had somehow tangled in the hem of Paige's tank top. The pad of Paige's thumb drew slow circles on her inner wrist, each touch sending sparks up her arm.

Then Paige's smirk returned, that infuriating armor clicking into place. "Careful, Az." Her voice dropped to that low register that always made Azzi's stomach flip—smoke and honey and something distinctly Paige. "Starting to think you've got a vested interest here."

The spell shattered. Azzi shoved at her shoulders, but her traitorous hands fisted in the fabric of Paige's shirt instead of pushing away. "I'm serious," she whispered, voice cracking. "You're..." Her throat worked around the sudden tightness. "You're Paige. You should've gotten slow dances in gymnasiums and stupid poetry tucked in your locker and—" Her breath hitched. "—and someone who came undone just brushing your fingers."

The words hung between them, too honest, too vulnerable, hanging in the charged air like the last note of a love song.

Paige went statue-still. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Yeah?" Her fingers traced the delicate bones of Azzi's wrist like she was memorizing them. "And what should you get, Azzi Fudd?"

The way she said it—like a sacred vow wrapped in teasing—sent liquid heat pooling in Azzi's stomach. Their noses brushed. Azzi could taste the spearmint gum Paige always chewed, could smell the coconut shampoo she'd borrowed last week still lingering in her hair. Some distant, rational part of her brain screamed that this was the point of no return—close enough to count eyelashes, to feel shared breath, to—

HONK!

A car alarm shattered the moment, sending them springing apart like they'd been burned.

Paige practically vaulted to the other side of the bed, suddenly engrossed in examining a loose thread on Azzi's comforter as if it held the secrets of the universe. "So." She cleared her throat twice, voice unnaturally high. "Ice cream?"

Azzi pressed her burning face into her hands, her lips tingling with the ghost of something that hadn't happened. "Yeah," she mumbled through her fingers, voice thick. "Ice cream."

But neither moved. Neither breathed.

Hours later, after they grabbed their ice cream which Azzi insisted on paying, Paige lay staring at her ceiling, her stomach in knots. The memory of Azzi's fierce protectiveness played on loop behind her eyelids—how her eyes had darkened with something primal when talking about Taylor, how her hands had trembled against Paige's skin. She pressed her palms to her burning face. Christ, Azzi was so... Azzi. All wide-eyed innocence and unexpected fire, with no idea what she did to Paige. And that kiss—her first kiss—it should be perfect. Soft and sweet and everything Paige would die to give her.

As best friends, obviously.

Just best friends wanting other best friends to have nice things.

Totally normal best friend behavior.

Across the hall, Azzi paced her room like a caged animal, her phone glowing with Taylor Nguyen's Instagram profile. She zoomed in on a picture of Taylor laughing with her new college teammates, her perfect white teeth gleaming. A growl rose unbidden in Azzi's throat. How dare she? How dare she treat Paige like some experiment, like she wasn't the most brilliant, infuriating, beautiful person Azzi had ever—

She threw her phone across the room.

Tomorrow, she'd be normal. Tomorrow, they'd go back to easy banter and stolen energy drinks.

But tonight—tonight she'd let herself imagine Taylor's perfect face meeting her fist.

[blackenedsnow]

OMG YOUR BLOG IS SO SO SO COOL ??? HELLO?? IM IN LUV W YOUR LAYOUT AAAAA

soeey but may i make a request pls i beg bc ive been thinking ab this all day every day for like a week 😭😭 is it okay to request slashers reacting to you faking an 0rgasm?? 😭 specifically micheal bc I'm in my mikey phase but if not then don't worry about it <3<3<3 but tag me if possible !! thank you!!!

slashers reactions to you faking an orgasm

WARNING ; NSFW/18+, fake orgasms

PAIRING: Michael Myers x Reader, Jason Voorhees x Reader, Billy Loomis x Reader

NOTE: Omg, first of all, thank you for the sweet words about my blog!! 🖤 I didn't know what other slashers to put so I put a few in those feel spinner thingys and chose like that. Hope you enjoy!

MICHAEL MYERS

He knows your body better than anyone, and the moment he catches onto the fact that you faked it?

He goes completely still.

No breathing, no movement—just his blank mask staring at you like you’ve committed a cardinal sin.

He’s not mad, per se.

He’s disappointed.

But also? He takes it as a personal challenge.

You think you need to fake it? That you’d have to with him?

Oh, he’s going to prove you so wrong.

Expect him to be relentless.

He’ll have you pinned under his weight, utterly at his mercy, as he drags it out of you for real this time.

And you won’t be able to fake anything by the end of it—not with the way he watches you like a predator, soaking in every sound and twitch you make.

(And yeah, maybe he’s a little salty. He’ll take his time, make you beg, just to remind you who’s in charge here.)

JASON VOORHEES

He’s not exactly the most experienced in this department, but he tries so hard to please you.

When you fake it, he stops immediately.

He looks at you with confusion, maybe even a little bit of hurt.

Jason doesn’t understand why you’d fake something like this.

Did he hurt you? Did you not want to be with him? Were you bored? His mind spirals into self-doubt.

He’ll sit back, his big hands resting on your thighs as he studies your face, searching for answers.

If you admit you were faking it, Jason might feel a little dejected, but he’ll try to do better.

He’s nothing if not attentive, and he’ll take your cues more seriously from now on.

Honestly, he’s so focused on making you happy that the whole situation ends up being more of a learning experience than anything else.

Jason just wants to be a good partner.

BILLY LOOMIS

Oh, you’re gonna regret this one, babe.

Billy is petty as hell.

The second he catches on, he stops everything.

Completely.

Pulls back, smirking down at you with that cocky, condescending expression.

What follows is absolute hell—the good kind, though.

Billy edges you mercilessly, taking you right to the brink over and over again until you’re begging him to let you finish.

When he finally lets you come undone, it’s explosive.

Billy makes sure you won’t even think about faking it again.

And, of course, he’ll tease you about it for weeks afterward.

[ennn]

Re: “Rio's goal is to kill Agatha so she can be with her forever”

My brother in Christ, if Rio's ultimate goal this series was to kill Agatha we wouldn't have gotten past the first episode.

Okay okay, I get how it can be confusing because Rio literally says she wants to see Agatha dead in episode one and tells Agatha she'll let the Salem Seven (who do want Agatha dead) know where she is.

But it is noteworthy that Rio tells Agatha what she is going to do and when the Salem Seven are expected to arrive. Rio is usually surprisingly fair in how she deals with Agatha.

Rio has always met Agatha at her power level

In episode one, even assuming Agatha was protected by Wanda's spell and Rio couldn't harm her there, once it was broken Rio went "full analog" – to quote Hahn – with her knife, the only magic she used being the wind blasts.

Guys, that's not a serious murder attempt, that's foreplay to them. Violent, bloody, sexy foreplay.

Also Rio has healing powers. That's a thing they have very clearly shown.

To be clear, my read is that Rio can't actually kill anyone before their time ("You can't kill me, it's not allowed") just hurt them really really badly until they maybe choose to die ("I can make you wish you were dead"). Which you could argue equals killing I suppose, just slower.

But this is Agatha Harkness: all she really needs to survive is a bit of time to scheme and manipulate and do her usual girlbossing, gatekeeping, and gaslighting – and I think Rio also knows this. Agatha keeps surprising her, for better and worse.

Yes, Rio gets BIG MAD in episode 8 because Agatha says possibly The Worst Thing to her but the first part of their confrontation is technically physical torture, not murder attempts.

I know it sounds like I'm splitting hairs here but my point is that having Agatha dead isn't Rio's ultimate #1 goal. It's not so clean and easy.

There's something to be said about how the wounds Rio inflicts speak to how Rio sees herself hurt by Agatha emotionally in the relationship i.e. death by a thousand cuts, the severing of her Achilles tendon.

There’s probably something also be said about the relationship a being like Rio has with physical pain. Trees feel pain. Everything living does. Rio mocks Agatha for dulling herself to it using dark magic.

But I digress.

Anyway, note: it's only after Agatha gets magic back that Rio starts throwing magic blasts – and even then she seems to be holding back.

These two are possibly the worst two witches to fight each other directly like this because Agatha can't absorb Rio's magic or she'll die. She has to actively block or avoid all hits. And I bet this isn't something Agatha is used to dealing with considering she had no issues taking Wanda's magic.

And Rio is aware of this because she’s just lobbing quick little green blasts Agatha's way. It's not a torrent of magic like what Agatha is gleefully unleashing.

It's also the Watsonian (in-universe) explanation as to why this fight is so short. Because you literally can't straight up fight Death. Rio is a hard counter to Agatha's special siphoning ability just like how Agatha was a hard counter to Wanda's magic (insert your scissors-paper-stone visual of choice).

Rio doesn't want Agatha dead, she wants Agatha to want her

It's clear that Rio is grieving when Agatha dies. This isn't the outcome she wants. They're also both crying during the kiss it's great.

Rio wants what Agatha specifically tries to deny in the deal Agatha proposes: she wants to keep pursuing Agatha, to keep seeing her, provoking her, to be shocked and surprised by her. To keep loving her but also, to keep hurting her.

Because Agatha also hurts her right back. And Agatha knows she has Rio constantly on the emotional backfoot, that Rio – despite centuries of hatred thrown her way – still humours her more often than not and what levers to push.

I don't think this can happen with Agatha dead and gone.

To be fair, we don't know what the rules are in this world's afterlife. The only insight we get into Rio's job is her scene with Alice and that still leaves a lot of things unanswered: Does Rio just escort souls to a destination or does she have more control beyond that, like a domain? Can souls refuse to go with Rio? How do ghosts happen?

I had previously assumed Rio needed to allow it but Schaeffer says that her vision in that moment has Agatha's using an evolved form of the power to take Rio's magic by touch.

And with that, it's telling that it's Agatha who ultimately ensures that she dies (with the "calculated risk" of becoming a ghost), siphoning Rio's death magic energy.

Agatha embraces death, embraces Rio, but she also doesn't – Rio's clever witch got away again.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi!

Can I ask for more the stronger of claims?

finally I can provide!! here is a link to the first part of the stronger of claims since its been a while and i'm sure most people don't know what it is

i hope you enjoy <3

~ lumine

—

Magnus doesn’t bother being petty. 

He also doesn’t bother playing around. Not with Alexander unconscious in his bed, held under by potions and magic until Magnus can get back and make sure he doesn’t need to summon Catarina.

It’s easy to stand before the Clave — after making his vows on the soulsword — and make his points clear that while Isabelle did break a few rules, she is not actually involved in the treason committed. It takes a little bit of wrangling, some very intense and carefully worded questions as well as Magnus calling in a favor to ask Jem’s help to ensure Imogen can’t pull too many tricks with the presence of a Silent Brother.

Thankfully Imogen thinks Jem arrived because of the cup.  Not because Magnus promised him a supply of his favorite tea and a portal to Tessa for an afternoon of Jem's choice.

In the end Isabelle will be disciplined, monitored for a little while and temporarily stripped of her ranks, but she won’t be exiled or deruned. 

It’s a win as far as Magnus is concerned and knowing Alexander, he will consider it as well... and then just as everything is over Clarissa and Jace crash into the room.

Jem makes a small telepathic comment, something that lingers in Magnus’ mind and he stretches out his magic, curious for a moment and then he cackles silently to himself.

He has the perfect distraction to ensure no one realizes Alexander is missing. 

Something Isabelle thankfully hasn’t asked about since Magnus told her Alec sent him, but with no other explanation for his new consort’s lack of presence.  

“Really Imogen, is this Clave really so imbalanced that the ones actually committing the crimes go free? Even if they did return.”

Magnus knows from the way Imogen’s face pinches that Jem has agreed with him and ensured she knows it. He’s also probably reprimanding her since Jace and Clary were the ones who endangered the Cup in the first place and the Silent Brother’s don’t appreciate it.

It also means that Jem is taking the Cup before anyone else even blinks, moving it to some pocket of his robe where it disappears.

“They’ll both be reprimanded as well.  Since they endangered it in the first place.”  Imogen is spitting mad even as the orders are directly processed, Lydia tapping them into a tablet as they speak before handing it over for a thumbprint. “The Silent Brother has approved a demotion in rank from the active shadowhunter involved and a year probation before Clary Fray is allowed to be an active shadowhunter.”

“I’m relieved to see that nepotism hasn’t rotted its way to your core just yet.” Magnus tuts, making sure to use his best sneer to raise her hackles back up.

“What—?” Imogden starts and Magnus simply tuts and gestures to Jace.

“You think I can't recognize family magics, even those of a nephilim? I don’t need to have been properly introduced to him to tell he’s a Herondale.  I’m glad to see you uphold honor, for once.”

Imogen is paler than he’s ever seen her, shock and hope and disbelief warring as Magnus turns and walks out, quietly chuckling as he hears her demand a blood test from a confused Jace.

It means no one stops him as he slips away, content in the knowledge that all will be busy while he whisks Alexander away on their honeymoon.

After all, Magnus has a payment to finish collecting.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 11

As soon as Alex and her family are safely in a car on the way to a hotel, Kara and Lena board Lena's jet back to the states. During the flight, Lena curls in on herself, picking nervously at her cuticles with a worried, guilty expression.

"Hey," Kara says, pulling Lena's gaze towards her. Her features remain heavy. "I'm not mad."

At that, Lena's face softens, but only enough to grimace with a soft huff. "You're not the one I'm worried about."

Kara must look confused, because Lena soon continues.

"As a rule, my mother knows who I spend my time with, and when." The guilt returns. "Except for you."

"So she didn't know I was in Capri with you..."

Lena confirms it with a shake of her head. "Nor why I went back to National City."

Well... this wouldn't be easy then. Dealing with a rabid press is one thing-- being at odds with one of the key players in keeping her family safe is another.

