#if you haven’t read dh yet NOW IS THE TIME

[rockyteriyaki]

happy final dead heat tuesday! @powerful-owl 🦋

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore's Manipulations: Part 6(?)

I just reread the scene in Deathly Hallows of Dumbledore and Snape on Snape's memories after Lily died, and that entire scene reminded me of the scene at the end of book 5. After Sirius died and Harry was having his breakdown.

Snape breaking down in front of Dumbledore after Lily dies:

“Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’s eyes, I am sure?” “DON’T!” bellowed Snape. “Gone. . . dead. . . ” “Is this remorse, Severus?” “I wish. . . I wish I were dead. . . ” “And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.” Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore’s words appeared to take a long time to reach him. “What—what do you mean?” “You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.” “He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone—” “The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.” There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last, he said, “Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear. . . especially Potter’s son. . . I want your word!” “My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape’s ferocious, anguished face. “If you insist. . . ”

(DH, 573)

Harry breaking down in front of Dumbledore after Sirius dies:

“There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry,” said Dumbledore’s voice. “On the contrary . . . the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.” Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his empty words. “My greatest strength, is it?” said Harry, his voice shaking as he stared out at the Quidditch stadium, no longer seeing it. “You haven’t got a clue. . . . You don’t know . . .” “What don’t I know?” asked Dumbledore calmly. It was too much. Harry turned around, shaking with rage. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel, all right?” “Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —” “THEN — I — DON’T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!” [...] “Let me out,” Harry said yet again, in a voice that was cold and almost as calm as Dumbledore’s. “Not until I have had my say,” said Dumbledore. [...] “It meant,” said Dumbledore, “that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.” Harry felt as though something was closing in upon him. His breathing seemed difficult again. “It means — me?” [...] “I am afraid,” said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, “that there is no doubt that it is you.”

(OotP, 823)

I just, found these two scenes awfully similar in tone when reading the one in Deathly Hallows last night.

In both Snape/Harry are in emotional turmoil after the most important person to them dies. Both feel like dying (Snape: "I wish I were dead", Hary: "then I don't want to be human"). Both shout at Dumbledore when he speaks all too calmly of things they don't want/need to hear at that moment.

And Dumbledore speaks calmly and coldly to both of them, revealing information he hid from them both (to Snape he tells about Voldemort's immortality, to Harry he tells about the Prophecy) before guilting them through their grief into what he needs them to do.

Now, I'm not exactly blaming him, because, from his position, he needs Snape as a spy and he needs Harry to be willing to do anything to kill Voldemort — to take Voldemort as his responsibility. Dumbledore needs these things to happen to have the best chance of completing his plan to defeat Voldemort.

I just, can't help but note how cold it is. How cold and manipulative Dumbledore can be when he feels he needs to be. Even as he explains his care for Harry as a flaw in his plan, he speaks calmly and simply. And he is right caring about Harry is a flaw, because he always planned for Harry to die. He knew since he saw the scar on Harry's forehead:

“I guessed, fifteen years ago,” said Dumbledore, “when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort.”

(OotP, 826)

And even if I think Dumbledore is honest in that he'd rather Harry wouldn't die, I don't think he cares for him as much as he says he does. In the same way, he's very cold towards Snape even years later when he tells him Harry must die. (I don't think Snape and Dumbledore are actually friends)

Idk, I just read the scene in DH with Snape and it really reminded me of the scene with Harry at the end of OotP.

[suguwu]

Building characters is bane of my existence😤

I was that anon trying to beat cocolia (I DID IT!) and now I with my husband jing yuan and he has me by the throat!! I started playing bc of him actually and he’s sooo mshskajs I only read about him so I’m having a pleasant time discovering new things about him!

I took your advice and I pulled yanqing too!!

I wanted to save for jy since he’s so close but dan heng is here and I wanted him too but since I still haven’t pulled except for the starter banner(?) would I still be able to pull for jy if I tried to pull dh? Or should I just wait? I won’t be spending money on the game so what do you think?

building characters is a pain and yet somehow fun, mostly when you've finally built someone and get to see the payoff from your efforts! but yeah it's also the bane of my existence, only beaten by rolling into terrible stats on relics lmao.

ahhh congrats on beating cocolia!!! and being with jing yuan now!! an excellent place to be.

you 🤝 me

starting the game for jing yuan

it's so fun when you get to spend time with him and find out new things about him! obviously i'm biased but so far the luofu is my favorite. it was just a lot of fun and obviously gets hella points for having jing yuan sldfkjlsdf

yay yanqing buddies!! he's fun to play and his lines are cute imo.

for pulling jy vs dhil it really depends on you! if you want to be sure you get jy, you should wait and pull on him. i believe it takes 160 passes to fully guarantee a character (if you lose the 50/50 and go to hard pity both times). someone correct me if i'm wrong! so it kinda depends on how many passes you have! if you have some extra passes, i don't think it hurts to throw them at dhil!

at the end of the day, though, if you really want a character, the best way to do it is to only pull on their banner. if you want to be sure you get jy, i would say it's best to wait. dhil will run again at some point!

[zorya-wellness]

Lammas/Lughnasadh Pagan Holiday

Lammas or Lughnasadh is a Pagan holiday celebrated on August 1st. It symbolizes the end of the summer period (yes, even though you may not want to hear that we are on our way to the end) and the beginning of magical fall.

The Lammas holiday is also closely connected to the harvest season.

It is traditionally believed that the period of Lammas celebration was very important in the religious communities, not only from the perspective of Pagan or Christian traditions  but also due to its agricultural significance.

Lammas versus Lughnasadh. What Is The Difference?

First of all, let’s talk about terminology a bit.

Lammas comes from Anglo-Saxon hlaf-mas, "loaf-mass", therefore also known as Loaf Mass Day and it is a Christian holiday.

The celebration of this holiday by the Christian community is in part similar to what we will be discussing later. The holiday signifies a period of being blessed by the first gifts of the harvest season. The wheat collected is often used to make the Lammas bread that would later be brought to church for a blessing.

Lughnasadh or Lughnasa is the name used by the “Neopagan” community and just as Lammas, marks the beginning of the harvest period. It is the time when we are grateful for the abundance of the Mother Earth.

How to pronounce Lughnasadh?

The term Lughnasadh comes from the Irish spelling of the word. The Modern way of Irish  pronunciation is Lúnasa and pronounced Loo-nuh-suh. The Classical pronunciation is /’luɣ.nə.səð/ like LUGH-nuh-sudh (where “gh” is pronounced as i a word "give" and the “dh” is like the “th” in “that”.) It is probably the most correct pronunciation of Lughnasadh, as Lugh or Lug is the God from Irish mythology and the one this holiday is dedicated to at the first place.

How Lammas Originated?

Lammas came from a desire of people to thank and celebrate the “father” Sun and the Mother Earth for the fruits of their “love” - the harvest.

To bless the marriage of God and Goddess and ask for a buy dance and prosperity in the upcoming months.

It was considered that August 1st marks the first day of fall. And on August 2nd it was already the time to pick up the harvest and so the days of hunger and need would we over.

The holiday was widely celebrated in:

Ireland: the name Lughnasadh comes from the Irish God Lugh and is translated at “the marriage of Lugh.

Scotland

Isle of Man

In Slavic countries (called ��medovyi spas”)

Let’s Talk More About The Harvest.

When we hear “Lammas”, we often think about the period of harvest right away. It is the most talked about moment of Lammas or Lughnasadh but we need to truly understand what stands behind the concept of harvest.

If you are a careful reader, you have noticed I specifically say the beginning of harvest. I also want to explain more what I mean by the time of being grateful.

You see, Lammas is the day of the beginning of the harvest period and NOT the time when we are assessing the outcome and are drawing conclusions of how successful we’ve been (there will be another holiday dedicated to this, called Mabon).

But the first day of harvest is the time when the quality of life changes. It is the time when it becomes predictable what expectations we can have and taste the first ripe fruits.

Simply put, it is the moment when something you worked so hard on, finally becomes tangible and it also becomes YOURS.

A skill you were developing is almost acquired but not to the point when it becomes a reflex. The investments you’ve made are starting to produce some cash flow but still need your attention.

You also need to understand that it is not possible to continuously perfect something or wait for an opportune moment.  At some point, you need to release into the world what you have the way it is and improve things on the go.

Where am I going with this philosophical deviation, you probably are wondering…

This is what Lammas period really is about. It is the time when we transition from preparation to action.

What does it mean for you in real life situation?

Lammas gives you are opportunity of the perfect time to do something you were afraid of doing.

It may be that you were working on a website for your very own blog but we’re too afraid to press that “publish” button, thinking it is not perfect yet.

Or you may have been writing a book but haven’t started to search for a publisher, changing and tweaking things in an attempt for it to be perfect.

You may have been doing research for a new job you always wanted or university program you wanted to apply for but haven’t felt ready to finally made the move and submit an application.

Do you see the pattern?

Lammas is the time when you were ALREADY in the process of doing something but haven’t had the energy for the final step. And this period of the first week of August is for you to pull yourself together and make the move.

And when Mabon comes, we will be assessing the results of our actions.

"Can I celebrate Lughnasadh if I’m not pagan?"

First of all, like I mentioned in my other Blog posts related to the Wheel of the Year, you don’t need to be Pagan to celebrate or acknowledge Wheel of the Year holidays.

RELATED: What Is Pagan Wheel of the Year and How to Celebrate It? Beginner Pagan's Guide

You need to be aware of the existence of the energy of the Mother Earth, it’s changes and shifts and how this affects our lives.

So, What Can You Do To Celebrate Lughnasadh/Lammas?

Lammas/Lughnasadh Traditions and Rituals

Do Some Lammas Divination Work

The period from July 31st to August 6th is the perfect time for divination work. Tarot, Runes and oracles will provide with great messages, especially in career/money (material) and love questions (especially compatibility related).

Don’t forget to show gratitude to the Universe and Mother Earth. It is important to maintain the energy exchange, at the very least with the well known gratitude and love practices.

Show gratitude towards others too, don’t forget to show acknowledgment and say “thank you”.

Make Lammas Bread

During this period, it is the great time to infuse your food and drinks with the energy of love and gratitude, as well as thank the Source and the Planet for its generosity. Of course, the best way to celebrate this holidays is to make Lammas bread. I am giving you this quick bread recipe that does not require a lot of products or special skills

Lammas Abundance Bread Recipe

For this little Ritual you will need to make (not buy!) corn bread.

Lammas Bread Ingredients:

1 1/2 cup of corn flour

1 1/2 cup wheat flour

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 cup of sugar 2 tbs of cooled down melted butter

4 cups of milk

2 tsp of baking powder

Instructions:

Mix flour and salt together in a deep bowl.In a separate bowl with milk add baking powder;  then add sugar and butter.Mix all the ingredients together in one bowl until the consistency is that of a sour cream. It will not be similar to regular bread dough you may be making at home.

*While you are mixing, talk into the bowl anything you want to accomplish that is related to the abundance. Whatever the abundance means to YOU. It does not have to be financial. Maybe you will feel abundant and complete when you have a large family. Then go for it.

Pour the Lammas bread dough into a baking dish (don't forget to butter the dish). Bake for about 40-50 minutes at 360 degrees F.When the colour is nice and golden, take the bread out and let it cool.

When you sit down for a meal, break off (not cut) a large piece of Lammas bread and say: "Large piece of bread in my hand will bring me abundance and plenty." Don’t forget to share your food with the Gods (leave some bread in nature, the way you see fit and depending on the type of deity you are working with.)

Lughnasadh Home Blessing and Abundance Ritual

This ritual can be done during the same time as you are making your Lammas bread.

It is done to invite luck and abundance into your home. BUT. You can change your intent to protection, if you’d like.

All you need to do is to set aside some dough when you are making it for your break and create a figure of an animal. My personal suggestion is to select a farm animal due to the nature of the energy of this holiday.

When you are done, you will need to follow basic figure talisman activation steps. I have adapted the suggestions of Vadim Zeland for this.

*If you are interested in who Vadim Zeland is, click here to read more about him. His book Reality Transurfing has changed my life forever.

Animal activation steps:

Come up with a name for your animal

Take a deep breath. Now breathe into the animal, imagining giving it energy and life.

Tell the animal its name. Tell it that you love and care for it and, in exchange, it's helping you with (whatever you want to ask for).

Place the animal anywhere in the house, depending on the task you give it.

Don't forget to revisit daily and remind the animal of your love and the important task it is doing for you.

Don’t forget to check out complete Blog Post on my website for more information on Lammas traditions, as well as my other Blog posts on Pagan holidays, Rune Meanings and more.

[manifestmerlin]

Tequila’s Codename (Also he’s Mizuki actually)

Hey remember when I made that post about writing meta Tequila choosing his code name after the primary export of a city he loves and hates in equal measure? Well that’s this I’m writing this now. With additional meta about Mizuki because despite never really interacting they’re actually pretty well linked thematically. (And Mizuki despite not appearing much in the story is also linked to it thematically but that’s a separate essay) (Also maybe some this will all be obvious??? But I haven’t seen anyone talking about it so...) Also this is under a read more because it got longer than I thought it would be,

SO! Ernesto Salas AKA Operator Tequila, everyone’s favorite manwhore golden retriever arms dealer one-time terrorist! Before getting to his code name I think it’s important to cover the Mizuki stuff: other than just being a cute jellyfish eldritch monster Mizuki is SUPER moon themed, his name means ‘beautiful moon’, he’s based on a moon jelly, and his final unlocked skill is ‘moon in the water’. The latter of which ties into his other main theme of illusions.