"I'm sorry," Lena murmurs. "I just... wanted to keep you mine. Just for a little while."

Kara shoots her a look. "I'm still not mad."

"You can be. If you want."

"I don't." She moves seats, switching to the bench Lena's on. She makes no attempt to still Lena's nervous picking, but simply spreads her legs enough for the outsides of their thighs to touch. Kara intends the physical contact to serve as reassurance, but she doesn't know if it works.

"I'm a big girl, Lena. I know I can back out whenever I want to. But I don't. Not yet."

A little bit of warmth cuts through Lena's anxious fog. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Kara's heart beats a little faster, when a small smile answers her. Impulsively, she leans over to kiss Lena's cheek. She feels... giddy? Far more exhilirated she has any right to feel at her age. "Bring it."

----

Lillian Luthor is a slender, austere woman. Kara clocks her the moment the plane lands on the tarmac, tall and styled in her designer clothes and looks that only money and astronomically good genes could provide.

Only Kara witnesses the short beat Lena takes before stepping out of the plane, bracing herself for whatever follows. Kara keeps pace with her once they descend the ladder in single file. She may not be driving this bus, but she is no shrinking flower. In this, she is Lena's equal.

Not that the look Lillian gives her would have anyone believe.

"In the car," the woman orders. "Now."

Lena obeys without a word. Kara is a little slower to fall in line, but ultimately follows Lena's lead. Lillian climbs in behind them, leaving Jess and a woman Kara doesn't recognize to scramble on board last.

"The family is checked into the Lariat. So far no indication that they've been identified, but its still early."

"What about Kara?"

"What about you??" Lillian demands, tone scathing in its heat. "What were you thinking?"

Kara sees Lena wilt, and anger bubbles up in her throat. "Don't talk to her like that--"

"You have zero business here," Lillian fires back with steel in her voice.

"Mom!" Lena exclaims in Kara's defense. "It's not that big a deal--"

Ice blue eyes turn on Lena, freezing her to the spot. "It's a big enough deal that you saw fit to sneak behind my back, with a woman twice your age no less--"

"Mom!"

"Timeline, now."

Lena's shoulders sag, but says nothing. Looking to divert some of Lillian's ire, Kara moves to speak up. "We--"

"She already knows," Lena rolls her eyes.

"I do," her mother confirms. "But I'll hear it from you nonetheless."

Lena huffs. "Night two of the National City stop. Her niece left her phone backstage, and we exhanged numbers."

"Then?"

"Texting."

The exhange sounds like a repeat of one they've had many times before. Neither Jess nor the other woman-- who Kara assumes is Lillian's own assistant-- look at all nervous at the rapidfire crossing of words.

"Texting?" Lillian demands. "Or sexting?"

Kara bristles. "I don't see how that's any of your--"

"*Texting*, Mom, god!" Lena seethes. Her cheeks are bright red, from anger or embarassment or both. "Will you just--"

"Just *what* Lena?"

Lillian's voice is so sharp Kara can see the moment it cuts Lena down. Her jaw tightens, and when Kara sublty shifts to take her hand, Lena shifts away.

Satisfied that her daughter is suitably in line, Lillian turns to her assistant. "Mercy, have PR prepare a statement. The photos were misconstrued, they simply capture a couple of friends taking in the sights."

"Mom, no," Lena croaks. "I don't want-- who cares if people know that I'm gay--?"

"You are not gay!"

Lena flinches, features blanching as though Lillian had landed a physical blow. Only then does Lillian seem to realize that she's talking to an actual person. Her tone doesn't soften, exactly, but it doesn't sharpen any further.

"Your *brand* isn't," she amends, likely the closest thing to thing to an apology Lena would get.

"I thought Lena is the brand," Kara interjects.

Lillian's frigid gaze snaps to her. "She is."

"Her fans are more open-minded than you think--"

"Her fans don't buy tickets," Lillian informs her coolly. "Their parents do. And *they* are far less forgiving."

Kara looks towards Lena, who meets her gaze with a helpless one of her own. It's not untrue-- Esme hadn't bought her tickets, after all.

"Then what do we do?" Kara allows finally.

"Cut ties. Immediately." Lillian looks down her nose at Kara, her regard as condescending as though she were speaking to a teenager, not a women merely ten years her junior.

"No."

To Kara's surprise, Lena's response is faster than her own, and carries only the barest of trembles.

"Don't be foolish..."

"I'm not--"

"Do you love her?"

Lena freezes. Her gaze flicks to Kara. "It's only been a few weeks..."

"Precisely. Cut ties now, before--"

"But I want to," Lena finishes. This time, her gaze lingers on Kara's, a small smile warming her eyes. "I want to love her."

Lillian scoffs low in her throat. "You're too old to be play the love sick teenager. Or have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Kara watches Lena hold her mother's gaze, something heavy passing between them, inscrutable to anyone else. But Lena holds her ground, and surprisingly, Lillian is the one to back down.

"Then what would you suggest?"

"Like you said-- we give them something else to talk about." Lena swallows, but forges ahead. "I have some new material, I can perform it live in Paris."

Lillian purses her lips, but doesn't smack down the idea. She considers it, her gaze calculating. "And you two?"

"We do what we want," Lena delivers firmly. "No statement, no confirmation or denial. Let people see interpret it however they want. However they need."

Kara thinks of the young fans, isolated in their orientations or identities, seeing themselves reflected in their favorite artist. The gift that would be, the vote of confidence needed to dream of a future where what Lena and Kara share might be theirs.

Lillian shoots Kara a hard glare. "And you? It's your family in the crossfire if this idea goes to shit."

"Then it goes to shit, and we deal with it."

It might be selfish of her, but in all of their conversations, neither Alex or Kelly have suggested backing off. They spoke only of adapting, of overcoming, and Kara knows she has their unspoken support. And even now, being talked down to and chided, she feels happier sitting next to Lena in this moment than she has in years.

Lillian barely contains her snort of derision.

"Very well," she concedes, with a sharp note of criticism. Then she turns from them entirely to speak with Mercy in low tones.

Kara takes advantage of the moment to lean closer to Lena, murmuring in her ear.

"I want to go to Paris with you."

Lena blinks at her. "You don't have to--"

"Would you feel better if I were there?" Kara asks bluntly. Lena deflates a little, but this time in relief rather than shame.

"Yeah."

"Then let me come." Kara gives Lena's hand a squeeze, and is rewarded with a tired smile. "You're not alone in this."

"Okay," Lena says, her smile deepening into a challenge. "Let's bring it."

[sevencruxestorulethemall]

α ɱεɱσ૨αɓℓε ɳเɠɦƭ

pairing - Oliver Wood x F!Reader

summary - Professor McGonagall surprises you the night of the Yule Ball, after convincing you to attend when you refused to go

warnings - none

You'd always dreaded the year you'd have to spend without Oliver in the school. Even a normal school year seemed bleak without his presence to keep you going, but the universe seemed to hate you because your seventh year at Hogwarts would be far from an ordinary school year.

The Triwizard Tournament brought a challenge for everyone, regardless of champion status - the Yule Ball.

But while everyone else was running around looking for dates, asking their crushes out...you were going about your usual business. Not looking twice at any boy who approached you.

You didn't want to go if you couldn't go with Oliver.

However, Cedric Diggory and a Durmstrang boy had other plans for you.

Now, anyone with eyes can tell you that the Durmstrang boys and the Hufflepuff prefect were attractive, and walking in with either one would turn heads. That, and Cedric was a Triwizard champion.

Unfortunately for them, you weren't looking for a date.

"I'm sorry, Cedric, but I don't think I'll be attending," you offered him an apologetic smile.

He nodded in understanding, though looking a bit disappointed. That made you feel bad, but not as bad as you would have felt if you'd accepted him as a date and ended up thinking about your boyfriend the entire night.

A mere few hours later, however, a Durmstrang student tried his luck. He approached you with a charming smile that would have given you butterflies if you weren't in love with Oliver.

"Hello. Your name (Name), yes?" His thick Bulgarian accent did not match his smile.

"That's right," you offered a friendly smile.

"Would you like to go to the ball with me?"

"I'm afraid Miss (Last Name) is already taken," a familiar professor spoke from behind you. The Durmstrang boy nodded respectfully and left.

You turned to your head of house, confused, "I'm sorry, professor?"

Professor McGonagall smiled, gesturing for you to walk with her. You obeyed and fell into step beside her, wondering what this was about.

"I heard that you were planning to skip the Ball," she finally spoke. "May I ask why?"

Your cheeks heated up, the thought of having to explain your reasoning to your head of house being too embarrassing to bear. But she turned to look at you expectantly, so you answered.

"I just don't want to go with anyone that's not Oliver, professor."

Her lips curled into a smile. YOur relationship with Oliver spanned a few years. You'd known him since your first year and his second, and he'd asked you out in your fourth year and his fifth. The entire time, Professor McGonagall watched the two of you only get closer. She was well aware of how attached you were to him.

"Will you not go with your friends?" She suggested.

"They...all have dates," you admitted, your face burning now with embarrassment.

"I see," she hummed thoughtfully. "Well, do consider changing your mind. The Yule Ball is an extraordinary event that no student should have to miss." Her eyes sparkled with something, for a moment, but you couldn't tell what.

"I will, professor."

Days later, you sat on your bed an hour before the ball was scheduled to start. Your dress was laid out before you, your mind running through a debate of whether to go or not. Since your conversation with Professor McGonagall, the Durmstrang boy had asked twice more, apparently having heard from one of your friends that you were not taken.

Speaking of your friends, who were long gone to find their dates, they had been acting weird this entire day. Giggling amongst themselves, pestering you to join them at the ball, and promising that you'll be thrilled. It drove you mad trying to decipher their behaviour.

You decided to go, although you weren't sure why. Call it a feeling.

When you were ready, you nervously made your way to the Great Hall. You didn't have a date, first of all, and secondly you were one of the last to get there.

You stopped halfway down the stairs, once your eyes connected with a pair of familiar, warm brown ones.

There, amongst the students gathered at the bottom of the stairs, stood the most handsome boy you'd ever seen. In dress robes that had your head spinning. He looked too good to be true, and this felt too good to be true.

For a moment you just stood there, shock freezing you to the spot. Then, when he smiled with the most awestruck look in his eyes, you bounded down the stairs and ran up to him, throwing your arms around his neck, lips meeting in a fierce kiss.

Oliver chuckled against your lips, his hands coming to rest on your lower back as you embraced him with the might of a dragon. He kissed you deeply, silently conveying that he had missed this, missed you, just as much as you did.

"I can't believe you're here!" You beamed when you parted, one of your hands coming to rest on his cheek. "How..?"

"Well, I heard you weren't going to go with anyone but me," he grinned, a little too smugly for your liking. His thick Scottish accent made you shiver, pleasantly, and was like music to your ears after so long not hearing it.

Your eyes found Professor McGonagall as she came to fetch the champions, and the knowing smile on her face made you realise this was her doing. You smiled brightly at her, thanking her with your eyes before looking back at Oliver. Your eyes roamed his face, the face you'd never forget and could spend an eternity staring at.

"Come on," he laughed when he noticed you were just watching him, unmoving. "We'll be the last ones in." He guided you into the Great Hall with his one hand still on your back.

The champions danced first, but once Neville guided Ginny onto the dancefloor the rest of the students followed suit. Soon you were slow-dancing with your boyfriend, still looking up at him in awe and slight shock.

"So Fred told me an interesting thing before you came down the stairs," he pulled you closer, gently swaying with you.

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow. "What did he tell you?"

"Cedric Diggory asked you to be his date?"

You groaned, "I'm going to kill that twin!"

Oliver laughed, "Before you do that, I'm not bothered by it. I'm just curious why you didn't agree go come with who seems to be the most attractive boy in your year...apparently."

At that, you started laughing, "That's the view of most girls here. Not mine, however. I declined because I wanted to come with the most attractive guy I know." You smiled at him warmly. "The only guy I want to go with to everything."

He pulled you right against him, earning a small squeak from you as his hands gripped your waist, "Now what am I supposed to say to that, hm?"

"Nothing," you grinned. "I kind of hoped you'd be speechless."

He laughed with you, and leaned down to kiss you gently.

The rest of the evening he spent telling you about his time with Puddlemere United so far, and you brought him up to speed on the Triwizard Tournament. It felt so good to talk to him in person again, and getting to hold his hand the entire time made it even better.

You were probably the last to leave the Great Hall, in the early hours of the morning. Oliver walked you back to the Gryffindor common room, and although you didn't want to let him go you knew you had to. So you parted with a kiss and a promise that he'd try to come again soon, maybe to watch one of the trials.

Exhausted but happy, you flopped onto your bed with the most lovestruck grin on your face, one that remained until you fell fast asleep.

Professor McGonagall got a nice little gift from you the very next day.

[olderthannetfic]

There is something confusing to me about older queer people (which is to say, older than I am, at a relatively young 24 years old) who get mad at original fiction whose worldbuilding involves neopronouns. I'm hoping maybe, ONTF, since you've been in queer spaces a lot longer than I have, you can explain why people have such a negative reaction to the idea.

Basically, I'm working on a novel based that takes white-throated sparrow biology and uses it for building blocks in the same way A/B/O takes (now debunked) wolf science and used it for building blocks. This means there are essentially four genders, the two viewed as more intelligent (brown-haired men and women) and the two viewed as more physical (white-haired men and women). Those two groups then get further divided along the lines of 'women are better at making smart decisions under pressure' and 'men are better at staying home and defending the children, as God intended'.

So it seemed natural to me that this worldwide quaternary system would result in at least some languages having pronoun sets for each of the four options. Some languages in real life have more complicated pronoun systems than that, particularly ones where there's a bunch of formal and informal pronouns. It'd also help the reader keep track of who was a part of what group without my having to turn around and state people's coloration constantly. Yes, these people are human, just as humans in A/B/O are, but society is fundamentally very different. I'm not throwing this in to just complicate things or sound smart or something. It's here because my minoring in Anthropology and majoring in Linguistics taught me language usage reflects the needs and values of a people.

The writing group I'm a part of IRL is mostly queer, mostly 40+, with some cishet women who are also present and active writers. The writing group I'm a part of on DW is mostly DWRPers, in their 30's and up, though no older than 50, and entirely queer. I did not expect these to be groups that were uncomfortable with the idea of "different world, different pronouns".

Instead the reception has ranged from suggestions it's pretentious or overthinking things to requests I reconsider doing it. I've been informed this could be seen as mocking the real life queer people who go by pronouns other than she, he, or they. One person asked if this was went to be me "artificially justifying" nonbinary pronouns and implying I didn't find them valid in the real world. That was an awkward conversation, to say the least.

In reality I wasn't really thinking about real life people who use nonbinary pronouns when I was writing. I was just asking, "Logically, wouldn't it make sense for things to work very differently under a quarternary than it does under a modern European binary?" and following my brain along to its' conclusions as it processed that.

I have gotten zero negative feedback from my queer friends my age regarding this. So obviously, generation and the experiences informing a generational context are key, here. I'm just... still lost on how anyone finds this objectionable.

Help?

--

Ahaha. Oh god.

Well, as a reader of sff in the 90s, the first reaction I have to such things is "IS THERE A CONLANG AND A MAP?" Because, man, the conlang people were some of the most tedious motherfuckers I ever had to deal with in sff spaces.

But broadly... I think the reasons queer people get annoyed about this stuff boil down to a couple of big factors:

Disrespectful children who don't know history

Idiot old people harrumphing about "history" they clearly failed to pay attention to while it was going on in the first place

I personally hate being asked to use new words most of the time. A few bits of fandom slang I'll pick up at once, but I'm usually like "Why would I call it 'spirk'? We already have 'K/S'!" *shakes cane*

If you're American, they're your "roommate", not your "flatmate". No, I don't care how much more precise this foreign term is, you pretentious wanker. (But then I'll use 'wanker' because fandom adopted that years ago...)

So my reaction to being asked to say aloud any pronoun not in very frequent circulation in my offline life is "Urrrgh. Do I have to?"

However, the reality is that people have been messing around with pronouns in English since forever. Do you see 'heo' in Modern English? No, you do not! (Not that it was gender neutral, but the point is that even words as ancient as pronouns have changed quite a bit.) The early internet was full of pronoun stuff in MUDs and the like. You had a choice of a lot more than just three in a bunch of these. People besides men and women have always been in queer communities.

So some people like to cry about neopronouns being actually neo, and they're just wrong.

As for the why do you care part...

There is a nasty habit in contemporary queer spaces to act like gay rights issues are solved. Bisexuality? Passe! etc. Gays and lesbians finally got a little mainstream acceptance only to suddenly be treated like the worst of the establishment by the queer youth. How dare?!?! It's even more egregious with bisexuality where the focus of a bunch of queer activism finally swung that way in the 90s... only to be sharply cut off in the 00s.

There's a real "You already got yours. Where's mine?" vibe to some queer discourse today, and it's directed at people who never got theirs. It shows up in demands for mentorship by people who've barely had a chance to escape a rocky start and figure out who they are themselves. It shows up in yowling about this or that bit of queer media we finally got not being progressive because it's the wrong letter of the acronym.

None of which has a damn thing to do with what pronouns you use in your novel, obviously, but I think some unresolved embattled feelings are why some older queer people are very weird about pronouns.

Some of them are also doing the old person version of throwing the weirdos under the bus to placate the normies. Respectability politics became a term long before the behavior was rife on tumblr.

--

If someone really does find it pretentious, though, and not just as a cover for crying about nonbinary identities being fake, I suspect they just remember how 1970s SFF was full of privileged anthropology students misunderstanding kinship systems from elsewhere in the world and then trying to tell everyone how ~deep~ their extremely contrived novels based on them were.

I'm not saying your writing is like this or that every one of these old sff novels was either, but when I hear "anthropology student", I groan internally. It's an instinctive reaction. It's less about the real fields and more about the bevvy of dilettantes I've run into over the years who'll say they study those things but really want to talk my ear off about Joseph fucking Campbell or the strong form of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis or something.

--

Those birds are a really cool source of inspiration. Like with A/B/O, the first thing I wonder is how queerness works in that context and how much people like to defy their designated roles.

Omegaverse started on porn logic, so "The one I say tops always tops!" makes sense. When it gets expanded to try to make it make logical sense as a whole world, I often enjoy it, but it can break down quickly if treated as biology is law. I don't know how often the birds veer off of their set patterns, but humans certainly would.

One place where I get a strong "Oh god, this again" feeling from people's plotbunnies is when they're trying to make up a sff society that strikes me as too rigid in a way that real humans aren't. I'll see people using fake wolf biology (not just for horny reasons) but never looking at what's going on with gender in contemporary Thailand or whatever. Like... Le Guin may have made sedoretus feel plausible, but nobody I've ever seen stanning the concept as something fandom should play with has. That's probably because Le Guin was using over-complicated social norms as a thing that breaks down and causes trouble, and "This should be the next A/B/O!" posts are treating it as something that actually works and is a good way to get the pair you don't ship separated while shipping poly.

"It'd also help the reader keep track of who was a part of what group without my having to turn around and state people's coloration constantly."

This, in particular, gives me that cold shudder of recognition from when Homestuck fandom was everywhere and everyone wanted to over-explain those stupid playing card suits and why I should care.

Your concept sounds neat, and I think a set of four pronouns could easily make sense there...

But I also think that if people need the pronouns to keep track of coloration, you haven't set up a system that feels organic enough or haven't given enough cues about how characters are treating each other or why. Use the pronouns too, but just keep that in mind. It's like the "m/m is hard because the pronouns don't tell me whose hand is where" problem. It's almost never actually a pronoun problem.

--

Anyone else have thoughts here?

[yikesmary]

THREE: HE FALLS FIRST — choi seungcheol x reader

summary: seungcheol finds himself falling in love with you, slowly but surely, and it hits him all at once.

notes: i’ve been loving the reception this series has been getting lately! i appreciate everyone who has been reading and interacting with the series.

also, i'm going to start a taglist for this? someone asked to be on it if this series had one, and i didn't realize i could've been doing that the entire time LMAO. anyways, to get on the taglist, just comment on this or send an ask. i'll try to tag everyone i see.

JUNE 13 2023 EDIT: i've created a taglist, so instead of commenting to be on the taglist, click the link!

warnings: mentions of puking (doesn't actually happen), drunk shenanigans, it's very cliché and i don't regret it

join my taglist!

previous / next

“Cheol, can you come help me?”

When Seungcheol enters your room, he could feel himself getting slack jaw. Both of you were getting ready to go out to the club with your friends, and with the 14 of you, he could only expect chaos.

What he didn’t expect, though, was you in a beautiful dress that almost made his heart stop when he saw you. Call him cliché, but he'd never felt that way before about anyone.

Oblivious to reaction and how he was feeling at the moment, you were trying to make sure your dress wasn't in a disarray when you asked, "Can you help me zip up the dress? I can't reach it,"

Seungcheol didn't realize he was staring and unresponsive until you turned around in confusion and waved your hand in his face. "Hello, Earth to Cheol? You okay?" you said.

He, thankfully, had snapped out of his trance before it could be considered really weird. "Uh, sure. Turn around," he instructed.

Looking at him weird, you obliged and felt your dress being zipped up. You turned around and said, "How do I look? I wanted to dress somewhat nice since this is the first time we're all hanging out. It's like my little friend group combining with the frat friend group of yours,"

"You look good. Like, really good," Seungcheol replied, clearing his throat when he realized he might've overdone it.

You gave him a smile and then a thought occurred to you. "Oh, when are we ordering the Uber?" you questioned.

"Uber? Why are we ubering when we have a car?" He asked.

"Well, we're both going to a club, so I'm assuming we're both going to drink," you replied.

"I'll drive," Seungcheol immediately said, not liking the thought of the both of you drunk out of your minds and he wasn't able to take care of you.

"Are you sure, Cheol? We can split—"

"No worries, I'll be the sober one so we can get home safely,"

"Alright, but don't get mad at me when I'm stood over a toilet puking my body weight out and you're not drunk,"

"As long as you're not like Soonyoung pretending to be a tiger, I think I can handle whatever you do,"

You and Seungcheol had barely entered the club when Seungkwan and Seokmin had somehow already located the both of you then proceeded to drag you to take a shot. And it wasn't long after the shot until they had dragged you to the dance floor.

After he had made sure you were surrounded by his and your friends who had decided to dance, he made a beeline to the bar, where the rest of his friends were. Wonwoo, who had made a wise decision to stay sober, had tried to offer him a drink.

"Not drinking tonight," Seungcheol declined the drink.

The boys had given him a look at his decline. "Why aren't you drinking? Usually, you'd take a beer at least by now," Jeonghan asked.

"I just don't feel like it," he replied, looking at you from afar, who was currently dancing to I Am the Best by 2NE1. He had wondered why 2NE1 was playing until he looked at the DJ Booth and saw that Soonyoung and Seokmin had somehow convinced the DJ to takeover for a bit.

Once he said that, the boys had made a look once more, this time exchanging it to each other. Seungcheol had noticed and asked, "What's those looks for?"

"It's because you don't realize it," this time it was Jihoon who said it.

"Realize what?"

"Cheol, how long have we known you? We've known you long enough to know how you drink. And you don't deny a drink when it's offered to you. But this time, you're not drinking. Do you know why that is?" Jeonghan asked.

"You guys are overanalyzing this. What if I just don't want to drink?"

"Because you would be looking at us and not your girlfriend this entire conversation," Wonwoo told him.

Part of Seungcheol knew this was true, but the other part of him didn't want to believe it. To his friends, his behavior might make sense since he was in a relationship. But to him, it didn't since he knew better than to develop feelings for someone he was fake dating.

He had figured in the beginning that it would be easy to not develop any feelings during the relationship since the basis of the relationship was built on a poorly made rumor and a deal. But what he didn't know at the time was how easy it was being with you.

While Seungcheol was trying to reevaluate how he was acting lately, a loud "CHEOL!" was heard and a body had practically slammed into him. The force was so unexpected, you and him had nearly fell to the ground.

"Oh, sorry bro," you drunkenly said, oblivious to the fact that Seungcheol was shocked you called him bro and your friends were laughing at his reaction.

"Bro?" He incredulously said.

"Bro, Cheol, same difference," you shrugged.

"How drunk are you?" He asked.

"Well, Soonyoung gave me something he called 'Tiger's Blood' and I have no idea what that contained but it tasted good and it made me feel warm inside," you giggled.

When Seungcheol looked to where the aforementioned Tiger was, he saw that Soonyoung and Seokmin was trying to jump on a table with Jun encouraging them to, Minghao filming it, and Vernon trying to convince Soonyoung and Seokmin to get down.

Meanwhile, Jihoon had left during Seungcheol's conversation with you and joined Seungkwan and Chan (who had replaced Soonyoung) on the DJ Booth. Wonwoo had left as well, but he was helping out Mingyu who could barely get on his feet because of how clumsy he was (Mingyu's not even that drunk, he's just that clumsy).

Joshua and Jeonghan were the only ones who remained with you and Seungcheol, but they were observing the both of you.

Suddenly feeling sleepy, you laid your head on Seungcheol's chest and said, "Cheol, I wanna go home,"

Seungcheol knew that if he didn't do something to wake you up, he was going to have to carry your sleeping body out of the club. "Can I have a bottle of water?" He asked the bartender, who was quick to give the bottle.

He had managed to pay the bartender however much it costs for the water bottle while you were still in your arms. He opened the cold bottle before giving it to you saying, "Here. Drink this before we go home,"

You took the bottle of water and drank a couple of gulps, feeling more thirsty than you realized. Once you drank half of the bottle, you showed Seungcheol, who had nodded in approval. "We're gonna go," he told Jeonghan and Joshua, who said their goodbyes.

You and Seungcheol had to maneuver through the crowd of people, but he made sure that you were near him the entire time. And once you both were out, he realized that you were shivering a little, so he took off his jacket to cover you.

He was about to guide you back to the car, and then he realized you wore the heels that looked obscenely painful but said it made your legs look good. "Give me your heels," he told you, and you shook your head no.

"I'll be barefoot!" you exclaimed.

"Fine, just wear my shoes," he replied, taking off his shoes and handing them to you.

"But then you'll be barefoot!"

"I have socks on, I'll be okay," Seungcheol said, nudging the shoes to you.

You grumbled but put the shoes on, feeling slightly more sober than you were when you were inside the club.

Once you guys got in the car, it was barely two minutes before you fell asleep, using Seungcheol's jacket like a blanket. When he took a quick look at you while driving, he smiled when he saw the sight.

Maybe he was falling for you, after all.

taglist: @geniejunn

[nyxthejinx-rantsaboutlads]

ʀɪɢɢᴇᴅ ɢᴀᴍᴇ

Caleb thought he had failed you once by letting you die. What he didn't know was that he was destined to fail you again by dying himself.

Contains: GN!Reader, angst no comfort (reader from his universe dies and he kinda breaks down at the sight of them from another universe), Caleb's head is "[Name] [Name] [Name]" 24h, reader is not MC. Caleb is part of the Spider Society so if you haven't watched Across the spiderverse it will be a tiny bit confusing. Let me know if I'm forgetting anything!