But where this directly ties to Tequila is that dogboy over here is SUPER sun themed. Other than just being a golden retriever he’s overall designed with a lot of brighter colors and a more summer appropriate outfit compared to Mizuki, and his E2 art has a big lens flare at the top from the sun, (He’s literally also just got ‘sunshine’ on his shorts which is you know kind of obvious)

Most interestingly though is his conversation with La Pluma in DH-ST-2, about why Dossoles is called that. They bring up that it’s called the city of two suns, and that the first is the sun in the sky, and the second is the sun in the water. Which is a pretty obvious parallel, and the implication?

Tequila and Mizuki are thematic foils for each other. In one way they represent their respective heavenly body in the water.

Mizuki the partial(?) seaborn has all the mystery of the moon but without the substance, he doesn’t make ANY attempt at acting normal, he outright says he’ll eat people on live TV and has to be told not to expose himself to his teammates by Doctor.

And Tequila the dpilomat has all the beaming charisma of the sun on the outside and yet the moment the gig is up he drops the act, and he’s anything but cheerful and sunny internally given the whole ex-child soldier with a dead mom and daddy issues who’s all in on arms dealing even after he joins rhodes island. (Also stated explicitly in his promotion record right at the start.)

But more importantly, they’re thematic foils in their motivations. Mizuki is someone who comes off as not being fully understanding or caring about the meaning of his actions, but is 100% behind them.

He is ALL in on culling evildoers to protect everything else:

 even while not really understanding what makes someone bad, or why dealing with bad guys is good other than that it helps the people he likes.

Tequila by contrast is the exact opposite, Tequila is completely on board with and understands why his Dad hates Candela and Dossoles, it’s a city who only exists because the rest of Bolivar has gone to shit, and who exists to let people pretend like that hasn’t happened.

BUT Tequila is not so confident in whether his anything should actually happen as a result. He does help his father with the whole plot, but his family doesn’t think he actually wants to, in ST-2 again La Pluma states she doesn’t know why he’s helping overthrown Candela, she never thought he would (to which he states she has good intuition) and in ST-3 Pancho says that he doesn’t want to do it but he is anyways.

We later learn from him that working under Candela gave him a new perspective, on hos his father was fighting for some abstract idea of ‘Bolivar’ without an actual vision of what that would be, compared to Candela who had a very clear vision of what Bolivar could be without actually caring about Bolivar itself.

The reason he’s helping is to decide which is right, his father or Candela. And he ultimately winds up going with the latter (presumably since his dad did wind up failing and that’s what he said would decide it, and in the final cut scene he says he can’t help but feel some legitimacy of the city even while knowing what it’s built on top of) This leads him to join Rhodes Island with Ch’ens recommendation. 

This parallel with Mizuki also remains, Mizuki joined Rhodes Island to meet more ‘good people’ like Ch’en, and thereby learn more about good and bad people. Meanwhile given the flashback to her words just before he knocked her out, Tequila was very inspired by Ch’ens resolve (or maybe we could also call it stubbornnes).

Sooo finally back to the point of the post, WHY THE ALCOHOL! Tequila is the specific Dossoles export he mentions as being available all over the place, separately from sugar and coffee. Hoshiguma also mentions seeing Dossoles Tequila in Lungmen, which means it’s safe to say it’s sort of the representation of the city in a lot of ways, like Georgia peaches. So on one hand the choice of the name Tequila signals his shift in allegiance towards Candela and Dossoles,

But it also AGAIN ties into his role as the sun in the water, he’s taken on the name of the flashy symbol of Dossoles directly after losing his actual government position there as a diplomat. 

And it ALSO ALSO ties into his motivations for joining Rhodes Island... like kind of. More of an after thought really, he values Ch’ens resolve and alcohol like, lowers your inhibitions. Also he knows how to mix drinks. Anyways thanks for coming to my tedtalk on why Mizuki and Tequila better be relevant in the same event again because god damnit the PARALLELS

[sherlockfreak05]

If you have more Severitus fics to recommend I'd LOVE to hear it! I can never get enough of them <3

Okay! I've been scouring my accounts on ao3, ffnet, and p&s and I have a few here that I favorited (and I like your subtitle convention, so I'm gonna use it, haha)

O Mine Enemy by KirbyLane (the one with the seer dreams) -- When Harry finds an injured Snape on his doorstep and must hide him from the Dursleys, he has no idea that this very, very bad day will be the start of something good.

*Alternate 6th summer/part of 6th year. Ignores HBP and DH. Uhh, some blood in it? Nothing terribly graphic

**probably my favorite of the bunch. I think this was the first long (61 chapters) HP fanfic I read and it's sooooo good. I cried multiple times, it hit me right in the feels so hard! I also think everyone is written really well--Snape is still Snape, but the change in character/relationship is believable. (I may or may not have re-read this over the last couple days 🤫)

The Choices We Made by JewelBurns (the cancer story) -- What if you could change your biggest regret? After a devastating event occurs, Snape from an alternate reality is given that chance, but ends up in the canon universe. Will he be able to gain back what he's lost while helping to save the wizarding world at the same time?

*AU post OotP, mentions of cancer, leukemia, medical descriptions, grief/mourning, good Dudley Dursley (for a positive note!), Dramione

**Another of my favorites, oddly enough. There are things I read in this that live in my head rent free now, like "green (but not Slytherin green)". So... it deals with cancer. Which is heavy. But the developing relationship is great. Again, the characters are well written, even though this isn't Canon Snape, but he has to step in and start living that life, which is interesting. Harry and Draco become friends, which I liked a lot (Has a currently ongoing sequel that I need to catch up on)

Resonance by GreenGecko (the auror training one) -- Year six and Harry needs rescuing by Dumbledore and Snape. The resulting understanding between Harry and Snape is critical to destroying Voldemort and leads to an offer of adoption. Covers year seven and Auror training.

*ONLY on FFdotNet, "PG-13 for occasional violence and very roundabout romantic references" Harry/Tonks and Harry/ofc (trying to do this by memory as there's no tags 🤷‍♀️)

**It's been a little longer since I read this one, but I really enjoyed it. I love my two boys and their found family. Harry turns very studious iirc and I liked it, haha. The auror training stuff I found very interesting. First part of a trilogy, sequels are Revolution and Resolution. (I started the second one like immediately and got a little burnt out on it, so I haven't finished it yet. Still good tho!)

Namesake Necklace by WiCeBa (the deaged!Harry one) -- Harry and Dudley are attacked one evening and Snape is called to fix it. A child sized Harry, who looks much more like Lily than James at this age, was not what he was expecting.

*5th summer, abusive Dursleys, neglect

**this is one of the few deaged stories I've read (I'm kind of meh on the concept, depends on the rest of the story), but I enjoyed it. Sirius is a little, uhh... overprotective, but it thankfully all works out. Harry inherits an ugly beautiful shell lamp from his mom and Mama Prince is in it and I like her a lot, haha

-----

That's what I have for now! I'm currently re-reading The Last Will and Testament of Lily Evans Potter, bc I had it saved and I am having a slightly different experience on re-read. I'll report back, lol. But yeah! I loved quite a few of the ones you already recommended (it still breaks my heart that Second Chances never finished, but I will re-read it forever). There are a lot of one-shots I like that don't QUITE fit the bill, sort of more like moments of understanding between the characters.

Oh! And I will say I hope someday you finish reading AYLNO. I enjoyed that one so much! The ongoing sequel is pretty good, but it's another one I need to catch up on

Hope you enjoy at least one of these!

[thiscrimsonsoul]

{out of paprikash} Here’s a little rant about Wanda’s motivations and actions and why she didn’t do what a lot of people would have expected or liked in MoM. I have seen some people getting really angry at Wanda and while I do get this, some things people are saying I feel are because they haven’t read the comics, don’t really understand how the Darkhold operates, or aren’t giving enough attention to outside factors working on Wanda. Lemme take some time to rant a bit about this because I can, and I love doing analyses. Spoilers abound, heh.

One of the biggest complaints or criticisms of Wanda is that she was willing to go through all this trouble and hurt this many people for two children she spent a couple weeks with that she made out of her own magic and aren’t really real anyway, but didn’t care at all about Vision, Pietro, or her parents. I feel like this is a factor of not understanding Wanda’s deteriorated mental state, the effect of the Darkhold, and the fact that all those griefs are very different for her. Wanda is a grown ass woman, she doesn’t need her parents. I’m not saying she doesn’t miss them, but she’s come to terms with their loss.

Pietro... is an old pain. Again, that doesn’t mean it’s not a big source of grief for her, we saw in WandaVision that it still was, but Wanda is a much different person now than she was with Pietro. I feel like her identity has moved away from who she was with him somewhat, and having him back in her life again would be as jarring as it is to not have him, if that makes any sense. But regardless, it’s an old pain. I’ll come back to that. Vision... was terrible, and she is still very angry about the way he died. BUT... Wanda did have closure at the end of WandaVision, both with Vision himself and with the idea of letting him go. More closure than she had with anyone else she’s lost. Some of the undone, unspoken things between them were done in WV, so again, closure. So far... there isn’t much for the Darkhold to attack here. It’s important that these griefs are layered on top of each other, because that wears Wanda down mentally and lets in the DH’s influence. But her babies... that is a whole different story for her.

Wanda identifies now as a mother before anything else. She said as much in her own words in MoM. She only had her children for a short time, she had no closure with them other than a goodbye that felt like a very uncomfortable drinking-the-koolaid moment where she puts them to bed and then essentially euthanizes them. Imagine how that felt for her, especially after having to kill Vision... pretty much twice, if you count again at Westview. So this pain is raw, fresh, not dealt with at all, not processed, not really even accepted by Wanda yet. The Darkhold is an evil artifact with corruptive abilities and intentions. It’s going to attack the easiest, quickest, and most potent avenue to unhinge Wanda’s mind. All of Wanda’s losses up until now had been slowly chiseling away at her mental stability, making her susceptible to that kind of influence. Then the Darkhold latches onto the two deaths Wanda is in no way ready to accept or capable of processing in a healthy way, and it helps her to believe there is a way to undo it, to have back who she’s lost. So it’s not that she only cared about the boys and no one else, you just have to understand that a lot of Wanda’s obsession was fueled and influenced by the Darkhold, so it was making her a bit one-track minded and picking on a particularly sore spot.

Also... the BIGGEST thing people have to remember is that WE know Billy and Tommy were magical constructs Wanda created and so technically they aren’t really living beings, but Wanda doesn’t. I mean... yeah she knows she did it, heh. But to her, they are 100% her real, living babies. People forget that. Like why go through all this trouble for two fake kids? Because to her, they’re not fake. In the comics, everyone kept telling Wanda her children didn’t exist and I love that they brought that element into the movie, but part of Wanda’s mental deterioration includes holding onto the idea of her children being real. (Side note, that was a beautiful line when she was told she made her children out of magic and she replied with, “That’s what every mother does.” Such a lovely notion.) Also the Darkhold was feeding her audio, heh, of them asking for her help, so this fed into her delusion that they were alive somewhere and needed her. (Another side note: I’ve seen some people mention that that audio from WV matches up with the twins at the end of MoM asking 838-Wanda for help because 616-Wanda was scaring them. If so, that’s doubly messed up of the DH, to use her own twins being scared of her to lure her into thinking they needed help. That’s twisted.)

Another thing I wanted to talk about was the criticism of Wanda hurting/killing so many people. First of all, I don’t condone this, but... people have been saying oh she’s full villain now, she’s evil, she doesn’t deserve any sympathy. In my opinion, and it is only an opinion, feel free to disagree... Wanda isn’t evil, she’s mentally ill and she’s under the influence of an extremely powerful, ancient, evil artifact that intentionally feeds her illness. I’m not saying that absolves her, but I wouldn’t call her a villain or evil, she’s someone who is in a severe amount of distress who has been left to deal with too much trauma for too long on her own.

Something else people have mentioned is at the end of the movie when Wanda tells her twins, “I would never hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt anyone, I’m not a monster,” she was lying or trying to paint herself in a different light to manipulate them. For what it’s worth, I didn’t see it that way. I might be getting the line slightly wrong heh, but I took that as the real Wanda Maximoff coming through, and I think it’s telling that she says she wouldn’t hurt anyone when she just got done killing how many sorcerers at Kamar-Taj and how many superheroes in the 838 verse by possessing her Otherself. I tend to read into things, heh, so maybe this isn’t how it was intended, but I took her comment as her not really having an intact memory of what happened and/or her not even really understanding fully what she’s done, almost like seeing red or blacking out and doing something rather than her being 100% mentally present, if that makes sense, and I thought that might be indicative of something the Darkhold compelled her to do vs. something she would have chosen for herself. It begs the question of whether Wanda was in full control of herself at the time, and how much control she actually has apart from the Darkhold in moments like that, or whether the Darkhold takes over in some way, suppressing her true self? Anyway, that’s how I took her comments to the boys, and it makes sense that her true, uncorrupted self would come through at that point when she’s before her children and made to see through their eyes that she’s turned into something they would fear. If anything was going to break the DH’s influence over Wanda, that would be it... and it was.

Alright, I’ve ranted enough tonight haha. But does anyone else have any thoughts about this? Feel free to reply to this post and chat if you want, I love to hear other people’s points of view about things like this because it is so open to interpretation.

[niemernuet]

After I missed last week, I can finally present another one-shot for this week's off-season winter sports fandom challenge. The subject was:

“you just disappeared” 😰

This fic is about Daniel's 19th place in dh at the Swiss Championships last spring.

Not that easy

rating: E (only the beginning) pairing: Daniel Yule/Justin Murisier characters: Daniel Yule, Justin Murisier, Niels Hintermann, Gilles Roulin length: 2'100 words

A warm sun rose over the breath-taking mountain sides and turned the old, withered snow into crystals for one last time before it would die and make way for spring. The lakes lay calm and serene at the bottom of the long valley, surrounded by dark green firs in all shapes and forms. The view from the understatedly luxurious hotel was spectacular but neither of the occupants cared about that at the moment.