A/N: Based on this post of mine, though it's a little different from the original idea. I read this a couple times but without obsessing too much over it, there might be mistakes. Still, I'm very satisfied considering I haven't posted while felling so chill in a while!

Caleb wasn't a good Spider-Man.

Deep down he had always known, even before learning of the existence of others like him, before seeing with his own eyes what a Spider-person actually acted like.

The first time he had questioned his beliefs was when he got his powers.

After the panic subsided he had started wondering about all the things he could do with such strength, reflexes and agility. All the things he could do for you, his everything. If anyone dared to bother you, they wouldn’t have been a problem for long; if you needed anything from the other side of town, he could’ve gotten it in a few minutes of swinging between buildings.

If you ever found yourself in danger, he would’ve been there to save you. Protect you.

Was that the correct way to act with such gift?

Even with his newfound responsibilities, all of his thoughts kept revolving around you. You, your happiness, your safety, your smile… How your touch warmed his skin like a ray of sun breaking through the clouds, or how your eyes always managed to ground him and banish the storm of thoughts brewing in his head. How the sharp jabs of his spider-sense faded into a dull buzzing in the background at the sound of your otherworldly voice.

You were his priority, always had been. Acquiring his powers hadn’t changed that.

Instead, he had just discovered a new tool to ensure your well being.

Then it became complicated, factors he hadn’t included in his calculation begun sprouting like weeds. The hiding, the lying, the violence and the corruption of people who had gone mad with of power, these things haunted him like grim reapers looking for his life. For yours.

But he would’ve never let them touch you.

Caleb had fought tooth and nail to keep you out of his second life and maintain your relationship with his first stable. He soothed your worries whenever a bruise showed up on his skin, shushed your questions the second you inched a little too close to the truth — or even just remotely hinted at it really.

He had gone up against these villains just for you, lest you got caught in the crossfire. For you, you, you you just you.

Eventually he had ended up swinging in to rescue innocent bystanders too — like any decent person, really — and that solidified his reputation: Spider-Man, the selfless vigilante, the hero of the people, blah blah blah... All he could think about was the way your eyes lit up at the mention of his masked self, he revelled in the admiration.

Life was good.

Until one day you had wreaked more havoc than any other enemy of his ever did.

The reassuring smiles and light-heated words he had fed you to avert your wandering imagination crawled out in the form of caustic anger and ugly sobs. He had been stupid enough to assume you would’ve trusted him blindly, not worrying about a thing just because he had told you so, but in truth your feelings had festered for months in the shadows.

You hated his lies, his habit of not taking you seriously, his lack of care for your emotions. You cried and spat all those words in his face as they hit him like a blizzard, a cold shower that snapped his eyes wide open.

Caleb had questioned himself a second time.

Had he been a good hero so far, if he couldn’t even prevent you from hurting? If he had been the one to wound you so deeply?

Was he a hero to begin with?

The sound of his apartment door clicking open had slapped him out of his brooding and the truth buried so deep for so long escaped his mouth in a simple sentence. “I’m Spider-Man”.

Anything to keep you close, to stop you from crossing that threshold and never look back again, even confess a dangerous secret like an everyday truth.

You knew, but that was okay. He would’ve made sure it didn’t affect your life any further, not in a negative way at least. He was going to protect you like always and forever.

If only had Caleb realised that was just the calm before the storm, the disaster, the point of no return. That after being lulled into the gentle peace of a life with you, you would’ve been ripped away from his arms the moment his eyes drooped. If only had Caleb known he had been set up for failure the very day he was born— No, the day the Big Bang exploded and gave life to his world.

…Your eyes were so kind, even as you died.

You had looked up at him with enough love to keep you both alive for a thousand lifetimes, if only humans were able to feed off of it. Your hand left a red stain behind as it trailed down his flooded cheeks and for a moment Caleb considered never washing again; he needed all the traces of you he could get, the proof that you had been there in his life and were not just a fever dream, a figment of his imagination— every shard of his crumbling mind shouted the same thing, unfazed by the twisted nature of its own thoughts: hold them close. Forever. Don’t let go. Never let go. nonononono—

Caleb finally admitted it, that night. Embraced the thought wholly: he wasn’t a good Spider-Man.

Spider-Man would’ve given a damn about the world all around, about the destruction and the innocents to rescue. Spider-Man wouldn’t have thought of a hundred different ways to make the culprit of this sin suffer as they died by his hand, he wouldn’t have wished for the whole damn universe to fall apart along with him, for all life to cease its existence along with yours.

Caleb wasn’t a hero. He was your protector and he had failed.

Green Goblin grunted as his face kissed the asphalt with a violent thud,

The man thrashed, his gloved hands clawing at the filaments wrapped snug around his limbs, but he was no match for them; he was ensnared, wounded, exhausted from dealing with two Spideys at once.

Eventually, he gave up.

Caleb landed beside the slumped figure, his impromptu companion following in tow. He fiddled with his society watch without even bothering to take off his mask, or explain to the poor spider-person by his side what the heck had just happened.

He was having such a bad day, worse than the others, The kind of bad day that made him wonder why he was still doing this, then made him remember your words from that night: “don’t stop doing good just because of me”. And eventually, made him suffer from bringing up the thought altogether.

He couldn’t wait to leave…

“Hey! You! You who look like me!” The fellow Spidey strutted up to him, the lenses of their mask wide as they took in him, then the 2099 technology on his wrist. “It’s not very polite to ignore a fellow friendly neighbourhood spider— holy shoot, what is that??”

Caleb sighed. The portal to HQ finally opened. He dug his fingers in the webbing around Green Goblin and tossed him inside without batting an eye.

“And what is that?!”

God, he just wanted to go back home and crash in his bed; he could feel an headache slither around his brain. The sleepless nights were finally catching up to him, and so were the… Hallucinations. The more this person spoke, the more they sounded like you, the more he needed to get out—

Just as he was about to step into the portal himself, the masked figure sprouted in his way like stubborn weed.

They had their back turned to him as they poked their hand inside the portal. “Wow, it tickles… Like I’m being broken up into smaller particles. And yes, it happened to me already, haha. You’d be surprised!”

“You—”

“No, wait, I know. Multiverse, right?” They snapped their fingers and chuckled happily, spinning to face him. “I knew it, it’s not just a theory! You opened the portal with that watch, right? Can I see it?”

Caleb’s jaw clenched. Your voice was so impossibly persistent, realistic to a fault. He knew there were other you’s all over the multiverse, but there was no way in hell you had been caught in the same trap as him and the others.

Or so he hoped. The thought alone made his breath falter and his chest hurt.

“No.” He cut the spider-person short, taking a step to surpass them and get to the portal. “It’s better if you don’t know, trust me Pips—”

Shit.

His whole body stiffened for a hot second, memories of his time with you gnawing at the bars of their cages as they desperately longed to come back to the front of his mind. The sound of your voice — or rather the person’s…? — Still rang in his skull hauntingly, all of his attention possessed once more by you you you—

“Pips? Pipsqueak?” You… No, the person sounded perplexed. He saw them tilt their head in his peripheral vision before they threw their hands up with a groan. “Ugh! Not you too! My best friend already calls me that. I could lift him with a finger- well, he doesn’t know that obviously, but he insists! ‘Pipsqueak this’, ‘Pipsqueak that’! So annoying.”

…No.

“Wait… your best friend?” Caleb frowned under his mask, his head slow as it swivelled towards them. “Who’s your best friend?”

“Really? I keep my identity secret for a reason.” They snorted. “I can’t tell you, but… We could reveal ourselves to each other. Promise I won’t tell a soul! If you let me take a look at that watch, that is…”

The last few words flew over his head. The only thing he could focus on was the sweet, cheeky chuckle you used to throw at him whenever you did something mischievous.

Did Caleb want to see your face, underneath that mask? God, yes. God, no. He had barely managed to pick up the pieces after his last glance to your glossy eyes, he wasn’t sure he had the strength or will to gather them once more.

He had seen you, the you’s out there. But never in person, never up close, where he would’ve been able to see all the tiny details that didn’t make you you. Where he would’ve sensed only a trace of your typical scent in someone else’s perfume, or heard faint whispers of you in a stranger’s voice.

This one sounded so real, though. So you that he almost deluded himself that at least another [Name] in the Multiverse was as perfect as his own.

…Who was he kidding? You were perfect in every dimension, in every time and in every space.

You being you was enough and the little things that made you unique in each world only added to your beauty. None of them was you, yet each of them was so unapologetically you. He never blamed the other versions of himself for falling for the same trap, it was a rigged game, a cruel joke of fate, something as unavoidable as becoming Spider-Man.

Well, for him at least. He had yet to meet another Spider-Caleb. For the sake of your life, he fervently hoped he was the only one in the whole billion of worlds out there.

Still, Spider-Man or not Spider-Man…

Falling for you was his canon event.

“Uh… You good?”

Caleb blinked. The vision of you he had conjured turned into a masked person. A masked version of you.

He had come to terms with the fact you were in there, but that didn’t make it any easier on his anguished, bleeding heart. The need to see you and the need to run from his one duty and failure pulled at the strings of his soul in a ruthless tug of war.

Until they snapped.

“…Let’s do it.”

Caleb heard a steady, alien voice break the silence before his mind had even processed the thought of opening his mouth. He was slipping away from his body, owner no more of his gloved fingers as they moved above his head and grasped the fabric of the mask.

You did the same, but frantically held up your hand. “Wait! On three!”

Oh, you.

“One.”

“Caleb?”

“Two…”

“Yeah, Pips?”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat and patted his head.

“You’re so lucky I love you. With all the stunts you pull…”

His heart exploded like a newborn star. And he smiled.

“I know, [Name]. I’m the luckiest man in all of existence.”

“Three!”

Fabric rustled as the masks slipped off of your faces.

And everything in Caleb’s vision melted into a blur of spilt watercolours.

Everything but you.

“No way!” You gasped. “Caleb?! Is that you??”

You pointed a finger at him, your eyes comically large, wide enough that he could see the planets, the galaxies, the tethers that kept together countless universes. He tried to suck in a breath, but his throat was tied into an infinitely tight knot, a collapsing star as it buckled under its own gravity and became impossibly dense.

There was a gaping, ever-expanding black hole inside of him, a voracious void that would’ve never been filled, not even if it devoured all of the multiverse.

Somehow the sight of you only made him yearn more.

The oozing, black wound in his chest widened.

“Hey, why are you crying?” You frowned. Genuinely concerned. Real. “Did I do something?”

Sweet, innocent [Name]. You had no faults, if not being born.

That was enough for fate to deem you unworthy of a normal, boring life, to be chosen as sacrificial lamb and forced to carry an unspeakable burden on your weary shoulders. He could see the signs, now that the truth was out, the marks this life had left on you: the well-concealed exhaustion, the faded scratches marring your skin, the self-awareness of someone who had seen so much and had yet to see much worse.

Your Caleb was still alive, after all…

As much as he wished to lie to himself, some things were destined to happen ever since before the birth of reality.

The realisation filled his head with cotton.

You were going to lose him. He was going to hurt you again.

Caleb had failed you twice and this time he felt more helpless than the other. You were going to survive and live with the same excruciating pain he had been enduring for months, the same black hole that had swallowed all the light of the world and rendered him utterly hopeless.

He had done this to you. Just by existing.

His knees buckled as he let himself drop to the ground, your startled shout distant and muffled, your touch on his shoulder colder than a corpse’s.

Caleb was no Spider-Man at all, but was there a real Spider-Man to begin with, if they were all so fine with their lovers dying for the sake of the greater good?

Maybe a real Spider-Man was real by not being selfish. By caring about the greater good more than a single person.

That confirmed it one last time.

Caleb wasn't a good Spider-Man.

[itsgrimeytime]

show me || Rick Grimes (TWD)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

dialogue prompts: “Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.” (2) + “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same as I do, then I’ll leave you alone.”  (36) + “I’m tired of being on the sidelines.”  (43)

Summary: You and Rick had something, you weren't quite sure what it was. After a few drunken mistakes during one of the dinner parties at Alexandria, Rick wants to make things crystal clear.

TWS: TENSION, blood, gore, gun violence (violence in general), alcohol, drunkness, drunken kisses, kind of dark!Rick, jealousy, possessiveness, protectiveness, all things consistent with TWD.

[[A/N: The vibes are in with this one, girlies. Kind of listened to Boyfriend by Dove Cameron for this one. SO... Be ready for that. Thanks for reading!!! ]]

Your head hurt after the night before, you couldn't quite remember why. Well, other than the drinks.

It had been the first dinner party after Alexandria, you were nervous and just kept sipping. Somebody kept giving you more, even though, you remember distinctly Rick (big hands and blue, blue eyes) warding them off. They continued when he wasn't by your side -beer after beer and maybe something... else? You couldn't really remember.

You gathered pretty quickly that Rick was mad at you that day, something about the way he composed himself -the steaming rage enveloping him, and it only continued for days.

Day after day, and nothing. Usually, you could read him like a book, but now, all you got was well, that he was mad at you. Not even to get you started on the way everyone else was distinctively ignoring your questions like Rick had told them to.

So, you stepped out of your comfort zone -you went straight to the most honest Alexandrian you knew. Or the one who would speak to you over Rick's head -Deanna.

There was something deep in your chest that told you somehow this was betrayal, but you had been driven far past that point. (One blue-eyed glare and complete head turn to ignore you past that point.)

"Hey," you spoke, a little uneasy.

"Hello, Y/N!" she smiled, big and bright, "-I'm glad to see that dinner has been going so well-"

"That's actually what I was here to talk to you about," you echoed, direct in your tone, "-last dinner party, I... I don't remember what happened."

"Nothing bad, I can assure you," she hummed, continuing to walk down the street, "-I'm well aware of anyone overstepping."

"Right, well, I'm glad, but-" you spoke, a little impatiently -eyes darting around, "-I don't remember."

"Nothing wrong with getting a little drunk," she spoke, something in her shifting, "-we understand the change is-"

"Deanna," you interrupted with finality, "-please, just tell me what happened."

She paused in her steps, turning around to fully face you -head on, and something in you shrunk at her inquisitive gaze. She looked at you a bit like a puzzle for a moment, before her eyes seemed to light up in understanding like she knew exactly what the issue was.

"Let's..." she began, slowly, "-Let's talk inside, shall we?"

You merely followed her up the steps and into her house, like a sheep to its shepherd -you were desperate. If she could help, you would just about do anything.

"I was wondering just what was with him," Deanna muttered to herself, "-makes so much sense now."

She led you to her living room, where the room was much the same in her own home, but she had photos -framed and set pristinely of faces you didn't quite know. Ones you doubted you ever would.

"Sit," she motioned, "-we have much to discuss."

"Much?" you questioned.

"Well, no, it's-" she started, but faltered for a moment, "-rather complicated."

"Complicated?" you questioned further, raising your voice.

"Look, I'm going to just tell you to avoid any further confusion. You kissed someone, can't remember who now-"

You paused, faltering for a minute, "That's it?"

"Rick saw," she finished as if it was some big reveal.

You and Rick had a thing, a very slight thing that neither of you had really even commented on or talked about. Hell, you hadn't even kissed the guy, but there was something there, a deep buzz under your skin. And something in the apocalypse was something, sure, but not if he didn't talk to you about it. Not if he-

You stopped your train of thought, "So?"

"Aren't you-" she seemed to pause, being taken off guard, "-Aren't the two of you together?"

"I'm sorry?" you asked, "-No, we're not... not really. He doesn't- It doesn't matter, drunkenly kissing a guy is no reason to get this pissy."

"It is if you're together."

"Deanna," you started, "-don't push your luck. Look, I have to go sort this out, do you-"

"Oh, no, please," she answered, quickly, "-I can't get a word in with the man right now. Fix it, go."

That's how you wound up here, ready at his door -he couldn't ignore you at his own home. You'd get him to listen.

"Rick," you addressed, direct as soon as the door opened and you saw the blue of his eyes, "-hey."

He seemed to still at your voice -frozen for a moment, before wordlessly moving around the kitchen. He was gathering up dishes, at a sure pace before, but now he'd begun much faster. As if he was trying to get away from you.

"Alright, enough-" you said, waltzing up to him, and turning his face to yours, "-why are you mad?"

Rick looked at you for a moment, and something in you almost grew shy at the attentiveness. Blue eyes dashing along your face like you were fresh water and he had been stranded in the desert.

And then, he stopped. Lifting his soapy hands to take yours off his face -a slow, gentle movement. The opposite of someone mad, you noted.

"Do we need to talk 'bout this?" He echoed, a little helplessly if you were honest.

"I don't know," you answered, "-you tell me. Can you not be mad if we don't talk about this?"

"I'm not," he sighed, turning back to the dishes -this time doing them leisurely, "-I'm not mad. I just..."

"You just what?" You asked, pointedly.

"I just think you can choose better people to kiss," he grumbled out so low you weren't even sure you'd heard him correctly.

But something in you fired off like a rocket.

"Seriously?!" You yelled out, a sort of toned frustrated yell, but still a yell, "-you are pissed because you don't approve?"

"That's not-"

"Well, I got good news for ya, Sheriff, I don't even remember who I kissed last night-"

"That's because he made ya so drunk-"

"-And on top of that, I can kiss who I want, when I want. It's not like you have any control over that-"

"I want to," he grumbled out, even lower.

You stilled, "I'm sorry...?"

He didn't speak for a moment, washing the soap off his hands -you watched the water trail down to his elbow. Scrubbing away at the dish towel, he dried them and turned to face you.

Rick's steps were slow and sure, you could hear the clink of the tile under his boot. And your heart started pounding with anticipation, maybe he was mad. Why was he getting so close-

He was just in front of you now, finger trailed under your chin, "Tell me to stop, if you don't want this."

You turned your head down to look at the tile, something in your breath catching that you could barely breathe. You just needed a second-

He flicked your eyes back to him, and you could feel his breaths on your lips, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel the same as I do, then I'll leave you alone."

"Rick-"

He raised an eyebrow, "I asked a question, Y/N."

"How do you feel?"

He roamed closer, eyes dashing between the two of yours and your lips, "I think you know, sweetheart."

You opened your mouth.

"But," he interrupted, "-if ya insist."

Rick pulled back slightly, hand leaving its trail to, instead, hold your wrists -gently, as his thumbs rubbed into your wrists. With another breath, he kissed your palms -pressing his lips there ever so slightly.

"I'm tired of being on the sidelines," he spoke, low and soft, "-I... I want it to be us. Together."

"Together?" You echoed.

"Like you stay in my house, you sleep in my bed, we go to dinners together instead of so... so far apart-"

"And you can tell me who to kiss?" You added, playfully.

"And I'm the only one you can kiss," he corrected with the smallest of grins, but there was something hard in his eyes. Something serious.

"So," you spoke, expectantly, "-kiss me then. So, I can see what I'm stuck with."

"Stuck?" He laughed, slowly leaning in, "-Oh darlin' you're gonna be far from stuck."

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (see full series list here)

1994

I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.

That's what Harry had written in his note to you and Sirius — and also in notes to Ron and Hermione too.

The pair of you had been livid, of course — "this is what happens when he's left alone with those people!" — and three days later, you stand on the doorstep to Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging with a group of other Order members.

"Alohomora," you say, pushing the door open. You make your way into the hallway, all the lights turned off.

Tonks lets out a whistle at a stack of antique decorative plates on a table beside her. "Wow, look at these plates, they're proper fancy! Just look — "

She immediately drops it with a crash.

"Oops," she says, repairing it with a wave of her wand.

You make your way up the stairs, unlocking the door with your wand while the others wait at the bottom of the stairs. Harry slowly emerges from the room, poking his head out the door, wand clutched tightly in his hand.

"Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out," Moody growls.

Harry doesn't lower his wand. "Professor Moody?"

"I don't know so much about 'Professor'. Never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."

Harry still doesn't move, clearly wary of your party.

"It's alright, Harry," you say gently. "We've come to take you away."

"P-professor?" he says disbelievingly. "Is that you?"

"Why are we all standing in the dark?" Tonks says. "Lumos."

The tip of Tonks's wand flares, illuminating the hall with light. You beam at the sight of your godson, already looking older than when you last seen him.

You stride forward and wrap him in a tight hug, beaming. "Good to see you, Harry."

"Yeah, you too..."

"Ooh, he looks just like I thought he would," Tonks says excitedly. "Wotcher, Harry!"

"Yeah, I see what you mean, Remus," Kingsley Shacklebolt says from the back. "He looks exactly like James."

"Except the eyes," Dedalus Diggle wheezes. "Lily's eyes."

Moody squints suspiciously at Harry, his magical eye pointed towards him searchingly. "Are you quite sure it's him? It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater personating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"

"Harry, what form does your patronus take?" Remus asks.

"A stag," Harry answers nervously.

"That's him, Mad-Eye."

Harry descends the stairs, still looking a bit confused, stowing his wand in the back pocket of his jeans as he goes.

"Don't put your wand there, boy!" Moody roars immediately. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost a buttock, you know!"

"Who do you know that's lost a buttock?" Tonks asks curiously

"Never you mind, just keep your wand out of your back pocket!" he barks, hobbling off to the kitchen. "Elementary wand safety, nobody bothers about it anymore..."

Wow, how many times did you hear that during your training?

"And I saw that," Moody adds irritably as you roll your eyes at the ceiling.

Remus holds out his hand and shakes Harry's. "How are you?"

"Fine..." Harry replies, looking as though he's still in shock at what's going on.

"I'm — you're really lucky the Dursleys are out..." he mumbles.

"Lucky, ha!" Tonks exclaims, grinning. "It was me that lured them out of the way. Sent a letter by Muggle post telling they'd been short-listed for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition. They're heading off to the prize-giving right now...or so they think."

She winks at you and you smile back, remembering the side-splitting laughter that had infected you as the two of you cooked up that idea a few nights previous.

"We are leaving, aren't we?" Harry asks. "Soon?"

"Almost at once," Remus says. "We're just waiting for the all-clear."

"Where are we going? The Burrow?" Harry asks hopefully.

You shake your head. "No, not the Burrow." You follow Moody into the kitchen, the group of Order members walking in after you. "Too risky. We're set up headquarters somewhere else, somewhere undetectable."

Moody sits at the kitchen table swigging from a hip flask, taking in the many electrical appliances in the Dursleys' kitchen.

"This is Alastor Moody, Harry," Remus tells, pointing toward him.

"Yeah, I know."

"And this is Nymphadora — "

"Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus," Tonks says with a shudder. "It's Tonks."

" — Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only," Remus finishes, glancing at Tonks.

She folds her arms. "So would you if your fool of a mother called you Nymphadora."

"And this is Kingsley Shacklebolt," Remus continues. "Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle — "

"We've met before," squeaks Diggle, dropping his top hat excitedly.

" — Emmeline Vance — Sturgis Podmore — and Hestia Jones."

Harry nods awkwardly at each of them in turn.

"A surprising number of people volunteered to come get you," Remus says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, well, the more the better," Moody says darkly. "We're your guard, Potter."

"We're just waiting for the signal to tell us it's safe to set off," Remus explains, glancing out the kitchen window. "We've got about fifteen minutes."

"Very clean, aren't they, these Muggles?" Tonks says as she looks around the kitchen with heat interest. "My dad's Muggle-born and he's a right old slob. I suppose it varies, just like with wizards?"

"Uh — yeah," says Harry, turning to you. "What's going on, I haven't heard anything from anyone, what's Vol — ?"

Several of the witches and wizards make odd hissing noises and Moody growls, "Shut up!"

"What?"

"We're not discussing anything here, it's too risky," Moody explains, looking around him warily with his magical eye.

"We can talk about it once we're back at headquarters," you say.

"How're we getting there?"

"Brooms," Remus replies. "Only way. You're too young to apparate, they'll be watching the Floo Network, and it's more than our life's worth to set up an unauthorised Portkey."

"She says you're a good flier," Kingsley says, gesturing to you.

"He's excellent," you reply proudly, smiling at Harry.

Remus glances down at his watch. "You better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes."

"I'll come and help you," Tonks says brightly, following Harry upstairs to his bedroom.

Remus pulls an envelope and piece of parchment out of his pocket, bending over the kitchen table to start scribbling something down. You walk around the room, looking at different photos of the Dursleys.

Baby Dudley, with a proud Petunia and Vernon standing over him; Petunia and Vernon on their wedding day; several more photos of Dudley growing up — there's an obvious absence of Harry. If a stranger were to walk into this room without knowing anything about the Dursleys beforehand, they would never know Harry even exists.

"What a strange device!" Podmore exclaims, curiously opening and closing the kitchen microwave while Kingsley stands behind him. He waves you over. "What does it do?"

Because of your Muggle father, you are often questioned on Muggle items and customs — though usually by Arthur Weasley.

"It cooks food," you reply. "It's called a microwave."

"A microwave..." Kingsley repeats thoughtfully, opening the door and peering inside with immense interest.

Nearby, Hestia laughs at a potato peeler that she came across in one of the drawers. You give her a look, confused as to what could possibly be so humourous about a potato peeler, but she just continues to snicker and giggle as she turns it over in her hands.

"Excellent," Remus says when Harry and Tonks return, Harry's trunk bobbing along in the air behind them. "We've got about a minute, I think. We should probably get out into the garden so we're ready. Harry, I've left a note telling your aunt and uncle not to worry — "

"They won't," says Harry.

"That you're safe — "

"That'll just depress them."

" — and you'll see them next summer."

"Do I have to?"

Remus smiles but doesn't answer.

"Come here, boy," Moody says gruffly, beckoning Harry towards him with his wand. "I need to Disillusion you."

Harry's brows knit nervously. "You need to what?"

"Disillusionment Charm," Moody replies, raising his wand. "Lupin says you've got an Invisibility Cloak, but it won't stay on while we're flying; this'll disguise you better. Here you go — "

He raps Harry hard on the top of his head and Harry's body takes on the exact colour and texture of the kitchen unit behind him, like some sort of human chameleon.

"Nice one, Mad-Eye," Tonks says appreciatively, and Harry looks down in surprise, spinning in place as he surveys his new look.

"Come on," Moody says, moving towards the back door and unlocking it with his wand.

You all step out onto the Dursleys' impeccably well-kept lawn. It looks practically untouched — a contender for the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition indeed.

"Clear night," Moody grumbles, peering up into the dark sky above. "Could've done with a bit more cloud cover. Right, you," he barks at Harry, pointing his finger at him, "we're going to be flying in close formation. Tonks'll be right in front of you. The rest'll be circling us. We don't break ranks for anything, got me? If one of us is killed — "

"Is that likely?" Harry asks apprehensively, but Moody ignores him. When he turns his worried eyes to yours you shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at Moody's grimness.

" — the others keep flying, don't stop, don't break ranks. If they take out all of us and you survive, Harry, the rear guard are standing by to take over; keep flying east and they'll join you."

"Stop being so cheerful, Mad-Eye, he'll think we're not taking this seriously," says Tonks as she straps Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage into a harness hanging from her broom.

"I'm just telling the boy the plan," Moody growls. "Our job's to deliver him safely to headquarters and if we die in the attempt — "

"No one's going to die," you say calmly, receiving a doubtful grumble from Moody in the process.

"Mount your brooms, that's the first signal!" Remus says sharply, pointing into the sky at the shower of bright red sparks flaring high above you.