"Fuck…" Daniel swore breathlessly just as Justin's arms buckled and his whole body convulsed around Daniel's cock. His fingers left deep marks in Justin's hips, he pushed in one last time, and followed his boyfriend over the edge. They lay for a long time afterwards, their bodies tangled up with the rumpled sheets and each other, until their breathing came steady again, and the sheen of sweat on their skin had dried.

Daniel was the first to speak. "By the way, I'm sorry."

Justin lay on his stomach with his eyes closed, and his hands buried under the pillow. He hummed softly while Daniel stroked his skin, from the nape of his neck down to the dried streaks of cum between his legs. "Sorry for what?" he asked drowsily, enjoying the few remaining minutes they had together.

"For using up all your energy. I've read it's bad for men to have sex before a sports competition. Something about losing tension in the body and what not."

Justin snorted softly. "As if! This body's as ready as ever." Finally he opened his eyes to look at Daniel's wide grin. "Also I let you do most of the work for once…"

"For once!" Daniel exclaimed.

"…and a little sex isn't going to wreck me anyway," Justin finished.

Daniel thought for a moment. "I'm not sure if I'm not supposed to be offended right now."

Justin smiled. "I have no idea why."

Daniel snorted, and leant closer until he could kiss Justin. "You're lucky your pretty face makes me overlook your insult against my game."

"I would never dare to insult you!" Justin smiled, and with a soft groan rolled over. Slowly he traipsed through the dimly illuminated room, and pulled the drapes apart. Daniel sighed as the bright sunshine burst in, and he rubbed his eyes. The crisp wind from outside cut the stuffy air apart, and Justin shuddered as the last remains of sleepiness left him. He combed through his suitcase, collecting new clothes and his toiletry bag while Daniel observed him from the bed.

"Do you think I'd make a good downhill-racer?"

Justin laughed. "You?"

"Hey!" Daniel exclaimed, smashing his fists down into the mattress. "That's the second time today that you're insulting me. I haven't even left the bed yet!"

Justin kept laughing, and sat down on Daniel's side of the bed for another drawn-out kiss. "Your game is unmatched, and I'll have to scrape together my last reserves for today's race," he then said, and smiled down at Daniel. "And I'm actually not sure it'll be enough. But, and I say this with all my love, you would be the worst downhill-skier. Of all times!"

Daniel tried to pout but could not keep his smile down. "I don't see why."

"Because you think too much," Justin answered matter-of-factly, and kissed him again. "For you, the gates need to be close together, they need to approach so fast that they override your big, neurotic brain and force you to act on instinct. If you tried downhill, you'd fall into an existential crisis between every gate, wondering if you're approaching it wrong, and if you should have chosen another line."

Daniel rolled his eyes as Justin gave him one last smack on the lips. "I still think I should have signed-up for today's race."

Justin stood up, and walked towards the bathroom. "Then who would be my pretty arm-candy, waiting for me with a glass of white wine behind the finish line?"

“Oh, so that is all I am to you?” Daniel shouted as the door to the bathroom fell shut.

-----

Compared to the races of the world cup, the Swiss Championship was more akin to a party than a race, a chance to catch up with old friends, and bid each other goodbye before the long summer began. It was also a possibility to try new things, or old, which is why Justin had signed up for every race from downhill to slalom. The cog railway leading to the finish area was stuffed to the brim with athletes and spectators and tourists. Slowly they sputtered upwards, leaving the suspiciously understated chalets of St. Moritz’s sunny side behind.

“Everything okay with him?” Gilles asked Justin, and jerked his head towards the window.

“I can hear you,” Daniel answered without lifting his head from the scratched surface, and kept staring morosely out into the splotchy brown-white world.

A gaggle of junior athletes was crammed together in he middle, the patch on their lapels revealing them to be from Berne, and watched the spectacle with wide eyes and burning cheeks.

“And?” Niels piped up from the other end of the cabin when Daniel did not continue.

“He regrets not signing up for the race,” Justin explained.

Gilles laughed. “You?”

Daniel huffed. “You downhill-pricks really think you’re God’s gift to skiing, don’t you?”

Gilles grinned, and high-fived Niels over a forest of skis and helmets. “Of course.”

The railway slowed to a crawl, and softly arrived at the mountain station. The doors opened, and the people inside swarmed out as if chased. Justin and Daniel followed at the end, neither in a hurry.

“Okay, important things first!” Justin announced, put his skis against the railing, and eyed the patio of the restaurant overlooking the finish area.

“No!” Daniel interrupted him, and eyed him sternly. “No way!”

Justin turned around. “What?”

“You will not have any wine before the race.”

“But…” Justin began but Daniel stepped to him, and interrupted him with a kiss.

“You have to promise me that you’ll win this bloody race!” he explained. “You can’t let these pricks win!”

Justin’s brows furrowed. “Daniel, it’s not that easy…”

“Promise me!” Daniel insisted.

Justin sighed, and gave Daniel’s kiss back. “I promise,” he smiled. “For you!”

Satisfied, Daniel nodded. “Very good. Then I’ll go prepare for my arm-candy-duty.”

-----

The audience cheered and clapped, the announcer yelled into the microphone, yet it was one voice in particular that boomed above all else. Justin raised his fists high, and yelled into the warm spring day above St. Moritz. Daniel was still hollering as he ran towards Justin through the soft, heavy snow, and jumped into his arms.

“Oh, so I wasn’t allowed wine, but you were?” Justin laughed while Daniel clung hard around his neck.

“You’re the best!” Daniel answered, cupping his behelmeted-face between his hands. His eyes gleamed, not just from joy. “You’re allowed everything you want today.”

Justin’s laughter turned into a grin. “Am I, now?”

“Careful!” Daniel warned. “I’m not sober enough to be the sensible one of us.” Yet he let go of Justin, and they made their way back to the restaurant. They had barely toasted to Justin’s Championship though, when Niels ruined the party.

“Come on!” Justin yelled, though it drowned in the rest of the cheers. Niels gave a little bow towards the patio, and Justin laughed, raising his glass in return.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Daniel as he sat down again, putting one arm around his shoulder. “I really wanted to avenge you.”

Daniel smiled at him. “I know you did.” He picked up the bottle of wine standing between them, and gave it a tentative shake.

“You know what?” Justin said, and gave him a kiss. “The next one’s on me. As an plea for forgiveness.” With that he stood up, and made his way towards the bar. The patio was crowded with spectators, friends and competitors, and with every step he had to greet people left and right. When he finally managed his way back, Niels had long since changed out of his race suit, and a dozen other racers had arrived. The group of juniors from Berne sat at the table next to the one where Justin had left Daniel, and which now lay abandoned. Justin tapped a young guy on the shoulder. The boy blushed furiously when he recognised Justin.

“Did he say where he went?” Justin asked, and pointed at Daniel’s empty chair. The boy looked at him completely confused. For a second Justin wondered if he had spoken French, then the boy pointed somewhere towards the finish line.

“Great, thanks,” Justin muttered, and squeezed through the masses of people again. He walked the length of the area without bumping into Daniel, and his confusion grew to uneasiness. He tried calling him but nobody answered the phone, which, actually, was not that unusual for Daniel. He asked around without but received nothing but shrugs and shoulder claps.

“Did you see Dani?” he asked Niels as he strolled past.

Niels frowned. “Wasn’t he getting drunk at the bar with you?”

Justin rolled his eyes, and hurried on, now pushing and shoving his way through the people until he finally arrived at the table with his jacket and helmet again. Still, there was no sign of Daniel, and Justin tore his hand through his hair as he tried to choke back an ugly mixture of anger and desperation.

“Everything okay?” Gilles asked as he ambled past, a bottle of beer in his hand, a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, and another on his head.

“Do you know where Daniel went?”

Gilles frowned, and shrugged. “I thought he was drinking with you.”

“No, he’s not!” Justin shouted; not that anyone bothered to listen. Gilles shook his head, and continued on his walk.

Justin’s patience was running out, and when someone tapped him on the shoulder, he whirled around. “What?” he barked at the junior with the flag of Bern on his jacket lapel from the next table.

“Ehm…you wanted to know where Daniel Yule is?”

“Yes!” Justin exclaimed. “And you helped shit-all, thanks.”

The boy blushed again, even more than the first time around. “I’m sorry,” Justin muttered, and rubbed his eyes. “It’s just a strange day.”

“I wanted to tell you but you ran off before I could,” the boy managed. “He went to your skis.”

“But I was there,” Justin shot back. “And…” He pressed his lips together, and forced himself to breath through the nose. The boy frowned at him, clearly waiting for something. Inwardly, Justin choked back the choice words that came to his mind about Bernese speed.

“And then?” he eventually managed, calm and collected.

The boy shrugged. “I also wanted to tell you that the group from Geneva had a spare number because one of theirs broke his foot yesterday.”

Justin waited but apparently the boy thought he had told enough, and an  uncomfortable silence stretched between them until Justin realised: “What?” he shrieked, and looked upwards towards the slope. “He…?”

“He should come next. Or the one after that,” the boy explained, and turned towards his friends again. Justin did not care, he ran towards the finish line again.

The slope had long since turned into a wet slurry, with deep craters around the gates. It was a death trap for the ankles of experienced downhill-racers. For Daniel…

Justin did not dare finish the thought. He tried to get the attention of the officials loitering around right at the finish line but it was too late. Justin’s breath hitched as the next racer shot around the curve, and jumped into the last flank.

“Oh my god,” he groaned as he stared at Daniel bouncing through the ditches and holes in the slope, flinching every time his shoulders swiped a gate and the skis turned direction. He jumped the railing just as Daniel crossed the finish line, and barely came to a stop before the rubber fences caging the finish.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hollered as he ran towards Daniel. “What did you think you’re doing? You just disappeared!”

Daniel could not answer, he was still too busy getting enough air into his lungs. Justin did not give him any time anyway, and shook him by the shoulders. “You didn’t warm up, you didn’t inspect the course, you…”

The kiss was rough and tumultuous, teeth on teeth, and hot breath on Justin’s skin, sucking the anger out of him until only the fear shaking his heart remained.

“You idiot,” Justin scolded Daniel when they broke apart. “Don’t ever do that again!”

Daniel smiled. “You’re right.”

Justin sighed. “About what?”

“Downhill is only for people who don't think too much."

"Hey!"

[13atoms]

Slippery Fingers [Dhawan!Master x Reader]

Took longer than I expected, and I haven’t written smut in forever so forgive it being a little rusty, but here’s the Dh!Master smut which (barely) won the oneshot fic vote! 

Also sorry if you’re a massage therapist, we’re on a different planet so I’m hoping the now-defunct word ‘masseuse’ is still in-vogue there!

Contents: Happy Ending Massage from an alien, Smut, Jealousy, yet another unsuccessful trip to a spa planet. [8k]

*

“You never take me anywhere fun!” You had pouted, pushing the Master’s buttons as he researched yet another scheme.

In truth, he did take you places fun. At least, places he thought were fun. But in all of time and space, there had to be more relaxing ways to have fun than overthrowing monarchies and trying to instigate political disasters.

He’d tried taking you hiking, once, but both of you had complained an hour in. He was bored, you were too sweaty, and no one was enjoying themselves. He’d teleported the pair of you back to the TARDIS, and you’d robbed a weapon store instead.

Still, you were determined he should take you somewhere fun.

The Master’s raised an eyebrow, a concealed smile making his lips twitch.

“A theme park, a beach, a… um… a waterpark? I’ll wear something revealing?” you teased, knowing he would never take you up on the offer.

The flirtation the two of you engaged with was frustratingly endless – just a bit of fun.

You relished in the way his eyes couldn’t meet yours, as he considered your suggestions. Maybe imagined them, too.

“Sounds boring,” he finally commented.

“What’s boring about a little hedonistic fun?”

He smiled, striding across the outback-interior of his TARDIS to finally meet you beside the console. Good. Co-ordinates were being set, the screens displaying a stream of impossibly fast information in a language you couldn’t read.

The Master was planning something.

“Hedonism is about pleasure, dearest,” he ground out the last word, and it made you smile.

You refrained from making the ‘old married couple’ joke that so many strangers made on your travels, because it rang a little too true.

“Yeah?”

“And if you’re in the mood for hedonism, you won’t find that pleasure in an amusement park.”

You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the console very intentionally, so his fingers had to brush your hip to flick the switches he needed. He shot you a knowing glance, as his hand lingered a little too long.

“Where will I find pleasure, Master?”

For a beat he paused, his lips parted and somehow inviting, mere inches from yours. Then he leant forwards, only to whisper.

“A spa.”

You felt the tension in the room pop, blown-bubblegum pierced by a pin and flying back into your face. Sticky and shocking and unpleasant. It took you a second to remember where you were – and who you were with. A retort came uncomfortably slowly, and you startled as the TARDIS began to dematerialise.

“Still trying to get me in a bathing suit?”

The Master winked.

*

As you stepped off the TARDIS, you found yourself in a stiflingly warm room, reaching for the Master’s arm subconsciously as he offered it.

All around you was a plush whiteness, creams and sterile surfaces somehow designed in such a way that the space felt both perfectly welcoming and clean. The TARDIS door locked quietly behind you, disguised as an inconspicuous cupboard, as the Master chose a direction to walk.

“This is one of the most exclusive spas in the whole quadrant – horrendously expensive.”

“Want to split the bill?” you teased, knowing damn well he’d never let you pay for anything.

Not that you could. What was the currency here? Credits? You’d never even considered it.

He gave you a laugh, tightening his hold on your arm as a lavender-skinned member of staff walked past you in mint-green scrubs, politely avoiding looking at you. They were a clear foot taller than the Master, and you tried not to stare.

“I hacked their systems to check,” the time lord boasted, “and it’s the quietest day they’ve ever had. We’re the only patrons.”

“That doesn’t seem very time-travel safe,” you chided, remembering the phrase from the countless times he’d warned you against doing something to change a timeline.

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help smiling fondly.

“It’s okay when I do it,” he sniffed.

Finally, you had found some kind of reception desk.

With nothing more than a smile and a few nods to the softly-spoken receptionist, you watched as the Master handed over a payment stick and arranged everything. You found yourself handed a dressing gown as white as the rest of the décor in this place, and so fluffy and warm you immediately pressed it against your face, much to the Master’s fond amusement.

“It’s really soft,” you explained, and he rolled his eyes.

“Go get changed.”

*

In the end, the cubicles you were offered to for changing were adjacent, and you were quite glad you didn’t have to offer any kind of gender-segregated spa-experience. The Master chattered away as the two of you showered and changed, spa employees silently arriving to administer all manner of hair and skin treatments before you enjoyed the rest of the facilities.

Hair conditioned and skin moisturised, you emerged from the cubicle to see the Master in just a dressing gown – mirroring yours – and the sight made you strangely uneasy. It wasn’t often he dressed down. Certainly never willingly, as far as you could remember. With conditioner combed into his hair and beard, a treatment across his nose, he had never looked less threatening.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh which he clearly expected, already glowering at you.

“Come on,” he complained, heading for the next room.

He didn’t offer you an arm, but he did hold the door open. As you brushed past him, you noticed they’d combed the hair treatment into his eyebrows. You wondered if choosing the quietest day in history hadn’t been – as you assumed – for your benefit. His pride seemed a little wounded.

“It’s good to relax!” You reassured him, holding out your arm. He ignored it.

“For humans, perhaps.”

You leant into his shoulder briefly, trying to wind him up.

“Even big scary time lords need a break! Though, you do have a disappointingly tame interpretation of hedonism.”

“I was thinking of bodily pleasure, darling.” he purred, “I’m sorry if this doesn’t meet your exacting standards.”

Trying to ignore the rush his implication sent through you, you kept your eyes trained on the soft carpet ahead. How do they keep it so clean? I suppose no one wears shoes here.

“But I’ll ask you to reserve judgement until you’ve seen how good the massage therapists are. I believe on earth you might call it sinful.”

With a contented hum, you walked with him to the open treatment room.

*

As you sat in adjacent chairs, you realised just how naked both of you were, both adjusting your robes to cover yourself as a receptionist approached. She explained everything rapidly, and the Master nodded in understanding. You trusted he would reiterate anything important – you were distracted by the bare slice of his thigh he kept fidgeting to cover.

In lieu of clipboards they handed you tablet-style devices, which seemed familiar enough. The prices of the treatments seemed huge, but the Master told you to ignore them. Maybe the currency here was just inflated. The Master never seemed bothered, at any rate.

He was scrolling through his own options, and you knew he struggled to allow himself to go through anything that might seem self-care-y. The parallel massage tables set up ahead of you seemed to suggest you would be in the room with him, and privately you hoped he might allow himself to relax, to trust a highly-skilled stranger, with you right there.

“What are you getting?” you asked, curiously looking at his screen.

The options were all described luxuriously, with various options for oils and smells and styles, different firmnesses of touch and different problem areas the therapists could focus on. You were settled on some focus on your left thigh, the lingering ache of a muscle there had been bothering you since you’d fallen running from an enraged palace guard last week. Besides that, you had no idea what to select.

“Just something standard,” the Master told you non-committally, and you marvelled at how embarrassing this seemed to be for him.

Then, something caught your eye.

“What are these options?”

You pointed on your own tablet, pointing to one of the most expensive options at the bottom of the page.

Indulgent twenty-minute full body muscle release with Lerimoya blossom oil, Akesian-style massage and skin treatment. Completed with sexual release and relaxing cool-down.

The Master’s jaw seemed to clench minutely, but you pretended to ignore it.

“Exactly what it says,” he told you curtly.

You scrolled back up to the top of the options, taking a moment to consider his bluntness. You had to admit… there was something very tempting about it. Getting yourself off on the TARDIS made you nervous – a living ship with a consciousness watching you bite back moans as you masturbated a deeply un-erotic thought each time you remembered it. But this was clinical. Self-care.

The Master was a ceaseless flirt, but seemed unable to deliver on his gazes and winks and comments. You needed something.

“Isn’t that… taboo here?”

“As common as a back rub, love.”

His curtness hadn’t ceased, and it irritated you for some reason. So much for being relaxed.

The time lord had impatiently clicked some arbitrary option at the top of his list, no doubt the shortest massage he could get away with. He was already clicking his tongue, holding the device out to be collected by the receptionist. You took a deep breath.

He was always telling you to take what you want and be hedonistic. You scrolled down quickly, selecting the option, selecting the areas of your body which hurt (not least that damn thigh) before holding out the device.

You could feel his eyes on you, your cheeks burning, and some deep part of you igniting at the thought of what was about to happen. You were looking forward to it, you realised. So much.

“Chosen something expensive?” he ground out, the joke landing flat as his tone seemed oddly monotonous.

“If you’re paying, then of course.”

It was only as the tablets were taken gently from you by a kindly receptionist that you remembered the massage room would be shared. A screen seemed to have appeared silently between the massage tables, and you hoped your look of appreciation was understood by the alien.

*

There was something surreal about being asked to undress just a screen away from the Master, knowing he was doing the same on the other side, mere feet away as the lights dimmed and incense burned.

The spa workers were softly spoken and considerate, putting you at ease immediately as you lay down, feeling acutely aware of your body against the table. You weren’t sure where to put your arms, fidgeting, until warm oily hands smoothed them down by your sides, and you fought your instincts in order to stay still.

You wondered how the Master was doing. He wasn’t the best at letting other people touch him. At being vulnerable. He hated leaving his back exposed, always afraid someone would stab him in it.

You thought, for a moment, about trying to talk to him.

Would that be rude? Would it help him?

But talking felt uncomfortable, laying like this, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

As large, warm hands started their work on your bare back, you let all thought of conversation go. You closed your eyes, feeling the smooth, gentle release of your muscles as they were expertly relaxed. The larger frames of the aliens here seemed to make them strong, pressure spread across fingertips which felt human-enough, the smell and warmth of the room tempting you near sleep, wringing soft noises of approval from you which you didn’t bother to conceal.

The time seemed to stretch on forever, in a delicious, in-urgent way you rarely experienced with the Master. He was always in a rush, unable to stand still even with a time machine.

This was, you conceded, luxurious and hedonistic: pleasure above all else. Pure self-indulgence. The pursuit of nothing but feeling good.

You could almost forget he was there. Soft music and the gentle movements of the massage therapists were the only sounds, until suddenly he was there again. For seconds at a time, in small noises, his presence seemed looming. The shifting of his beard against the table beneath him, a grunt of discomfort as a knot was released in his back, once a snap to not touch my neck.

He settled, soon enough, his treatment seeming more painful and intense than yours. You could hear the slap of skin onto his, the breath forced from his lungs as a considerable force was applied to his body. You tried to tune it out, each time the masseuse seemed to be hurting him. Likely by his own choice, you lamented. It was short, too. Your massage therapist had only just begun to work on the ache in your thigh, doing a marvellous job of easing the pain, when his massage was slowly finished.

Your body felt as though it was melting into the table, pleasantly warm with the oil and the heat of the room. Only because you strained your ears, you heard his masseuse leave the room, with a gentle instruction to lay still until they returned.

It was strangely difficult to enjoy the rest of your massage as you wondered what he was thinking about, just laying there. You had feared he might ignore their instructions and move, but he seemed to be behaving himself for the day.

A gentle murmur of “turn over for me” brought you back to your body, made your eyes snap open and a sudden rush of blood to the head caused you to feel disoriented.

“Take your time,” the massage therapist coaxed, as their soft hands guided you in turning slowly, careful not to let you fall off the table.

You had forgotten what was coming next.

The low murmur of something indiscernible started, a humming noise you soon tuned out, as hands found their way across your stomach. You felt yourself clench at the contact. This was different. Slower, more sensual touches, beyond the realm of what you would consider professional. You bit your lip, toying with stopping the treatment early, until you realised the source of the quiet buzzing.

As one huge hand began to knead at your breast, the other reached for the slipperiness between your legs.

Vibrations against your clit made you gasp, their expertly firm touches pulling you lazily yet inevitably closer towards orgasm. Your entire body felt dragged along with the certainty of a current in a river, moved as surely as gravity, pleasure growing stronger and stronger. As fingers pried your willing, limp legs apart, you let your hands roam your own oily skin, no longer caring about the noises you let slip past your lips, the quiet begs for more.

The calls of yes, please, fuck.

For a second, the Master’s fidgeting pulled you back into the room, making you gasp. But then the buzzing sped up, rubbing fingers joining it, and your mind went blank.

*

The Master grit his teeth, knowing nothing good could come from letting you tick that stupid box. It had been a kind of dare, a test of whether you’d actually do it. He thought he’d been playing good odds, in truth, even as a feeling of something uneasy had risen in his stomach at the thought of it.

A happy ending massage.

Or rather, you receiving a happy ending massage.

Perhaps he’d underestimated his own fondness of the pure art pleasure seeking, because his barely-relaxed body was already tensing again just listening to the hum of whatever tool they were using to finish the complete sexual release you had requested.

The whole time that damn alien had been abusing the muscles of his back, he had been wondering what you’d selected. If you actually had the nerve to go through with it. The treatment was popular here, he knew. In fact, the spa was famous for it. Famously good at it. Human anatomy and human pleasure were close enough to theirs that the richest interstellar-travellers from earth colonies would begin to arrive just a few years from the date he had chosen. They would all be seeking out the exact treatment which had caught your eye.

A strange thing to be famous for, he supposed, but popular. Certainly lucrative, and – was that moan?

*

It felt like it lasted an eternity, listening to how those… creatures finished their supposed-treatment, moans and calls and staccato words leaving your voice with a keening, sensual desperation he had never heard from you before. The slick sounds of your body had accompanied the buzzing of that device in the most insufferable symphony he had ever heard. He had considered leaving, so many times, gritting his teeth and trying to school his body into nonchalance as you finally came. The Master tried to block it out as you moaned, and laughed, and thanked the massage therapist, and apologised for thanking them… joked with the alien, no doubt glowing and coated with sweat and oil, flushed, your pants filling the room alongside contented hums.

He wondered why he couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll leave you for a few minutes to calm down,” the massage therapist had told you gently, and he had grimaced as you gave a breathy, giggling reply.

“I think I’ll need it.”

Then they were alone. And nothing should have changed dammit, and yet everything had. And he damned Rassilion and all those other bastards who decided time lords should be sexless and uncomfortable naked because fuck nothing had prepared him for this, no matter how much he pretended he was nothing like them.

He loathed to admit when humans were better than him at something, but in this situation, he longed to be the kind of species who could meet your eye after this.

You laughed again, suddenly, airily, and he wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of cue for him to say something.

Something witty.

Something clever.

Something him.

“All okay?” he choked out.

He was still on his front, and frankly dreading standing to change, and he wondered how you were laying. On your back, still, he presumed. All sticky and sweaty and mile-a-minute heartbeat like humans tended to be. He could smell pheromones from here, loathing his body for how he was reacting.

Yet another reason to dread standing.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you called back, so obviously sated and giggly from just your voice.

“It was exactly what you chose, love.”

The pet name sounded unnatural, forced, and he prayed you were too whacked out on hormones to notice. The spa worker slunk back into the room, and he took a moment to hate them, to hate those fingers which had been slippery and clever all over you. His stomached clenched as he wondered if they’d been inside of you.  

As the lavender and mint form disappeared between the divider, the Master shoved his face roughly back against the table.

This room is too hot, he grumbled silently to himself, stupid human temperatures.

He wondered if you were cold, your skin risen in goosebumps, or if you were warm. Pliable. Slippery and soft and –

“How are you feeling?”

“Perfect.”

He could hear the stupid smile in your voice.

“Glad to hear it, if you’re ready to stand for me…”

The Master couldn’t help the furrow of his forehead, the dig of his fingernails into the soft surface of the table. Then he heard the matching gasps of you and the massage therapist, half-way pushing himself up to run around there and save you from whatever had happened and… you were fine.

Laughing, apologising for being lightheaded, saved from falling by the spa worker who had righted you. They were coaxing you to be slow, to be careful, and suddenly the Master was remembering the times he’d bellowed at you to go faster. To push your human physiology, to keep up with him. He could hear his own rough shouts, loud and harsh enough that they had made everyone around you wince with sympathy.

Then, he wondered why those thoughts were in his mind. And why that pang of guilt was making his hearts ache.

His damned masseuse had come back, no doubt from a smoke break or a lunch break or whatever these purple creatures did, helping him quickly into his robe. They offered him far less comfort than your massage therapist seemed to think was appropriate, still fussing and saying goodbye on the other side of the stupid divider.

He waved them away with a curt “good, yes, thank you.”

Then, he found himself looking straight at you.

And he couldn’t stand it.

*

The Master led you from the room with a military stride, taking some twisted pleasure in how you jogged to trail behind him.

“I can see why this is so popular,” you smiled, legs a little weak and your entire body feeling raw underneath your gown.

The Master ignored you.

The softness of the material was slightly tacky against your oily skin and you pulled it closer as you trailed behind the Master, enjoying a slight giddiness and feeling lightheaded, toes digging into the carpet as you took slow steps.

He seemed in a rush to get to the pool, swinging the door open, ignoring you as he let it swing closed after him.