You swing your leg over your broom — your dusty old Cleansweep Seven that you've had since you were fifteen and that has seen more of the inside of your garden shed than the open air — and wrap your hands around the flaking handle. You're a pretty average flier — nothing compared to James, of course...but who could ever compare to him?

"Second signal, let's go!" Remus says loudly, as this time green sparks explode into the air far above you.

You kick off hard from the ground. The cool night air rushes into you as you rise higher into the air, the houses and buildings of Little Whinging becoming smaller and smaller as your group ascends. Looking up, the sky is vast and clear, revealing the billions of gleaming stars twinkling above. You can't help the small rush of giddiness that sparks in you at the sight of it.

"Hard left, hard left, there's a Muggle looking up!" Moody shouts over the wind, and your circling group follows Tonks as she swerves, Harry close behind. "We need more height...give it another quarter of a mile!"

"Bear southeast and keep climbing, there's some low cloud ahead we can lose ourselves in!" calls Moody.

"We're not going through clouds!" Tonks shouts angrily. "We'll get soaked, Mad-Eye!"

You're glad to hear this, your fingers turning numb around the handle of your broom in the chill.

You alter your course every now and then according to Moody's instructions, you and the rest of the guard circling Harry and Tonks as you move.

"We ought to double back for a bit, to make sure we're not being followed!" Moody shouts.

"Don't be mad! We're nearly there now!" You yell, recognising the streets hurtling past below. "If we keep going off course, we won't have to worry about being followed because Harry'll have died from hypothermia by then!"

"Time to start the descent!" Remus orders. "Follow Tonks, Harry!"

You dive, flying lower and lower until you touch down on a quiet street with several less-than-welcoming houses lining it.

"Where are we?" Harry asks.

"In a minute," Remus says quietly, looking at Moody expectantly as he rummages around in his cloak.

"Got it," he mutters, pulling out Dumbledore's trusty Deluminator and clicking it. The nearest streetlamp goes out with a pop. Moody clicks the Deluminator again and one by one each lamp on the street distinguishes, leaving the faint glow of lit rooms behind curtains the only source of light on the street.

"Borrowed it from Dumbledore," Moody explains to Harry, pocketing the Deluminator once more. "That'll take care of any Muggles looking out the window, see? Now, come on, quick."

Together, your group makes it towards houses Number 11 and Number 13. Even though he's been Disillusioned, you can still see Harry's form shivering with the cold, and you make a slow sweeping motion down the length of his body with your wand, muttering a quiet warming spell under your breath. You hear him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thanks."

Remus tuts quietly under his breath. "No spell for the rest of us, then?"

You smile. "You're not my godson."

Even in the dark, you can see him rolling his eyes at you.

"Here," Moody says, thrusting a piece of paper towards Harry. "Read quickly and memorise."

"What's the Order of the — ?"

"Not here, boy!" Moody snarls immediately, his eyes wide. "Wait 'til we're inside!"

He snatches the parchment out of Harry's hand and lights it on fire, dropping it to the ground, the edges curling in the flame.

"But where's — ?"

"Think about what you've just memorised," Remus says quietly.

After a moment, the run-down door of the Black house emerges in the space between 11 and 13, followed soon by grimy walls and windows.

"Come on, hurry," Moody growls, prodding Harry in the back.

You tap the door with your wand. Loud metallic clicks and squeaks sound behind the door before it creaks open, revealing the darkened hallway beyond. "Get in quick, Harry. But don't go far inside and don't touch anything."

You shuffle into the hallway behind Harry, casting a wary eye to the curtained portrait at the end of the hall, waiting for Moody to finish returning the light to the streetlamps before closing the door behind him.

"Here." Moody raps Harry hard over the head with his wand, lifting the Disillusionment Charm and returning Harry to his usual, visible state. Probably could've been a bit more gentle with it, but whatever.

"Now stay still, everyone, while I give us a bit of light around here," Moody says quietly. With a soft hissing noise, the old-fashioned gas lamps flicker to life, illuminating the depressingly drab hallway you're standing in.

Hurried footsteps alert you to Mrs Weasley's entrance, emerging from the basement door with a smile on her face as she makes her way toward you.

"Oh, Harry, it's lovely to see you!" she whispers, pulling Harry into a tight hug before holding him at arm's length and examining him critically. "You're looking peaky; you need feeding up, but you'll have to wait a bit for dinner, I'm afraid..."

She turns to you and the rest of the Order members and whispers urgently, "He's just arrived, the meeting's started..."

Everyone starts to make their way through the door, and Harry moves to follow Remus when you gently hold him back, a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Harry. Order members only. We'll talk later, yeah?"

"Ron and Hermione are waiting upstairs, you can wait with them until the meeting's over, and then we'll all have dinner," Mrs Weasley whispers to him. "And keep your voice down in the hall."

"Why?"

"I don't want to wake anything up."

"What d'you — ?"

"I'll explain later, I've got to hurry, I'm supposed to be at the meeting — I'll just show you where you're sleeping."

You give Harry and Mrs Weasley a wave before heading down into the basement, opening the door as quietly as possible and slipping into your usual spot beside Sirius at the table while Dumbledore speaks to Remus and Moody about Harry. You listen as Dumbledore outlines plans and guard duty: looks like you're on tomorrow night. Brilliant.

Snape sits across from you, and when your eyes meet he gives you a near-imperceptible head shake. Nothing on Wormtail yet. Then his eyes shift to hatred as he wrinkles his nose at Sirius beside you, and you notice that your husband is currently pretending to scratch his nose with just his middle finger extended, directly in Snape's eyeline.

Of course.

When the meeting is finally over, most of the Order members file out of the kitchen and upstairs, speaking in hushed voices as they enter the hall. You pull one of the scrolls of parchment from the middle of the table into your hands, skimming your eyes over a plan of the Department of Mysteries, exits and entrances marked in red.

Just then, you hear a clatter and a great, thankfully muffled, screeching starts from the hall. You sigh, rubbing your temples, and move to stand up and deal with your darling mother-in-law when Sirius gently pushes you back into your chair, standing up.

"I'll handle it."

Bill and Mr Weasley sit close by, heads pressed together as they mull over parchment and documents. After a minute or two, the screaming stops and Sirius reopens the door, Harry following close behind with Remus and the rest of the kids.

Mrs Weasley clears her throat and Mr Weasley jumps to his feet, hurrying over to give Harry's hand a shake. "Harry! Good to see you!"

Bill starts to try and roll up the scrolls and you move to help him, handing him the plan of the Department of Mysteries.

"Journey all right, Harry?" he asks. "Mad-Eye didn't make you come via Greenland, did he?"

"He tried," Tonks says, striding over to help you and immediately knocking over a candle, sending the wax spilling onto the parchment. "Oh, no — sorry — "

"Here," you say, waving your wand and muttering a spell to repair the parchment. In the light your wand casts, you spy Harry trying to catch a glimpse of what's written on the parchment.

Mrs Weasley sees him too, and clicks her tongue disapprovingly, snatching up the scrolls and shoving them into Bill's arms. "This sort of thing ought to be cleared away promptly at the end of meetings."

She sweeps off towards a dresser to start unloading dinner plates and you grab a cloth and wipe down the table for dinner.

"Sit down, Harry," Sirius says, retaking his usual spot at the table. "You've met Mundungus, haven't you?"

Mundungus, who has been snoring away at the end of the table, stirs and jolts awake. "Someone say m' name? I agree with Sirius..."

He raises his hand in the air as though voting, and you snort.

"Meeting's over, Dung," you say with a smile, giving his back a poke as you pass by with more plates. "Harry's arrived."

"Eh?" He peers at Harry before his face lights in recognition. "Blimey, so 'e 'as! Yeah...you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah."

Mundungus fumbles in his pockets and produces his trusty black pipe, lighting the tip with his wand and taking a long pull from it. A cloud of green smoke thickens the air around him instantly.

"Owe you an apology," he grunts.

"For the last time, Mundungus," calls Mrs Weasley in frustration, "will you please not smoke that thing in the kitchen, especially not when we're about to eat!"

"Ah. Right, sorry, Molly."

He stuffs the pipe back into his pocket, with slight reluctance.

Soon, a series of heavy knives are chopping meat and vegetables on their own, supervised by Mr Weasley, while Mrs Weasley stirs a cauldron dangling over the fire. Mundungus, Sirius, and Harry are talking at the table, and from the few snippets you overhear you can tell Sirius is complaining about being stuck inside with nothing to do — which you don't blame him for.

"At least you've known what's been going on," Harry says bracingly.

"Oh, yeah," Sirius says sarcastically. "Listening to Snape's reports, having to take all his snide hints that he's out there risking his life while I'm sat on my backside here having a nice comfortable time...asking me how the cleaning's going — "

"What cleaning?" Harry asks.

"Trying to make this place fit for human habitation," Sirius replies, waving a hand around the dismal kitchen. "No one's lived here for ten years, not since my mother died, unless you count her old house-elf, and he's gone round the twist, hasn't cleaned anything in years — "

"Sirius?" Mundungus pipes up, eyes focused on a silver goblet in his hands, examining it with immense interest. "This solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," he answers, surveying the goblet with obvious distaste. "Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come off, though," Mundungus mutters thoughtfully, scrubbing the crest with his cuff.

"Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs Weasley shrieks.

Fred and George have bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, to hurtle through the air towards the table. Harry, Sirius, and Mundungus leap away, just in time to avoid the pot of stew that skids the length of the table before stopping at the end, the flagon of butterbeer that falls with a crash and spills over the surface, dripping onto the floor, and the sharp knife that slips from the breadboard and sticks in the table where Sirius' hand had been moments before.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" Mrs Weasley screams, face red with fury. "THERE WAS NO NEED — I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" Fred says, hurrying forward and wrenching the knife out of the table. "Sorry, Sirius, mate — didn't mean to — "

Harry and Sirius are laughing, and you turn your face away to hide your laughter from the furious Mrs Weasley. Mundungus struggles to his feet, swearing and muttering under his breath.

"Boys," Mr Weasley steps in, lifting the stew pot back into the middle of the table. "Your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now that you've come of age — "

"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Mrs Weasley snaps at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table while you clean away the mess from the previous with your wand. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy — "

She stops dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband. Mentions of Percy are not particularly welcomed in the house at the moment, after Percy and Mr Weasley had an especially heated argument and Percy chose his job at the Ministry over his own family.

"Let's eat," Bill says quickly.

For a few minutes, there is silence in the room but for the scraping of plates and cutlery and the creak of chairs as everyone settles down for the meal. You sit beside Sirius, who smiles and pulls your chair closer to his as you eat.

He tugs on the sleeve of your jumper, rolling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. "I like this, it suits you. You look very pretty."

You scoff, giving him a smile. "Of course you like it, Sirius, it's yours. Anyways, I'm thinking of going back home soon just to collect a few things," you say. "Is there anything you want? I am seriously missing my telescope here — "

A loud burst of laughter drowns out the rest of your words, as Fred, George, Ron, and Mundungus roll around in their chairs.

"...and then," chokes Mundungus, tears running down his face, "and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'Dung, where did ya get all them toads from? 'Cause some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back off me for twice what 'e paid in the first place — "

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings thank you very much, Mundungus," Mrs Weasley says sharply.

"Beg pardon, Molly," he answers at once, wiping his face and winking at Harry. "But, you know, Will nicked 'em off Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing anything wrong — "

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seemed to have missed a few crucial lessons," Mrs Weasley says coldly, before shooting a particularly nasty look at Sirius and standing up to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for dessert.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Mundungus is certainly not the most law-abiding man, but he has his uses.

"Molly doesn't approve of Mundungus," Sirius says quietly to Harry.

"How come he's in the Order?"

"He's useful," Sirius mutters. "Knows all the crooks — "

"Well, he would, seeing as he is one himself," you add, taking a sip from your wine.

Sirius nods. "He's also very loyal to Dumbledore, who helped him out of a tight spot once. It pays to have someone like Dung around, he hears things we don't. But Molly thinks inviting him to stay for dinner is going too far. She hasn't forgiven him for slipping off duty when he was supposed to be tailing you."

Several helpings of crumble later, the air in the room moves to a relaxed laziness as you finish telling the story of Remus's first time getting drunk at Hogwarts to Tonks, who giggles and laughs while Remus shakes his head and becomes increasingly interested in his goblet. Sirius's hand rests on your hip, idly drawing circles with his finger.

"I don't — uh — I don't remember that," Remus says, cheeks crimson as he glances at Tonks to see her reaction.

You hum, smiling at him. "Well, I certainly do. "

Tonks smiles appreciatively at Remus, yawning loudly.

"Nearly time for bed, I think," Mrs Weasley says, yawning too.

"Not just yet, Molly," Sirius says, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. "You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The change in the atmosphere is rapid: Mrs Weasley sits bolt upright, her fists clenched; Remus lowers his goblet warily, eyes meeting yours.

"I did!" Harry says indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so — "

"And they're quite right," Mrs Weasley says firmly. "You're too young."

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happen — "

"Hang on!" George interrupts loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" says Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!"

"You're too young, you're not in the Order," Fred says in a high-pitched imitation of his mother. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's been doing," Sirius says calmly. "That's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand — "

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" Mrs Weasley says sharply, a dangerous look on her face. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" His tone is polite, but you spot the familiar tense in his jaw and know that this calmness won't last long.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," Mrs Weasley replies stonily.

Everyone else in the room is dead silent, their eyes flitting between Sirius and Mrs Weasley as though watching a tennis match. You meet Remus's eyes across the table, subtly shaking your head.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," says Sirius. "But he was the one who saw Voldemort come back. He has more right than most to — "

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" Mrs Weasley snaps. "He's only fifteen — "

"And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order, and more than some — "

"No one's denying what he's done!" Mrs Weasley's voice rises, her fists trembling with anger. "But he's still — "

"He's not a child!" Sirius says impatiently.