The cloudy water of an oversized pool was pink tinted and sweetly aromatic, none of the chlorine smell you would expect on earth. You took in the fragrance with an indulgent sigh, refusing to give up your relaxation, even as a nagging feeling refused to leave you.

The Master was unhappy.

He waited for you to look away before quickly sliding into the water, chest-deep as he rested his elbows against the poolside behind him. He looked straight ahead as you disrobed and slid into the water beside him, the emptiness of the whole complex striking you yet again, as a sole employee passed whisper-quiet through the room.

The high vaulted ceiling was as simply designed as the rest of the complex, beautiful in its simplicity, and you looked up at it as you moved slowly through the warm water.

“Are you okay?” you asked the ceiling, hoping the Master might deign to answer instead.

He hummed, something affirmative and insincere. You let yourself float back, buoyant in the cloudy water, your toes breaking the water near the Master. He regarded you with a judgemental curl of his lip, before fixing his eyes on the wall opposite.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The Master didn’t reply, he just scoffed. You pouted, the water lapping at your face, paddling to stop yourself drifting into him.

“Just trying to have a conversation,” you grumbled.

Your words rolled off him like the sweat off his forehead, oil and water mixing on both of your skin, the heat of the room just a few degrees shy of stifling.

“Does this feel warmer to you, because you’re colder?”

He nodded. You rolled your eyes at him, finally standing in the water, crouching a little to keep your shoulders covered by the flat surface of it. You waded towards him, closing in on his personal space until the underwater bump of his leg against yours made you stop.

“Too hot?”

“Fine,” he ground out, rolling his head back towards the side of the pool.

You glimpsed the sweat and oil on his neck as you let your eyes drift over him, knowing he wouldn’t catch you while his gaze was trained on the ceiling.

“You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not.”

“Are.”

He gave an exasperated exhale, pinching his nose, and you watched the movement of his shoulders as he shifted his weight. You’d never seen so much bare skin, and you couldn’t help staring.

Sidling closer to him, you felt the brush of your leg against his once again, not recoiling. The Master tensed, and you ended up beside him by the pool.

“You are.”

All but whispering in his ear, you grinned as a shudder passed through him. The Master didn’t find it as funny, flopping his arm back beside him, wincing as it brushed your bare breast. He pulled away at lightspeed, shaky and sudden in his movements. You were getting to him.

He kept his lips tightly sealed, teeth clenched, making the muscles of his jaw bulge slightly beneath his beard.

A door opened, intended to be quiet but deafening in the tense room.

The Master snapped his eyes open at the noise, before moving away from you. He ducked his head underwater, rubbing product and oil from his face, before re-emerging with his fringe plastered to his face.

You laughed as he tried to brush the hair from his eyes, and that was the final straw.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” he snapped.

The Master marched to the side of the pool, soaking his robe in his eagerness to cover himself as he climbed the steps, turning to face you for just long enough to reveal something unsettling in his glare.

“I’ll wait in the TARDIS. Don’t hurry.”

His curt words remained in the room longer than him, echoing as the door closed itself softly behind his indignantly retreating form.

“Grumpy,” you sighed to the vaulted ceiling, floating on your back, and wishing that high ceiling housed the consciousness of the TARDIS.

At least when you argued on the TARDIS, you knew the ship was (usually) on your side. Maybe her gentle hum would have alleviated your guilt.

You managed to float in the pool a little longer, swimming for a bit, trying to relax. It was no use. With a mournful last duck under the water, you emerged from the pool, not hurrying to cover yourself now you were alone.

What had the Master been so pissed off by, you wondered. Hadn’t he known what this place was like? His research was usually meticulous – in fact you suspected he tended towards places he had been before when planning days out for you. Was it the nakedness? The touch of a stranger, in that massage parlour? Or simply the strangeness of a place devoid of stress and terror and chaos.

You’d thought about your life with him a lot, of late. About how you couldn’t just keep seeing the darkness of the universe. Perhaps it was naïve, but you had hoped that his recent movements towards flirting with you might have been the start of a few nicer trips. Of something a bit… more with him.

But he was acting like the bastard you’d first known, no longer softer, kinder, towards you.

Somewhere the two of you had taken steps backwards. And now he was fighting with you at a spa, of all places.

You pulled the robe tighter around you, gave a passing member of staff a tight smile, as you found the cupboard door which led to the TARDIS.

Deep breath, you told yourself.

Stepping into a different dimension always felt a little disorientating, but the TARDIS was your home now. Welcoming in her warmer, yellow light as the door closed behind you and cut off the spa’s true white lights and pristine décor.

You saw the form of the Master the second you stepped inside, the first thing your eye was drawn to. He was in a different gown, a thicker, longer one. Dark purple like his coat, and just as modest in its coverage.

He was leaning heavily on the console, hunched over with his hair messily towel-dried and barely styled. He’d clearly made some attempt, then gotten frustrated.

“Sorry for being annoying earlier,” you tried to weakly joke.

The Master didn’t even turn to regard you, he just tensed his shoulders, leaning defensively closer to the ship’s console.

“You still reek of that oil,” he spat, “and hormones.”

Even across the room, you took a step back from him. You pulled self-consciously at the neck of your robe, hoping he couldn’t see how genuinely shaken you were.

You couldn’t reply, biting down a surge of emotion at his rejection and turning from him, inspecting a side table by the door. The TARDIS sent a wave of comfort through you, but it only made things harder.

Highlighted what her pilot wouldn’t give you.

After a few seconds of silence the Master whirled around, a furrow in his brow.

“Say something.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to him.

He strode closer to you, and you stepped back again, closer to the doors.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, an uncertainty in your tone which made the Master take pause.

“Why?”

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know why you were meant to be sorry.

“For upsetting you. Whatever I did, I…”

You trailed off as the Master regarded you for a second, something approaching genuine conflict on his face as he fully took in your appearance. Wet hair, dressing gown tightly around your skin, shivering from the change in temperature… you wondered what he saw.

He sighed heavily.

“‘Whatever you did’?”

The words weren’t cruel. It was a question. But he could be terrifying, even in a bath robe. And you watched his eyes, looking for a trick or a spark of something more troubling.

He was searching your eyes too, looking for sincerity. For some kind of comfort.

“You took me there, and I really don’t know what I did… why you hated it so much. But… I’m guessing it was my fault.”

To your surprise, he pulled you into a gentle hug, cradling your head as he pulled you near to him. He wasn’t squeezing you, your bodies hardly touching. He was just… holding you close to him.

“I don’t like being touched,” he mumbled, his words over your shoulder, like they were trying to evade being heard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you into –”

“No I just… I don’t like you being touched. Either. It makes me nervous.”

“Nervous?” you echoed back to him.

You felt his fingers twitch against your head, tightening and loosening slightly.

“Maybe… I just… I couldn’t stand them touching you. Or seeing you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

In the silence which passed between you, you wondered if he was mulling over his own words. If he even suspected what you heard in them, the vivid green between the lines of what he’d said: jealousy.

“If there had been anyone else there, other guests, I would’ve made us leave. But you seemed happy and…”

He was struggling. Struggling to articulate himself, maybe even struggling to come to terms which his own motivations.

While bragging and flirting and banter came as easily as breathing to the time lord, sincerity was something much harder.

“You didn’t like being vulnerable?” you prompted, afraid to push him too much.

Something like an awkward, coughing laugh happened in the back of his throat – you only heard it because you were so close to him.

“I suppose you could say that.”

Snaking your arms around him, you pulled the Master closer, feeling your bodies properly together between thick material. He sighed indulgently, and you smiled, face hidden from him.

“You should have said. We could have left,” you tried to comfort him, “tell me, next time. We’ll just leave.”

He gave you the silent treatment again, though you suspected this time it was not unkind. He just genuinely didn’t know what to say.

You tried a different tact, returning to something more familiar.

“You really hate how I smell?” you teased.

He groaned, and you squeezed him just to make him groan more.

“You don’t smell like you.”

That was sweet, you conceded, rubbing his back in a few soft, gentle sweeps across the towelling of his dressing gown. He gulped.

“Did you enjoy your massage?” he asked suddenly, and edge to his words which made the question seem suspiciously loaded.

You tried not to let your wariness show, holding your posture perfectly still.

“I did. It was… intense. Good though. How about you?”

He gave a low laugh, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter, pulled taught by his sudden change in demeanour. He was holding you. In the way he might hold a hostage, not a friend. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, made you open your eyes and look across the TARDIS for any sign of danger.

You couldn’t know it, but you suspected that if you tried to walk away his tensed arms would stop you.

“My massage wasn’t nearly as satisfying, if the noises you made were anything to go by, love.”

The laugh you forced was barely loud enough to leave your lips. You felt the Master’s breath on your neck.

“Tell me what they did to you, love.”

“It was just… um… massage oil. And… they did my back. And rubbed that muscle I was complaining about, the one in my thigh. It feels a lot better now, actually.”

The Master stood silently, waiting. More, you could hear him thinking, more, love.

“They turned me over, massaged my front, and then they did the happy ending bit,” you laughed, awkwardness creeping into your tone where you tried so hard to suppress it.

“How did they make you feel?” he asked, an edge to his voice which barrelled straight past the boundaries of flirtation he had set before.

His voice was gravelly, seductive, each word painfully intentional as he whispered the syllables in your ear.

“Good,” you choked out, and he shook his head with a quiet, dark chuckle.

“No, darling, tell me what they made you feel. What did they do?”

Your mouth was dry, the TARDIS and your robe too hot, constricting against your sensitised skin.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, clenching, the faintest, most frustrating waves of pleasure in your clit. The Master was tense all over, and as you fidgeted, you felt him, hard against the front of your thigh.

“They hid you from me. Behind a barrier. Tell me what they did to you.”

In some deep part of your mind, a part which wasn’t clouded by lust and overwhelmed by the Master, pieces clicked into place. How he hated being exposed, but hated you being exposed more. His curtness, after you asked someone else to touch you. You damned him for being too proud to admit what he wanted, before you sought out pleasure elsewhere.

“They made me relaxed,” you began, “so relaxed. With these strong, gentle touches. All over. And then they turned me over, and I was so relaxed, I didn’t even notice how turned on I was getting.”

You paused, hoping the Master wanted to hear your words. That this was what he was asking for. His ragged breath told you enough. In his silence, he seemed to be begging for more. As you spoke, remembering the moment, you could feel your body responding to the memory. Growing wetter at saying it all out loud, at the knowledge the Master was desperately hanging off every word, his own arousal matching yours.

“When I was on my back, it was more oil. All over. Across my chest and my stomach and dripping between my legs and that was when I remembered what I had asked for.”

His grip on you tensed, his body thrumming with energy as it seemed to encircle you, and you forced yourself to conceal a smirk.

“The touches started on my stomach. They were teasing me, working me up. Then they moved to my nipples – I think your massage was done by then,” you pretended to think about it, and your tangent made him press his body against you insistently. You could feel that delicious jealousy, almost making him growl, as you paused.

“The oil was amazing. It smelled amazing and felt… so good. I don’t know if there was something in it, or if the masseuse was just that good,” you felt him shift again, privately delighting in how worked up he was getting.

“Then they had this toy thing. I never saw it, my eyes were closed, but… it was wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better, I can’t even remember it I just…”

“Came.”

The Master’s hoarse voice felt like it was in your very head, and maybe it was, his telepathy sending a powerful jolt through you as you felt his arousal and jealousy and anger for just a second.

“You let them touch you… those aliens, those strangers –”

“You’re an alien too,” you reminded him, another rush of irritation rushing forwards from him.

“I am the best alien you’ve ever met, love, and you’d do well to remember that.”

He was so close to you, and your skin was so hot, you shivered at the snarl in his words.

“I was right there, and – ” he fumbled for words, and you smiled, pulling against his grip a little so he could see. His eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“You were right there, and what?” you challenged.

The Master shifted on his feet, his arms loosening around you, before he leant in again. His beard brushed the softened skin of your cheek, nuzzling, the slight scratch making you shudder from the rawness of it all. He inhaled deeply, pressing his nose into the swathe of skin beneath your ear, tutting with a condescension that sent a jolt of heat down your body.

“You still reek of sex. Even more now, darling. Do you want to go back? Cheat on me again?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”

With a bitter laugh, his hands found your ribs. Their grip was higher than they ought to be, brushing the underside of your breaths over the robe, squeezing just a tiny bit too tight. You reached for the belt of his robe, your own threat held between your fingers as you assessed the flimsiness of the knot he’d tied.

His fingers dug in tighter.

“Then I’d better make you aware,” his words came out as a threat, but you didn’t feel intimidated. The muscles in your abdomen clenched, and he noticed, fingers spreading wider on your ribs. “Can’t have you going elsewhere again.”

He was teasing, but you wondered if he had perceived what you did as cheating. His surliness made it seem that way.

“Think you can convince me?” you muttered, already far more focused on the roaming of his fingers, closer to the opening of your robe.

“Obviously.”

He stepped away, and you missed the contact already, searching his dark eyes. They were unfocused with lust. Flickering lazily and obviously to your lips. His robe had loosened slightly, a sliver of chest hair exposed below the smooth skin of his neck, and you didn’t bother to conceal the bite of your lip as you trailed your eyes down across his body.

“It really bothered you that much?”

In lieu of an answer, you found your head cradled in his hands, fingers haphazardly strewn across your face and head as he pulled you in, his lips against yours. When the Master kissed you, it was everything you’d imagined. His lips were intense and firm and bruising, but not rough. The fingers wrapped around your skull were firm, intense, but not painful. Not aggressive, not trying to hurt you, just demanding all of you.

The rest of the day melted away, the TARDIS’ presence disappeared, until all your senses could perceive was him. You could feel the wetness of his lips as he kissed you so desperately you thought he might sob, hear the sound of his breathing, the squeak of your shoes on the floor as he dragged you closer still to his body. You couldn’t smell anything his skin, the oil and the water from the spa mixed with sweat and the TARDIS’ laundry detergent and him.

Even the press of his fingers on your head made you close your eyes, focussing everything on the Master.

Your fingers fumbled to reach him, hold him somehow, finding the neck of his gown and pulling, blindly reaching to run your hands across his chest hair while you fought to open the gown further. Through where he was kissing you, you could feel his amusement, the smile which threatened to break your kiss as his hands slowly released their hold on your head.

With a slight tug at his chest hair you finally broke the kiss, pulling away as he hissed at the pull of your fingers across his

You thought you should probably say something, as the two of you stood panting, eyes glazed with want, but there were no words which could serve this moment.

Your fingers went back to the belt of his robe, tugging greedily until the knot was almost free. As you were about to undress him completely, his hands covered yours, holding them in place against the slight swell of his stomach.

“My room,” he demanded curtly, though the words came out stilted and strange as he fought to catch his breath.

“If its closest,” you agreed, happy to fluff his ego in exchange for that sincere, indulgent smile which spread across his face.

In a strangely sweet gesture, he reached for your hand, pulling you eagerly towards his room. You had never been in the space before, but you barely had time to appreciate it. The dark mahogany of the furniture and the scattered books, stolen goods, and components were completely ignored by the Master as he tugged you by the hands towards a four-poster, shoving blankets and books aside. When the bed was clear he pulled you bodily around in a wide circle, before shoving you back onto the bed with a boyish grin.

Unable to resist his glee, you let yourself flop back, the robe riding up and opening at the neck, much to the Master’s delight. He was quick to try and get the white fabric off you, one deft motion undoing the belt at your waist, pulling it open down the centre with a flourish that made you roll your eyes fondly at him.

You had expected a smartass comment, some kind of brag or joke, but instead he sank over your torso. Lips pressed to the gap between your breasts, he was astonishingly serious.

The room was silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, the gentle smack of his lips as he kissed his way down your body, and the sincerity of the moment took your breath away.

The Master wasn’t a man easily moved to reverence or seriousness, not by beautiful palaces or ornate temples or tragically burning civilisations. He always had a cruel remark, a joke.

His astonished silence meant more to you than words ever could.

When he reached the slope of your pubic bone, he looked up at you, hands flat on the bed either side of your hips.

“Can I fuck you?”

Your voice shuddered as you told him ‘yes’, a ‘please’ wrung from your lips as his tongue found your clit.

He looked up at you again through long eyelashes, seeming somehow, despite the context, surprised.

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you repeated.

One hand reached down for his chin, stroking the line of his jaw in a mute reassurance. He smiled softly, lips pressed tightly together.

Your gentle touch on his jaw followed him as he moved up your body to kiss you again, gently, with all the veneration which seemed to have overcome him since the console room. His soft lips against yours made you groan, and he paused for a second, as though afraid you might suddenly be made of delicate porcelain and shatter from the gentlest pressure. You kissed him back harder and relished in the rumble of a moan from deep in his throat.

Then he was standing, eyes refusing to flicker from staring into yours, pulling your legs astride his hips and slipping his fingers into the wetness between your legs, fingers methodically stretching you for him.

“Good?” he asked, fingers toying at your entrance, refusing to find the nerves you wanted him to be playing with.

You nodded, trying to be patient.

“Good.”

With one last look of wonderment, he lined himself up and sank into you. You broke his eye contact, throwing your head back, whining at the stretch of him inside you. His hands reached to hold your legs, a thumb stroking across your thigh, before he gently started to move.

“Good?”

“Good.”

He thrust slowly, almost tentatively, as though trying to convince himself he wouldn’t hurt you. His pace gradually quickened, desperation growing on his face as pleasure built inside of you, until suddenly you were holding yourself in place on the mattress and the Master was grunting with the force of his hips meeting yours. Your feet dug into his back, supported by his hands holding your legs up, one arm thrown over your eyes as the other desperately tried to stop him from shunting you further up the bed.

All you feel was him, the desperation in his thrusts, the tightening of his hands on your thighs as you subconsciously clenched around him, your desperation mounting in tandem with his.

“Tell me,” you panted, a fistful of his sheets clenched painfully tight as he pounded into you.

“What?”

He was barely there, you realised, uncomprehending and stupid with pleasure. A groan ripped from his throat as you shifted your hips, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

“Furious,” he grunted.

“Because you were jealous,” you ground out, feeling the Master reach between your legs, distracting you with the roughness of his fingers across your swollen clit.

You arched your back, uncovering your eyes to glare up at his sweaty face, his eyes trained hungrily on your body. As he looked up to your face, neck and stomach clenching with the strain of keeping up the furious rhythm of his thrusts, you laughed at the grin spreading wide across his gritted teeth.

His fingers on your clit fumbled for a moment, before letting you reach down to take over, your own slippery fingers barely needing to work across your clit before you gasped at the break of pleasure washing over you, the Master’s hips stuttering, struggling to stave off his own orgasm.

As you came down, he slumped over you, fucking you more and more erratically until he was coming inside of you, fingers scrambling to grip onto your body any way he could, pulling you closer as he gasped for air. You couldn’t help watch, mouth hanging over and sweat mixing with his, marvelling as he finally softened and caught his breath on top of you.

“Since it seems to really matter to you,” he mumbled into your neck, “I’ll say it. I was jealous.”

You laughed. He was heavy on top of you, his chest crushing yours as he laughed too, face pressed to the crook of your neck. You could feel his teeth against the sensitive skin connecting to your shoulder, the wetness of his mouth as he laughed, exasperated and high from the hormones.

“You were jealous!” you teased breathlessly, the words making a barest attempt at being sing-song, before his lips pressed against your neck gently.

“I was jealous,” he replied soberly, his hair brushing at you as he fidgeted, taking his weight off you a little. His legs were intertwined with yours, and you could feel the contractions of his muscles as he moved. “So, unbelievably, jealous.”

Even as you dedicated his words – this moment – to memory, you could feel sleep pulling at you. You sorely needed showers, and food, and probably water, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“So we can’t go back?” you asked airily, if only to feel the rumble of a short, exasperated laugh in the Master’s chest.

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I want a massage?” you whined, pouting for show, then gasping as the Master teasingly pinched at your hip.

“Then you’ll have to ask me.”

You pinched his hip in retaliation, his thigh jostling yours as he fidgeted irritably.

“Hm, I can live with that. If you’re any good.”

He was halfway to sleep too, tugging a displaced blanket across the pair of you blindly with his free arm.

“I’m the best, darling. Obviously.”

[shewillreadyou]

Me before you: Chapter 3: Excuse me miss

A/N: This is a TRR AU. Liam is already married, but see’s Riley and wants his cake. If the readers are receptive this might turn into more than a mini series. Enjoy!

Disclaimers: Most characters are property of Pixelberry

Warnings: Language, adult content, mild sexual innuendo. 

Word Count: 3468

Catch up: Haven’t met you Yet  For Real

Prompts: None 

Pairings: Drake & Riley

Song inspiration: Luther Vandross Take you out & Wait for Love

Be Kind: Hit the heart button, leave a comment or reblog. It makes a writer so so happy.

The hot water cascaded down his sculpted body. He groaned as he ran his hands through his luscious chocolate locks. He lathered his shoulders as thoughts of her ran through his mind. He was captivated by her. She seemed to consume his every waking moment. Liam had crossed the line yet again. Every time it seemed his transgressions got more and more out of hand. He refused to allow his friend’s actions to ruin his final couple of days in the states. 

Bastien had taken over the King’s detail while they were in Waxahachie for Savannah’s wedding. For the next 48 hours, Liam was not his charge, he was his friend. His thoughts went back to her. She represented hope, possibility, promise. He had no idea what was to come, but he knew that it would be an exciting adventure if she was at his side.  

As he pulled his white henley tee shirt over his head, his mind went back to the conversation he had at the reception with his cousin Tyler, who was a cyber-security analyst with the Department of Homeland security. Drake explained to Tyler that he would no longer be sitting with him and the rest of the bridal party because the girl who he had been telling Tyler about who works in advertising, who he met in New York was there, and he intended to spend as much time with her as he could. She was something special. She could be the one. “So you invited her to Sav’s wedding?” he inquired. 

“No, actually she is the friend of Sav’s college roommate, Mackenzie, and came as her plus one. I had no idea she would be here.”

 “Sounds like fate.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that of all the places in the world this one person could be, she is here at your sister’s wedding... in Waxahachie, TX. If this girl is the one, you’re screwed. You might as well spruce up your resume. She’s a career woman. She is not going to move to Cordonia for you, and you suck at long-distance relationships. I can probably get you in at my job. My guy Rob in HR owes me a favor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get the courage to ask her out,” he told Tyler.

The truth was, he could easily see a future with Riley. She’s beautiful, honest, smart, quick-witted, and kind. His cousin’s words bounced around in his head as he pulled on his favorite distressed jeans giving himself a quick once over in the full-length mirror in the room his Mom had decorated for him at the ranch after she returned to the states when his dad passed.

He opened his laptop and took a look around the room. The Walker Ranch had been in his father’s family for several generations being passed down to the eldest male child, like each generation before. Drake stayed in Cordonia after his father died and was handsomely compensated by the crown. His college education was covered, and he and his sister received a stipend each month. Drake was always taught to do a lot with little and to save the rest. For years he lived at the palace and saved every penny. Being friends with Liam, he learned how to invest wisely and he did pretty well in the stock market. His newest pastime had been real estate investment. He had been buying foreclosed homes in and around Dallas and having his Mom’s brothers and his cousins fix them up before selling them for a generous profit. 

He was curious, he was now the rightful owner of the Walker Ranch. It had struggled in the past, but because of his business plans and wise investment, the family business was as strong as it had ever been and his mom was nearing retirement age. What if he and Riley did end up together? He knew the plan was for his cousin Miranda to replace his mom when she was ready, while he retained ownership, but where would that leave him? He pulled up the DHS website and clicked on the careers tab. He was reading a description of a position that he believed he would qualify for, Intelligence Analyst.  

Just then Liam plowed through his door without warning. 

“Li! What the fuck man?” he shouted as he closed his laptop abruptly. 

“My apologies, I hope I'm not interrupting.  I just wanted to apologize if I offended you. You were right, any woman can be a lot. Carsyn is not speaking to me, she thinks I'm interested in Riley.”

“You are interested in Riley. She's just not interested in you and it's killing you. Let me ask you something, why is it so hard for you to grasp that a smart beautiful woman would be interested in me over you?”

“It’s just.. It’s not that. I'm not accustomed to rejection. It intensifies my want for her.”

“ I hate to cut our conversation short but I have to head out. I’ve got a few stops to make before I pick up Riley.”

“Then I shall take my leave. Enjoy! Smart man, planning a date when it’s going to storm. I’m sure you won’t have a problem closing tonight,” he said as he left the room.

The evening came and Drake drove along the winding Country Road towards the city. He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat of Chris Stapleton’s, “Starting Over.”

Then he switched from Prime country to the Heart and Soul station on his XM Radio. If he was going to have her in his life it meant embracing all aspects of it. He knew that music was a big thing for her and although she would listen to a little bit of everything she loved R&B and Jazz.  A song by Luther Vandross came on and to his surprise, it was not very different from the country music he listened to all the time. The chorus was catchy and very fitting. 

“Excuse me Miss, what's your name? Where are you from, and can I come? And possibly, can I take you out tonight?”

He found himself humming the tune as he stepped into the local Nursery to pick up a houseplant to go along with the Pinot Grigio he bought as a gift for Riley.  He decided on a Prayer Plant. 

It was relatively low maintenance and he thought it would be entertaining to watch it curl up in darkness. He didn't want to do the same flowers and candy that everyone does. He wanted to take her something that she would keep for a while, and possibly would make her think of him when she saw it.  As much as he didn't want to admit it the thought of her dating someone else while he was back in Cordonia was driving him insane. 

He was nervous and he couldn't figure out why. They were just going to hear some live music.  But he wanted to impress her so badly. He knew that it was more likely that he would end up putting his foot in his mouth but with her, for some reason, it did not matter. When he pulled up in front of her place he put on ChapStick, and reached into his glove box, sprayed on some Chrome, and checked his breath before quickly gathering the gifts for her and heading toward the door. He tucked the house plant under his arm as he smoothed over his clothes as the elevator took him to her floor.  A small lump formed in his throat as he approached her door. 

She opened the door and his breath caught in his throat as he took in her appearance. She was dressed in a denim outfit with matching stiletto boots and oddly enough, the denim matched his jeans. It would almost appear planned. He was secretly thrilled. She smiled at him and he was sure he forgot his own name for a few seconds. She stretched up on her toes and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

“Hey Drake, you smell delicious.”

 “Hey. Thanks. These are for you.”

“Aww, you brought me a houseplant and wine? I’m not worthy, but I love it. Thank you. Come in! I promise I’m almost ready.”

She sat the plant on the counter and placed the wine in her wine fridge. 

“You look greeeeat,” she squealed. 

“Thanks. So do you.”

“So how’d you know what kind of wine I like?” she asked as she finished her eye makeup in the mirror. 

“Observant, I guess. I saw a bottle in the trash when I was here yesterday.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you ready?”

He stood moving to open the door for her. “After you.” They made it downstairs as a couple of her neighbors made it home from what he only assumed was church. He couldn’t figure out if the staring was due to her outfit or if it was because she was with him. He looked at her in awe as she strutted with confidence to his car. 

He opened the door for her and she smiled before thanking him. 