"He's not an adult either! He's not James, Sirius!"

Sirius stares back at Mrs Weasley, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. His voice is ice. "I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly."

"I'm not sure you are!" Mrs Weasley says hotly. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" says Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him! You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" Sirius demands, his voice rising.

"Meaning you've been known to act rashly — "

"Enough, both of you,” you say loudly, stopping the two. You inhale deeply. "Harry deserves to know a certain amount. He has been left in the dark for a month, and I have no doubt that he's used this time to come up with a few interesting theories of what's been going on. Don't you think he deserves to know what is true, from us, rather than a muddled version from...others?"

You don't doubt that a few of Fred and George's Extendable Ears have survived Mrs Weasley's purge.

Mrs Weasley looks back at you, breathing deeply. "Well..." she looks around the table for support, but receives none. "Well...I can see that I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart — "

"He's not your son," Sirius says quietly.

"He's as good as!" Mrs Weasley snaps back fiercely. Great, just when you thought the argument had come to an end. "Who else has he got?"

You pause, hoping you misheard her.

"He's got us!" Sirius snaps back, gesturing between you and him.

"Yes. The thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

Immediately, you feel your anger flare and you glare daggers back at her. "It's not like he had a choice, Molly!" You snap defensively. "How could you say something like that — "

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," Remus says sharply. "Sirius, sit down."

Sirius, who had begun to rise from his chair, sinks slowly back into his seat, face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this," Remus continues calmly. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry says at once.

Mrs Weasley looks at him for a moment, swallowing harshly. "Very well. Ginny — Hermione — Ron — Fred — George — I want you out of this kitchen, now."

Instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George cry together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" Ron shouts.

"Mum, I want to!" Ginny wails.

"NO!" shouts Mrs Weasley, her chest heaving as she stands. "I absolutely forbid — "

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," Mr Weasley says wearily. "They are of age."

"They're still at school — "

"But they're legally adults now."

"I — alright, fine, Fred and George can stay, but Ron — "

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" Ron says heatedly. "Won't — won't you?" He adds uncertainly, meeting Harry's eyes.

"'Course I will."

Ron and Hermione beam.

"Fine!" Mrs Weasley shouts. "Fine! Ginny — BED!"

You hear Ginny stomping and raging at her mother all the way up the stairs, awakening Walburga's portrait when she reaches the hall. You sigh, hurrying off to force the curtains shut over the crazy woman with immense effort. You return, shutting the door to the stairs behind you, and fall back into your seat with a heavy sigh.

"Okay, Harry...what do you want to know?" Sirius speaks.

"Where's Voldemort? What's he doing? I've been trying to watch the Muggle news," Harry asks immediately, "and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything — "

"That's because there haven't been any suspicious deaths yet," says Sirius. "Not as far as we know, anyway...and we do know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do, anyway," Remus adds.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asks.

"He doesn't want to draw attention to himself at the moment," you answer. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't quite come off the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," Remus says with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry questions, perplexed.

"You weren't supposed to survive!" Sirius says. "Nobody apart from his Death Eaters were supposed to know he'd come back. But you survived to bear witness."

"And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore," says Remus. "And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once."

"How has that helped?"

"Are you kidding?" Bill says incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of!"

"Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix the day Voldemort returned," says Sirius.

"So what's the Order been doing?" asks Harry, looking around the table at everyone.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," Sirius answers.

"How do you know what his plans are?"

"Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," says Remus, "and Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?"

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," says Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they'll be just one group he's after. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters."

"So you're trying to stop him getting more followers?"

"We're doing our best," you say.

"How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard," Bill tells. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because the Ministry is still in denial," you say with a sigh. "You saw Fudge after Voldemort came back, Harry — he hasn't changed his mind at all. He's completely refusing to believe it."

"But why?" Harry asks desperately. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore — "

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," says Mr Weasley with a wry smile. "Dumbledore."

"Fudge is frightened of him," you say.

"Frightened of Dumbledore?" Harry says incredulously.

"Frightened of what he's up to," says Mr Weasley. "You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want — "

"Of course he doesn't," Mr Weasley speaks, adjusting his spectacles. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job."

Remus clears his throat. "Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore's much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice. But it seems that he's become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" Harry says angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that I'd make it up?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," Sirius says bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilize him."

"Ignorance is bliss," you say sardonically.

"You see the problem," Remus says. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they don't really want to believe it in the first place. What's more, the Ministry's leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's 'rumourmongering', so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened, and that makes them easy targets for Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius Curse."

"But you're telling people, aren't you?" says Harry, looking around the table. "You're letting people know he's back?"

You smile humourlessly.

"Well, as everyone thinks I'm a mass murderer and the Ministry's put a ten-thousand galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?" Sirius says grimly.

"And people don't exactly find the wife of said criminal the most trustworthy either," you say bleakly, shrugging.

"I'm not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community," Remus tells. "Occupational hazard of being a werewolf."

"Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off," Sirius explains, "and it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a few people though," Mr Weasley says optimistically. "Tonks here, for one — she's too young to have been in the Order last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt's been a real asset too. He's in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he's been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet."

"But if none of you is putting the news out that Voldemort is back — " Harry begins, but Sirius stops him.

"Who said none of us was putting the news out? Why d'you think Dumbledore is in so much trouble?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asks.

"They're trying to discredit him," Remus explains. "Didn't you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that's the Wizard High Court — and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too."

"But Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog cards," Bill chimes in, grinning.

"It's no laughing matter," Mr Weasley says shortly. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore's out there and wise to what he's up to, he's going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore's out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Harry asks quickly.

You exchange a glance with Sirius before he says, "Stuff he can only get by stealth."

Harry stays looking confused, and Sirius continues, "Like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."

"When he was powerful before?"

"Yes."

"Like what kind of weapon?" Harry asks. "Something worse than the Avada Kedavra — ? "

"That's enough."

From the shadows beside the door, Mrs Weasley stands, her expression furious. "I want you in bed, now. All of you."

"You can't boss us — " Fred begins.

"Watch me," she snarls, before turning her unapproving gaze on Sirius. "You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straight away."

"Why not?" Harry says. "I'll join, I want to join, I want to fight — "

"No."

This time, it's not Mrs Weasley who speaks, it's Remus.

"The Order is comprised of overage wizards," he says.

"Wizards who have left school," you add quickly, seeing the twins open their mouths. You sigh, pushing your chair away from the table, patting Sirius's arm softly. "Molly's right, Sirius. We've said enough. I think it's time everyone got some rest."

He gives a half-shrug but doesn't argue, waiting as Mrs Weasley leads her children and Harry upstairs to their bedrooms.

Later, you yawn around your toothbrush, facing the mirror in the dimly-lit ensuite off Sirius's bedroom.

"She can't seriously think leaving Harry in the dark about all this is the better option," Sirius muses testily, idly fiddling with your jewellery on the nightstand as he talks. "He's not a child. He's deserves to know what's going on."

"I agree."

"And the way she brought up James — as if I can't tell the difference between my best friend and my godson," he continues in frustration. "I know he's not James, of course I know that — "

You spit into the sink, pulling the tap to rinse it out. "She didn't know James. She doesn't know how difficult it is to stop yourself from looking at Harry and seeing him. How hard it is to not look for him and Lily in everything."

"No," Sirius says after a moment. "She doesn't."

You run your hands down your face, sighing. "I can't believe she said that thing about you in Azkaban. I can't believe she would stoop that low, as if you had any fucking choice to be in there."

"She hates me," he says. "Do you see the looks she gives me?"

"She doesn't hate you," you tell him wearily, flicking off the light and closing the bathroom door behind you. You lean against the doorframe, folding your arms. "She's scared and worried about Harry, that's all. She's stressed."

"She's not the only one."

"No, she's not," you say softly, making your way over to where he sits on the bed, gently taking his face in your hands. "Look, forget about it now. What's done is done, there's no use dwelling on it now."

He sighs, leaning into your touch with a small sigh. "You really are the most amazing woman I've ever met."

"I try."

He kisses your knuckles one by one, then presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "And clever."

You hum, watching as his lips slowly travel up your arm, arriving at your neck, where he lingers for several moments to kiss every inch of exposed skin he can reach. "And beautiful."

He pulls you toward him so you're straddling his legs, and he grins. "So very beautiful indeed."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter twenty-seven here!

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated

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[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Lesbians WIN & I'm excited about a Thai BL again!

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

April 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 12 eps - Adaptation of Chinese novel Professional Body Double by Shui Qiang Cheng. Stars Up (Lovely Writer) and Poom (Bake Me Please) directed by the same team as KP (not a recommendation IMHO - my biggest criticism of KP was the clashing directing styles). The MDL description made it sound complicated af but actually it's not so bad. In fact it's GOOD.

Stuntman Joe dies on the job and wakes up in the body of another Joe who has an entirely different life. But our Joe just gets his new body right back into his old existence, full of friends, enemies, and one troublesome ex. Poom is absolutely killing it in the lead. Mek is perfectly cast as the Actor du Jerk. I’m not sold on Up’s bratty brokenhearted rich kid... yet. The show though, I like it. I like a one (two) night stand starting things off and I like a lot of morally gray characters. Fun fun!

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 8fin - The lesbian moms are the cutest thing in the world and my favorite thing this week. Bar none.

Summation:

It's about a host club and all the gay boys in it and some stuff that's not important because... PEOPLE OF EARTH WE HAVE A HONEST REP OF POLY IN A BL. Stand up and raise your hands in prayer to the Thai BL gods because sure as shit no one else was ever going to give this to us. For that alone this show gets 8/10 from me. Bonus Lesbian moms and great kisses.

Two Worlds (Thurs iQIYI) ep 7 of 10 - Say what you want about MaxNat all these years that they've been paired makes them great onscreen boyfriends. And you know me, I'm a total sucker for linguistic negotiation. Makes my heart go all mushy. That said, now that the leads are together, I’m really uninterested in all the drama around the ex-boyfriend/triangle. I'm glad this is only 10 eps.

1000 Years Old (Thurs iQIYI) ep 11 of 12 - They gave me the tiniest teaser for the kinky vampire BL that I have wanted my whole life. And now I'm just fucking annoyed with the rest of the show. 

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 3-4 of 16 - Q & Toey are the only interesting thing going on. I actually didn’t like this pair in My School President, but I’m enjoying them here. The others are all fine but these two have my heart. I have questions like: did Phum ever get his shopping bags back? And why is Phum driving a different colored car half way through the ep?

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - The quality is good (it’s GMMTV) but the acting is... not. Still I loved that Moo just made the confession for both of them. Very in character. Does this plot remind anyone else of Footloose? Just me? Side couple was cute but now a bit too stalker for me. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues YouTube & Viki) ep 10 of 12 - It’s fantastic. Such a great show. We are so lucky. This is basically Taiwan’s The Eights Sense. I didn’t know they had it in them, but I’m really glad that they did.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - As JBL’s go this is way more my speed (than Alaska). It’s just so sweet and awkward but charming about it. The confession was so earnest. 

Blue Boys (Korea YouTube) 2 of ? No MDL link - It’s very sexy this one. Not sure what Korea thinks it's doing, but I’m not mad about it. 

Gray Shelter (Korea Thurs iQIYI) ep 5fin - summation: About a slacker nursing a crush on the (brief) older stepbrother who abandoned him. Upon finding him again he moves in with him, upends the mans lost suffering life. A dark gritty piece with confusing subs making it too chewy to really grok. It's trying to do too much for its length. The tension is real and the acting is good, it's just everything else stymied clean execution of the core concept. Frankly I spent this show expecting (and wanting them) to just fall into bed together - in a kind of desperate fight sex. It didn’t happen, and I’m disappointed by the non-ending we got. (Whether it’s going to have more in the series or not.) 7/10 I'm open to changing the rank if a part two fixes this one's flaws.

Boys Be Brave AKA Roommates (Korea Thurs Viki) ep 1-2 of 8 - Oh dear. Terrible hair. Jock nerd pairing. OCD baby cakes. Cohabitation trope. Killer side couple. Def unhinged. 

At 25:00 in Alaska AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I’m still genuinely not sure about this one. It’s just a little too awkward for me in the wrong way. I expect all Japanese BL to have a certain aura of awkwardness so I don’t know what it is about this one turnign me off. I do enjoy that we’re getting both stories, the one between the actors, and a little bit of the roles that they’re playing on screen but... yeah

Love is like a Cat (Korea Mon Viki) eps 7-8 of 12 - The leads finally had a moment but there is negative chemistry. Why am I watching this? 

It's airing but...

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

Memory in the Letter (Thai WeTV) - 6 eps, when it's done, tell me if I should bother?

In case you missed it

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) 6 eps - finished its run but I won't be finishing it. Stays dropped.

GMMTV announced the second half of their 2024 line up. I got excited and picked my favorites, details + trailers here. Basically my ranking is:

The Heart Killers

ThamePo

Revamp

Sweet Tooth

Perfect 10 Liners

The Ex-Morning

Ossan’s Love Thailand

Next Week Looks Like This:

What happened?

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous pairing) and Best, news here. But will it actually air this month?

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

I have adopted him. He is MINE. I love him, your honor. (The Stand In)

I love them SO MUCH. (Deep Night)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

[who-mentioned-rhys-larsen]

Happy white day guys! >.<

Fic written for @poisonf0rest for the fic event! Hope you enjoy it girly!

Word count- 1.5k

Summary- you get a bit too drunk and your lover had to help <33

A/N- apologies if you were expecting smut, I didn't feel like smut would do this justice and I didn't feel like Zayne would do anything if you were drunk, he seems like the kinda guy who would want your explicit consent first. And the reason I chose Zayne was because I felt like he would be the calm to your wild streak :) And one more thing, I don't know how people act when drunk, I wrote some bits in here based off my own experience of my friends and ik that not every drunk person acts the same but I've never drunken alcohol so I wouldn't knowwwwww and js wanted to lyk teehee, lemme stop rambling now.

Content warnings! Cute fluff tbh, mention and use of alcohol but also the mention of assault (Idk if being grabbed by someone random counts as assault but I thought I'd mention it in case it does) I don't think I missed anything but pleaseeee lmk if I did

A lil' bit of love ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a cold October's evening and you had gone out for drinks with Tara at a new club that had opened downtown. You had told Zayne about your plans in advance and he decided to just 'circle around the area' in case something were to happen. He knew you'd be fine, you always were, considering the multiple other situations you had gotten yourself into. Such as the one time you went out with your friends for a walk and found an abandoned shopping cart in the middle of a pathway so you decided to push each other around in it for fun, but…then it fell over and you broke your arm. Needless to say, he wasn't the happiest when you turned up to Akso with your arm in a makeshift sling. But no worries, that was 3 years ago.

The place was warm and quite stuffy too, a stark contrast to the biting cold weather outside. The smell of alcohol and the loud music overwhelming anyone who stepped inside like a thick, suffocating blanket. The lights above the bar were a dim blue in the dark place, just about illuminating everything else. Most of the lights came from the dancefloor not too far away, the flashing lights being an epileptic nightmare. The sleek, black marble countertops had little flecks of gold in them, making it seem a bit more elegant than it really was. And to top it off, the food and alcohol were pretty high quality.

See, the original plan was to go out and have a few cheeky drinks and a bit of fun. But nothing ever goes according to plan, no? You might have liked the taste of a drink too much and wanted more to mindlessly sip on for the sake of drinking something and without realising how much you had drunk, you were, well, drunk. Quite drunk actually. Seems like the alcohol had done it's job.

It was quite late now, about 23:43. You guys had just decided that perhaps it was time to disperse and go back home. Everyone went their separate ways and forgetting your fiancé's words, you decided to stand outside and wait for a cab. The chill in the air rendered you shivering as you hugged your little puffer jacket tighter around yourself. The little red dress/ cropped shirt and flared jeans/ black cocktail dress did little to keep you warm in the frosty display. (You can choose what you're wearing, just wanted to give some inspo!) It kind of reminded you of your lover when he was mad. Ah, Zayne…oh, Zayne! Shit, he's waiting for you!

With a newfound purpose, you turned around to set down the street, only to walk straight into a wall. A wall of muscle and cheap, off-white polyester, actually, Confused, you looked up to find some guy…Ew. You rolled your eyes and turned to walk around him, but not before he opened his mouth to pitch his ideas as to why you should come home with him.

"Hey gorgeous, you look like you need a ride. You can use me if you want."

He drawled with a smirk.

"Nooooo, I'm taken~"

You replied, still quite aware that you had to make a move to get away from this guy as quick as possible. But he didn't quite want you to go.

"Where are you going my pretty princess? I'm not done with you yet."

He spoke in a low voice as he reached out to grab your arm, stopping you from going anywhere.

"Hey, get off me you bastard!"

You exclaimed as you tried to pull your arm away.

"Hey- stop struggling!"

He snapped back, grabbing your other arm to try and drag you with him.

However, before you could even react to the new addition, an icy yet familiar voice sounded from behind you.

"I think the lady told you to leave her alone. I suggest you let go of her before I make you."

While you stood there, unable to tell what was going on behind you, the perpetrator retracted his arms and walked away with an eye-roll, grumbling to himself under his breath like a child throwing a tantrum because they didn't get what they wanted. As he walked away, you watched him silently go back to a group of other guys before they all walked off together. Who knows what else could've happened if Zayne didn't show up on time?

You slowly turned around to look at him, the frown on your face turning upside down at the sight of him. Exclaiming, "Zaynie!" in a bubbly and slightly slurred voice, practically jumping on him with a hug as his hands came up hold your waist and steady you.

"Careful love…let's go home now. I'd assume you'd want to after what just happened."

He murmured softly in your ear as he started to direct you to where his car was parked. He didn't get a chance to even ask you about how the rest of your night went before you went and started your drunken rambling, your exaggerated expressions and slurred speech adding to the amusement. The wind whipped around you, inevitably messing up your neatly set hair and tousling your appearance. A shiver shot through you and he couldn't help but chuckle beside you. He stopped, turning you around by your shoulders to face him.

Murmuring, "Silly girl…", he gently brought his hand up to fix your hair and wonky septum before cupping your face and pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, smiling against your skin.

Noticing how cold you actually were, he removed his jacket and placed it over your shoulders instead.

"Won't you get cold?"

You asked worriedly, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

"No. Besides, the cold never bothered me anyways."

He replied, a smirk curling up his lip.

~

Once you guys got to his car, he drove you both home, though you were fast asleep like 5 minutes into the drive. When you got there, he parked the car and turned it off but he didn't have the heart to wake you up. So, he picked you up and just carried you in, making sure to take your purse as well. He laid you down on the bed, helping you to remove your shoes and taking a pair of cosy pyjamas from your wardrobe for you to change into.

"You shouldn't sleep in those clothes love. It's uncomfortable."

He murmured lovingly in your ear, gently coaxing you awake.

"Mmh…dun wanna."

You mumbled, quite annoyed at being woken up and snatched from the jaws of delicious sleep.

Turning onto your side in an attempt to run away from being awoken again, you were displeased to find that he was, in fact, not having it, picking up your limp body like a child and forcing you to sit upright.

"Change."

He commanded in a firm voice, dropping the pyjamas in your lap. Rolling your eyes with a groan, you stood up and walked to the bathroom, peeling off your clothes sleepily and changing into your pyjamas, a pair of cotton red and black ones with fluffy hemming/ a pair of silken black pyjamas/ a long/ short cotton blue nightdress. (You can choose what you're wearing again, just wanted to give some inspo! <3)

By the time you came back, he was in his own pyjamas by the bed and was putting some things on your bedside table for when you woke up later such as Advil for hangovers; some water in case you woke up thirsty; and a bin in case you needed to throw up and would be unable to make it to the bathroom in time. You didn't take much notice of it in your drunken, half asleep state, but you'd show him some extra love tomorrow.

You crawled into bed beside him, all tired and just wanting to sleep. He pulled you into his arms lovingly, letting you lay your head against his chest comfortably. You simply allowed yourself to be engulfed by his warmth, his arms encapsulating you and leaving you immobile. But that was no problem for you. Before you drifted off into sleep again, you heard your favourite words grace your ears again.

"Love you…sleep well, my girl."

He whispered softly, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple and leaving you to fall asleep with a smile on your face.

The endddd! <3

@unintentionalseductress

[tyrantisterror]

An Incomplete List of Supervillain Archetypes

Ok, so my first attempt to brainstorm some supervillain prompts was derailed in a very perplexing way, but I am undeterred! Let's try this again in a way that's honestly a bit more fitting with my usual process - namely, by looking at the genre in question ans figuring out what archetypes are there, as well as what kind of... well, the words "theme" ad "motif" seemed to confuse people last time, so let's use the word "flavor" here for. So yes, a list of archetypes and flavors.

An incomplete list, as you no doubt noticed from the title here, because 1. while I've consumed a fair amount of superhero media, I'm by no means an expert and 2. I'm purposely leaving out archetypes and motifs that are dependent on a pre-established hero. That means no Mirror Universe counterparts, evil doppelgangers, guys with the same powers as the hero but they're evil, evil living versions of the hero's costume, etc. This is a list to make a rogue's gallery that isn't necessarily based around a particular hero - rogues for the sake of having rogues, rather than to further one good guy's narrative. We're not trying to make Morlun the interdimensional vampire who only eats Spider-Men here.

And since this is an incomplete list, I am officially inviting you, the person reading this, to point out anything big you think I missed! Just don't start listing college majors, ok? I already have another post about supervillain archetypes that's gathering a list of college majors. Inexplicably.

Supervillain Archetypes

Ok, we're gonna start with a list of, like, personality and story roles supervillains tend to come in. The Archetypes, if you will.

The Bank Robber with a Gimmick - the Silver Age classic. You rob banks and do other naughty but not-necessarily lethal crimes, but more than that, you do it with a gimmick, and goddamn are you devoted to committing to the bit. The bit is more important than the crimes - in fact, the crimes are really just a means to make everyone pay attention to your gimmick.

The Evil Genius - you are extremely book smart and are making it everyone's problem. Again, no need to suggest what degree the mad scientist has, I have a whole post where people are inexplicably doing that already!

The Big Monstrous Guy - you're a big guy with some sort of hideous deformity/mutation that makes you look like a monster. It may also make you act like a monster, although it's just as likely you only act that way because everyone treated you as a monster first. You are often reduced to being the dumb muscle in a given scene, but might get moments of pathos that show how hard it is to be a big monster guy.

The Wildcard - you're an agent of chaos who doesn't really have a plan/goal beyond making everything escalate as quickly as possible, and that's why we love you. In-universe, though, almost everybody thinks you're very annoying.

The Copycat - your villainy hinges on imitation. You are adept at stealing other people's identities, disguising yourself as someone else, and/or even taking the super powers of another person outright. Ultimately, the threat you pose isn't inherent to you - it's something your victims brought to the table.

A Normal Businessman - you view all people and things as nothing more than resources to exploit in your pursuit of wealth and power. Love for anyone but yourself is a weakness to be exploited, and all other living beings are only worth whatever labor you can extract from them as quickly and cruelly as possible, and should be discarded ruthlessly and without mercy when they no longer provide you that utility. In the real world you'd be treated like royalty, but since this is a fictional world, you actually face... resistance? Somehow? As if someone wants people like you to actually face consequences. How unnatural.

The Foreign Tyrant - you rule some made-up country, planet, or plane of existence that doesn't exist in the real world and thus can be as comically awful and dystopian as the writer desires. Everything that's wrong with your foreign home is more or less your fault, because you rule it with an iron fist. You tend to be pretty theatrical about it, too.

The Mind Taker - you're a villain whose main scheme involves some form of mind control, brainwashing, or other methods of forcibly recruiting innocent people into serving you. You're often a seductive figure, and always a manipulative one.

The Mind Fucker - you screw with people's perception of reality in order to enact your schemes. Maybe you send their feelings into overdrive, maybe you dazzle their senses with magnificent illusions, but ultimately you make it that anyone who wants to oppose you has to fight their own mind in the process.

The Jekyll and Hyde - you're not a bad guy, really! But, well... sometimes a part of you takes over, something you bury deep inside, something you really want to keep caged inside you. And when that "other guy" comes out, well... they're pretty bad, actually.

The Anything But Retail - you approach super-villainy the way you would any other job. You're not here for the love of the game or because you're theatrical - this is just the only thing that pays the bills that you can see yourself doing.

The All-Time Hater - you are, quite literally, a hateful person, and by gum you are going to make everyone know it! None of your schemes serve any goal except making people you hate suffer - your only ambition is to make life worse for others.

The Super Mafia - you walked straight out of a gangster movie and into a Saturday morning cartoon, and somehow that transition wasn't nearly as difficult as it should have been. Time to make these costumed fucks sleep with the fishes, even if all your goons now carry harmless laser guns instead of actual pistols.

The Planet Eater - you are a villain whose threat is so great that you threaten the very narrative itself with destruction by way of raising the stakes so high that nothing will ever have any meaning ever again. If the writers aren't up to snuff, you will make everything that occurs after you feel like either an anticlimax, or a pathetic attempt to raise the stakes to an even more inconceivably high level. If you threaten to kill the planet, the next bad guy will threaten the universe. If you threaten the universe, then they'll threaten the multiverse. If you threaten that, then by god, I don't know how we'll raise the stakes from there, but a hack writer will definitely try. A good writer can avoid that terrible fate, but unfortunately you're far more popular with bad writers than good ones.

Supervillain Flavors

These are more surface-level ways to categorize supervillains, mostly concerned with, like, their aesthetic - i.e. the theme of their costume, weapons, lair, etc.

Clown (note to self: don't even try it. You'll never escape Harley Quinn's shadow. It's a fool's errand.)

Reptile

Spider

Insect

Shark

Other "scary" animals

Obscure Animal the writer got obsessed with and decided to theme a bad guy around

Cat-themed Cat Burglar (note to self: don't do this one either. We already have a good one with Catwoman and then also a less good one with Black Cat, who's just Catwoman but at Marvel. There

Space alien

Robot

Cyborg

Mutant (radioactive)

Mutant (toxic waste/pollution)

Mutant (genetically engineered)

Mutant (setting specific source of mutation)

A classic Gothic Horror monster but now they wear superhero tights. Werewolves, vampires, ghosts, etc.

Literally Satan

Satan but we're too cowardly to fully embrace that he's Satan so we're gonna, like, try to have plausible deniability and claim our Satan isn't literally Satan (but he's more or less Satan)

Wizard (fake)

Wizard (real)

Knight

Witch

Fantastical Monster (dragon, gorgon, etc.)

Adapted from/inspired by real world mythology

A god in an old world mythology sort of way

A god but in a cool 60's cosmic way

Anthropomorphic Personification of Abstract Concept

A normal businessman

Elemental Powers (Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, Ice, Lightning, etc.)

Shapeshifter

Power Stealer

90's Extreme Radical Wanton Gun Violence

90's Extreme Radical Body Horror

Ninja

Caricature of Obnoxious Media Trend (shock jocks, reality TV, celebrity culture, etc.)

Alright, that's what I've got off the top of my head. What'd I miss?