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. She was rattling on and on about the artist performing in the festival and he was secretly praying she wouldn’t ask him a question that required an intelligent answer. She kept touching his biceps and his hand. Her hands were so soft and he was sooo turned on. He hoped that she didn’t notice the bulge in his pants and think that he was a creep. He wondered if she kept touching him because she was nervous too?

“Um, Ri? You good?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You are extremely chatty and you keep touching me.”

“I’m excited. I’ll try to keep my hands to myself, but the way this henley hugs your arms,” she wiggled her eyebrows. 

He let out a low chuckle as he quickly glanced at her for the seventh time.

“Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, never better. Why?” 

“You keep looking at me.”

He grinned keeping his eyes on the road. They were nearing the venue when she glanced at his pants. He immediately assumed that she spotted his retreating erection. 

“What?”

“We’re matching you know. People are going to think we did this purposely.”

“Do you care what others think?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Good because we’re here.”

They parked and he asked her to stay put for a moment. He got out of the truck and grabbed a blanket and wicker picnic basket. He walked around the truck and opened the door for her and she blushed furiously as she stepped out.

They made their way to a free spot among the crowd. Riley noticed a few glares from both men and women, who obviously had an issue with she and Drake being there together. Then she smiled as one woman gave her a smile, wink and thumbs up as she stood to the side watching while Drake spread the blanket and invited Riley to sit. She knew that some people would have opinions of them being an interracial couple, but Drake didn’t seem bothered. In fact, she thought it showed how courageous he was. When another woman mouthed, “That’s a good look!”

She bit the inside of her cheek trying not to smile. The truth was she didn’t need any validation. She knew Drake was a catch. The fact that he was easy on the eyes was a bonus.  

“What’s in the basket?”

“Uh, a little something my mom helped me with.”

He opened the basket and pulled out wine glasses, a bottle of her favorite Pinot Grigio, cheese, cashews, summer sausage, deli turkey, sliced cucumbers, grapes, strawberries, whipped cream and 2 brownies. The opening act took the stage and Drake pulled Riley close. 

“I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am,” she said coyly as she settled between his legs.

They cuddled for a bit before eating, until one of the performers played a rendition of The Gap Band’s, “Outstanding.” She jumped up and pulled Drake with her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and swayed back and forth with Riley. She felt so comfortable in his arms, he actually had rhythm. There went another stereotype out the window, it just felt right. 

After several acts had gone on and several glasses of wine later Riley settled in his lap as a performer started to play a slower song. “I love Luther,” Riley squealed as she began to sing along.

Knowing love the way I do

I can say for certain that it's true

There's a chance for me and you.

I surely feel like the time is near

The picture in my mind is very clear

I think love has brought us here

I remember not too long ago

I was just a lonely person

With a lonely heart, yeah

And I was hoping there could one day be,

Be a chance

For me to get the love

That I'd been missing

Sometimes love takes a long time

Wait for love

And you're gonna get the chance to love

Wait for love, wait for love oh, my

When you take the chance on love you'll see

It's not a waste of time if you truly believe

The impossible can be..

So hold on tight if you think you're right

Cause nothing hurts as bad as when you see

You gave up too easily

Now I remember spending all my time

On a dream that kept me wishing that you could be mine, yeah

And I was hoping there could one day be, be a chance, whoa

I never stopped believing there could one day be, be a chance

For me to get the love that I'd been missing

Sometimes love takes a long time

Wait for love, and you're going to get your

Chance to love

Wait for love, wait for love

And you'll get the love that you've been missing

Sometimes love takes a long time

But wait for love

And you're going to get your chance to love.

Drake couldn’t help but hang on to her every word. He wondered if she was trying to send him a message through the lyrics. She had a voice like an angel and when the song ended he was breathless. 

“Ms. Riley sings too?”

She giggled as she rested her head on Drake's shoulder, her back to his strong chest. He fed her  grapes then strawberries with whipped cream soliciting jealous glances from some nearby onlookers. She made sure to let her lips and tongue graze his fingers.  For a few blissful moments, they both silently enjoyed the closeness.

“You know, this is pretty cool,” he whispered in her ear.

She smiled as his breath tickled her ear. Feeling the effects of the wine, she paused for a few moments before she responded.

“What’s that?”

“This. Us. The festival. It all just feels right.”

She wordlessly looked up at him. She wondered if she could will him to kiss her with her “come get it eyes.”  Suddenly, a torrential downpour covered the venue, leaving Drake and Riley scrambling to gather the blanket and basket before sprinting to his Jeep. Before they could get there he stopped snaking his arm around her pulling her close. 

This was it, he was going to do it, it was now or never. If she was the onehe wanted to look back at their first date and tell a romantic tale of their first kiss in the rain. Now was the time. He leaned in and when she opened her eyes her lips found his instantly. It was everything she expected and more. It was hungry and passionate and lustful and it made her lady parts twitch. When he pulled away he watched her for signs of regret, but her eyes said she wanted more. 

“Hurry, get in,” Drake urged her as he took the time to throw the basket and blanket in the back.

They were both soaked. She laughed hysterically when he finally got inside. 

“This entertains you, does it?”

She nodded as she continued laughing, her eyes were clenched tightly. 

He went back in taking her lips again as it continued to storm all around them. Her hands roamed his body and her eyes went wide when she made contact with the bulge in his pants. Another stereotype out the window…Drake cupped the back of her dripping head with his left hand deepening the kiss while his right hand explored the soft skin of her thigh as a soft moan escaped her. Suddenly his phone rang, “Mama’s Song” by Carrie Underwood blasted from his pocket startling Riley. Drake huffed and looked at her with apologetic eyes before answering.

“Mom? What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry for interrupting your date Drizzy.”

Riley smiled.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“The power is out and the generator didn’t kick in. I gave Larry the weekend off..”

“I’ll be there as soon as I get Riley home safely. Sit tight.”

“Thanks Driz. How’d it go? Did you kiss her?”

“Mom! She can hear you.”

“Hi, Mrs.Walker.” Riley chimed in.

“Hi, sweetheart. Did he kiss you?”

Riley laughed again. 

“Bye Mom!”

Drake ended the call and turned to Riley, cheeks flushed red.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“For the way, tonight is ending. For my Mom.” 

“Nothing could ruin today. Not even your Mom Drizzy,” she laughed again.

‘Geez, Ri that was below the belt.”

His comment made her think about his bulge and she began to blush.

“Are you blushing?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Oh, it’s too embarrassing to share.”

“Now you know I won’t stop until you tell me.”

When they pull into her neighborhood the entire area is pitch black. Her building was also dark. 

“Good thing I have candles.”

“Or you could go back to the ranch with me,” he said shyly.

“Really? I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“It’s just Mom and I. Liam and Carsyn should be out for the evening. Besides, I promised you dinner and it’s Sunday, I bet my mom cooked.”

“I can’t meet your Mom looking like this. I’ll be ok.”

“Riley, I’m not leaving you alone in the dark.”

“If you want to spend more time with me just say that.”

“Fine, I want to spend more time with you and I’m not leaving you alone in the dark. My Mom would kill me. Pleaaase! I can get you one of Sav’s outfits. I promise it will be an adventure.”

“Okay, I’ll go. But only because you’re so cute when you beg.”

He bit his lip. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Drake Arrington Walker!” she warned.

“Too much?” He smiled.

When they arrived at the ranch, Drake showed Riley to his room and gave her towels and a change of clothes while he went to help with the generator. She quickly showered, pulled her hair up into a messy bun and moisturized with his Nivea lotion that she found on the counter she walked back into his bedroom pulling on the leggings she borrowed. She was still bare from the waist up when the door opened. Her back was turned when she looked over her shoulder to reprimand him.

“Drake!” 

“Riley, it’s me, Liam.”

Riley screamed as she scrambled to cover herself.

“Get out!”

“My mistake. I thought Drake was in here. But this, you are much better.”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, what’s a little fun between friends?” he asked as he closed the door.

Before she could answer Drake barreled into the room, his fist connected with Liam’s jaw before he tackled him. 

“Have fun with me you bastard, I told you to leave her the fuck alone,” he yelled as Bastien pulled Drake off of Liam. Riley watched the entire scene in horror from the corner.

“Get the fuck out Li!” 

After Bastien escorted Liam back to the guest house, Drake checked on Riley.

“Are you hurt? He didn’t touch you did he?” 

“No, I’m more embarrassed than anything. He walked in without knocking while I was changing.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about him.”

“What in tarnation is all that racket back here?” Bianca asked as she turned the corner.   

“Just Li being a creep. Everything is fine Mom.”

Riley stood when Bianca entered the room. 

“Riley, this is my Mom, Bianca. Mom, this is my Riley.” 

His eyes went wide as soon as the words left his mouth. He grimaced as Riley extended her hand to his Mom. Bianca pulled Riley into her embrace instead. 

“It’s nice to meet the girl who makes Driz nervous.”

“Mom!”

Riley laughed.

Come on darling, I know y’all were supposed to get dinner. It’s Sunday so I cooked some pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, and green beans and for dessert, banana pudding funnel cakes.

“Oh my God, Mrs. Walker, that sounds amazing. Drake, you were holding out on me.”

“Not, really. Maybe I wanted to cook for you first.”

@txemrn @pixie88 @secretaryunpaid@khoicesbyk @blackkingliamstan @mom2000aggie @shannonwrote @hopelessromanticmonie @chemist-ana @rideordiechronicles @lucy-268 @dcbbw @darley1101 @maurine07 @sfb123 @bbrandy2002 @kingliam2019 @schnitzelbutterfingers @lem-20 @choicesficwriterscreations @no-one-u-know @jessiembruno @queenrileyrose @thefrenchiemama​ @somersetmummy​

TRR: @twinkleallnight  @bebepac @mainstreetreader @romereadingshop @romewritingshop @lem-20 @texaskitten30

[caught-in-the-filter]

Dark Hook or Season 2 Hook, handcuffs and some hair pulling. CS smut ;)

Mmmm yes please. 😏🔥 Thank you for the prompt! 🥰❤️😘

As I’ve missed both WIP Wednesday and TIT Thursday this week, I’m sharing this fic for Finalized Untimely-Crafted Kinkiness Friday!

(I think “untimely” technically means too soon, not late? But I can’t think of another fitting word for the acronym, so it is what it is.)

It’s a DH pwp “mini”-fic at about 1700 words. Because I like him too and am very indecisive. And I took some magical liberties with the handcuffs to facilitate the indecisiveness. You’ll see. I hope you enjoy. 😊😘❤️

Thank you @kmomof4 and @hollyethecurious for looking over it for me. 😘😘❤️❤️

Read it on AO3

——

“You look positively delectable, Swan. Laid out for me like that.” The Dark One stalked toward the bed, removing his own clothes with a flourish of his wrist and casually taking himself in hand, his cock already hard at the sight of Emma’s naked form. He smirked as he watched her test the tendrils of crimson smoke swirling around her wrists, keeping her arms stretched above her head.

“Do you like it, love?” Another wave, and Emma gasped as her legs spread wide, allowing the Dark One to kneel between them. “Being on display for me like this? My magic keeping you at my mercy?” He lowered his head and tipped it back to look up at her as he flattened his tongue against her stomach and licked an agonizingly slow stripe from her navel to her chin, climbing over her as he followed the path with his body. He hummed and opened his mouth to speak again, his hot breath ghosting over her lips, just a hair’s breadth away from her, as he added, “If I should choose to have any mercy on you, of course. But when your skin alone tastes like that, I don’t know what the taste of your arousal will do to me.”

“Y-yes,” Emma answered, shivering beneath him as his cock brushed her stomach and she longed for it to be lower.

“Yes, what?” he prodded as he ran the tip of his hook along her collarbone and down her side, a thin trail of red rising in its wake.

“Yes, Dark One. I like it.”

He sneered with a bit of both menace and mischief, still angered by the fact that the title of the one on which he swore to seek revenge was now his own, and yet exhilarated by the feeling and the power which the title gave him.

“Good girl,” he growled. “Now, tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, Dark One.”

“There’s a good lass,” he purred. “You know I like to be commanded.” He sat back and held her still with the side of his hook pressed just above where she wanted him.

“No,” she interrupted before he could plunge his fingers inside her, “fuck me with your cock.”

“Ah, you’ve already caught on,” he grinned. “As you wish.” Aligning the tip of his cock with her entrance, he filled her quickly, the shock of the stretch taking her breath away, and the slick feel of her momentarily taking his. “Gods, you’re so fucking wet, and I hadn’t even touched you. You must have been thinking about this, haven’t you, naughty girl?”

“Did you expect me not to?” Emma panted in time with his rough thrusts.

“No,” he admitted with a smirk, palming her breast and slamming into her with abandon. She writhed beneath him as he took her hard and fast, her loud moans mingling with the slapping sound of skin against skin as both echoed through the room. He nipped at her flesh, hungrily marking her with his teeth in several places, some of which would certainly be seen later, no matter how modestly she may try to dress. When she impatiently rose to meet him, he asked her again, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come,” she answered breathlessly. “Dark One, make me come.”

“My pleasure,” he answered with a kiss, pulling her lip between his teeth before coyly biting his own as he left her empty and slid down her body until his face arrived at her aching core.

“Seriously?” Emma questioned, having expected to come on his cock. But she gasped when he licked along her folds and sucked on her clit before his tongue prodded her entrance, lapping at the wetness his cock had encouraged.

“The Dark One tricks.” He laughed and gave her clit another strong suck. “You didn’t say how, and I told you I intended to taste you.”

She thought about correcting him again, having forgotten to clarify her desires as intense pleasure clouded her mind, but his mouth felt amazing too, and honestly it didn’t matter how she got there as long as she did.

He dipped his tongue inside her, flicking it back and forth before removing it, making her whimper. Humming against her flesh, he repeated the motions several times and introduced his fingers in tandem when her back arched off the bed.

“That’s it. Come for me, my sweet,” he guided, fucking her in earnest with his hand. “Let me drink in your pleasure.” With that, he suctioned his mouth around her entrance and tongued at her relentlessly as he thumbed at her clit, rolling and pinching the swollen nub and eliciting the most sinful sounds from her as she rose and fell with the waves of her release, allowing him to consume every drop.

The weightlessness from her euphoric climax was suddenly amplified as a swirl of deep red smoke lifted her off the mattress with ease and brought her to her knees on the floor at the foot of the bed, restraining her arms behind her back. Met with his cock straining toward her face, she looked up at him with wide eyes, knowing what he’d demand and more than willing to oblige.

“Getting what you want from me means I get something in return, love. That’s how it works. Open up.”

“Yes, Dark One,” Emma submitted and let her jaw fall loosely open, waiting, not making another move until he would tell her to do so.

“Take my cock in your mouth,” he ordered, gritting his teeth as she obeyed. He surprised her when he took a fistful of her hair and brought her flush against him with a guttural groan. “That’s it.”

Emma flattened her tongue along his length, choking around it as it teased her throat, conditioning her breathing through her nose as he held her there for what felt like forever until he finally pulled her head back and allowed her a few gulps of air before sheathing himself with her mouth once more.

“Look at me, love.” He tilted her head back just enough so that she could gaze up at him as he rolled his hips and began to thrust. “Very good.” Emma did her best to relax to keep her jaw from locking, letting him use her for his pleasure as his grip on her hair tightened. “Fucking perfect. Suck on it,” he sighed, more plea than instruction, letting her rest her chin on the curve of his hook as she did as she was told and he continued to forcefully piston his hips. “Yes, Emma. So good for me.”

When his own mouth fell open, the sound that came from it left Emma trembling with renewed desire as he poured his warm release down her throat and onto her tongue as he slowly pulled himself away from her. Her eyebrow rose to taunt him as she allowed some of it to spill onto her breasts before swallowing the rest. “That was—”

“Was?” He interrupted, silently commanding her to stand with a harsh tug on her hair, and she followed his insistent prompting. “Oh no, love,” he spun her around and brought her back to his chest, catching her arm in the crook of his hook, “we’re not done yet.”

Wrenching her head back at an angle, he watched a bead of sweat roll down her neck and caught it with the tip of his tongue, tracing its path of descent in reverse and relishing the chill that doing so had sent coursing through her.

“You wanted to come on my cock, and after that performance, how could I not make good on it?” He nosed and nipped at the shell of her ear, and Emma’s legs grew weak beneath her. “I may be Dark, Emma, but you’ll find I’m not so much the monster one would assume.” She gasped again when he shoved her forward, the smoke relinquishing its hold on her wrists so she could catch herself on her hands as he bent her over the edge of the bed, only for it to knock them out from under her a moment later so she fell to the mattress with a yelp. “And only as much of a beast as you want me to be,” he smirked as he gripped her ass, which the new position had proudly presented to him.

“Please, Dark One,” she whispered, overwhelmed with want.

“Yes, love?” The Dark One teased her with the tip of his cock, passing it up and down along her folds and tapping her ass with it as she wiggled at him impatiently.

“Please,” she whimpered softly, spreading her legs further apart.

“Say it.”

“Please, fill me with your cock again, Dark One,” Emma begged. “Please let me come on it.”

“Your wish is, quite literally, my command.” He pressed inside her once more, sheathing himself to the hilt. With each deliberate roll of his hips, he filled her completely, his balls slapping her clit and his cock hitting that spot deep inside her that blurred her vision as she could only see the impending relief it promised her.

“Yes. Oh, yes, Dark One!” Emma cried, and he lost any shred of restraint he had left. Pounding into her with frenzied thrusts, he leaned over her back, wrapped her hair around his hand, and clamped his mouth over her shoulder blade, digging his teeth into her flesh as he found a bit more of his release and spilled it inside her throbbing core. The warmth with which it filled her, paired with the feel of his tongue on her skin as he attempted to soothe the evidence of his bite, was too much. “Yes!” His hook teased her clit, the cool metal a jolt against her heat, and she shook beneath him as she clenched around his cock and came for the second time that night.

Spent at last, they crawled onto the bed and collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and ragged breaths.

“Anything to say, love?” he asked, gently stroking her sweat-soaked hair, his desire to pull it finally sated.

“Thank you, Dark One.” She smiled, and he returned the grin.

“Good girl.”

——

Tag list which I still can’t believe I have, thank you all ❤️: @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @teamhook @thejollyroger-writer @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert

[hypmic-translation]

Naniwa Paradise Sake

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing (1) Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

SASARA Osaka Division’s formation celebration ROSHO Naniwa’s neon lights are looming overhead (2) SASARA The truth is, it’s difficult to know where to go REI How ‘bout a night of mistakes around Chayamachi? (3) SASARA Having a lively talk about nothing important is Nurude Sasara and his merry band of friends ROSHO Passing through Ame-mura, noisily wasting time (4) REI Crossing that border brings you into a new world SASARA Okonomi! (5) ROSHO Kushikatsu! (6) REI This is the nation’s kitchen (7) SASARA Let’s have a toast! Count to ten, if ya please REI Hey, we only just got here ROSHO That was very sudden (8) SASARA Our suddenly-formed team is sure to run into trouble It’s not really worth much, but I still wanna thank you (9) Us three are the best! SASASA/REI Cheers to that! SASARA We’ll be champions! ROSHO Yeah, champions of flour-food (10) ALL Those eastern divisions aren’t such a big deal (11)

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

REI Alcohol is the best medicine around Kill the beat, make some noise, 108 desires in all (12) Word games are just instances of luck So it’s been decided, I’m tonight’s designated driver Irregular noise, a gold driver’s license (13) In our own private world, go straight Don’t drink if you drive, don’t drive if you drink (14) You’re only allowed to ride this track tonight

ROSHO Drank so much saké that I can’t stop laughing Stuck here in the same boat as this crook (15) Authority and wolves both will be forced to bow down (16) (24) Rivalry naturally gets me fired up (hic!) REI In simpler words, chop end-roll (17) ROSHO We’re gonna climb to the very top of this thing SASARA Aren’t you raring to go, Rosho~ Hm? ROSHO Huh? SASARA Oh, it’s your eyes? They don’t seem focused?

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

REI Without following trends we’re burning through spirits (18) Instead of chilling at home, this is the DH way SASARA Wholeheartedly playing around? Overdrinking Chamisul, the Makgeolli’s here! (19) REI Before dawn arrives we’ll keep emptying shot glasses Quietly smoking cigars with unsteady hands Celebrating life is us nightwalkers C’mon, until the morning sun rises, let’s go SASARA Drinking a lil too much turns into a touching memory ROSHO It’s always the same with you, isn’t it (20) The good and the bad, all of it bare (21) We’ll find a clear solution to that centre party for a one-shot, one-kill (22) SASARA I don’t like rock as much as hip-hop, yanno Once the beer gets here I’m gonna gulp it all down with a “bang!” and a “boom!” ROSHO Hold on! What are you talking about! SASARA This was all un-alcohoidable! (23) ROSHO The hell are you saying? Whatever, that’s enough! I’m done here!

CHORUS Down your glass and sing along This is Osaka drunkenness Division shit One drink, two drinks; it all tastes good No, I still haven’t had enough yet Naniwa-nyway, let’s keep on singing Any division compared to ours is all full of shit Merrymaking; idle gossip The sunrise brings proof of our drinking spree Dotsuitare Honpo shit

NOTES (Under the read-more because they got very long!)

I’m so sorry for this one, but it was the only way I could think to incorporate the joke here organically. The line reads “ナニワともあれ歌いましょ (naniwa tomoare utaimasho)”, Naniwa being Osaka’s original name, as well as the name of one of its wards. The pun here is that “naniwa tomoare” sounds a lot like “何はともあれ (naniha-tomoare)”, which means “at any rate/in any case”, so a more literal translation would be “regardless, Naniwa, let’s sing”.

A more literal translation of “looming all around” would be “forward-bent posture”.

Chayamachi is a popular downtown district among young people in Osaka’s Kita ward. The shops there sell various kinds of food, fashion and forms of amusement.

“Ame-mura” or “Amerikamura” (American Village) is another one of Osaka’s popular entertainment areas, this time in their Chuuo ward. Has many Western fashion retail shops, bars, and nightclubs.

“Okonomi”, short for okonomiyaki, which is Sasara’s favourite food. “Okonomi” on its own means “how/what you want” while “yaki” is “cooked”, so altogether it’s “cooked how you want”, referring to it’s versatile fillings. I think this is probably supposed to be a pun, but I wasn’t sure how to reflect that and Rosho carries on with the food naming anyway, so I went more literal here.

Kushikatsu is deep-fried meat and vegetables on skewers. Its origins can be found in Osaka, and both it and okonomiyaki are popular there.

Osaka was once called “the kitchen of the nation” during the Edo period, where many different kinds of food from all over Japan gathered due to the city being a warehouse and trading port.

This is a nice example of how these three use wordplay very effectively - Sasara says “ten-count”, written in katakana. Rei uses a word that can be read as “ten” (but isn’t, in this case) and Rosho does the same with “count”. Likewise in the line following, although Sasara doesn’t use the same word for “sudden” he does use onomatopoeia that essentially means the same thing, bringing the joke full circle.

“碌でもない” means “good for nothing/worthless”. “後光がさしてる” means “to be very thankful towards someone” (enough to make them look like an angel with a halo). I’m not sure I got the meaning of what Sasara’s saying exactly right, but this is how I’m interpreting it. I didn’t pick up on this myself, but someone pointed out to me how this section is in itself a count-down from ten - Rei and Rosho say 10 and 9 respectively, and then Sasara incorporates the rest of the numbers into his lines from 8 to 1. I have no idea how to make that look good in English though...

“Flour-food” refers to how most classic Osakan foods such as okonomiyaki and takoyaki are made with flour.

“Aren’t such a big deal” is more literally read as “how much is monjayaki worth” (なんぼのもんじゃい), the answer being “not much”.

“Kill the beat” (apparently a common phrase in breakdancing referring to being able to skillfully stay on rhythm) and “make some noise” are two different sentences in this line, but they both include a use of the word “hame” (はめ/ハメ) which, when put next to each other, is slang for “having sex”. “108 desires in all” is a reference to the Buddhist belief that humans have a total of 108 “worldly desires”, or polluted thoughts. “Worldly desires” is usually written as “煩悩”, however Rei uses “欲望” which also means desire but in a lustful sense.

A gold driver’s license is what you can get if you’re a “safe driver” in Japan with a standard license (you get points for driving violations, so only people with 0 points can get gold). Apparently these can occasionally get you discounts in hotels and shops.

This is apparently a popular slogan in Japan in order to discourage drunk driving, and according to one source I saw while investigating it’s been in use for over 30 years.

“Stuck in the same boat” is my loose interpretation of “呉越同舟”, which is the concept of working with someone you consider an enemy in order to achieve a common goal.

Rosho says “okami” twice in this line - or at least that’s how it sounds. The first is “okami (御上)” and means “authority”, so referring to the government/Chuuoku. The second is “ookami (狼)” which literally just means wolf, likely referencing Matenrou as the 1st Division Battle winners.

This gave me agony for ages, and to be entirely sure I’m still not sure if it’s right, but whatever. Tell me if you have a better alternative. I’m choosing to interpret “chop end-roll” as “cutting off before the end of a movie”, as “end-roll” in Japanese is how you refer to end credits, so I guess what Rei’s saying is basically “we’re finishing this now”. Also he uses “言の葉” for “words” which is also the name for the Party of Words - but he doesn’t actually say “party (党)” so I don’t think he was referring to them.

“Spirits” being liquors.

Chamisul and Makgeokki are both Korean alcoholic drinks. Also, I was informed that the line “Makgeokki’s here” (”Makkori ga kuru”) sounds a lot like “Maddotorigākurū”, which is “Mad Trigger Crew”.

So this gets interesting. The things Rosho says in both this and the next line are slurred, which gives them a double meaning - he’s saying one thing, but what they sound like are alcohol puns. In this case, “always/frequently (shotchū)” sounds like “shōchū”, which is a kind of Japanese liquor.

Here, “good and (iimo)” sounds like “potato (imo)”, which is something you can make alcohol out of. The same goes for “bare (mukidashi)”, the first half of which sounds like “wheat (mugi)”.

I’m a little vague on this one so take it with a pinch of salt. Rosho says “チュー輩” which is “chuu” and then “party”. “Chuu” isn’t exactly “Chuuo” and “輩” is the kanji for neither “political party” nor “ward”, but considering how drunk he is here I’m willing to believe he’s referencing Chuuoku. You’re free to correct me if I’m wrong though, I’m still very unsure.

Again, I’m really sorry for this. The joke here is that Sasara says “酒ては通れない (sakete wa tōrenai)”, which… doesn’t really mean anything sensical, but literally something like “alcohol can’t pass”. However, it sounds almost identical to “避けて通れない (sakete tōrenai)” which means “unavoidable”. So… un-alcohoidable. Haha.

Bonus fun fact; “okami” is also a reading of the obscure kanji “龗”, which (basically) means “water dragon”. However, as with most kanji, “龗” has multiple readings, one of which (kan-on) has it read as “rei”, just like “零” (Rei’s name). I don’t think it’s necessarily relevant to the song because of the obscurity, but it is an interesting tidbit.

[pebblysand]

It’s me again! You gave such a thorough reply that I wanted to first say thank you and second elaborate on devastating and maybe also expound on why i love castles so much.

So honestly what i most appreciate in post-dh hp fanfics is the exploration of what happens after the war- particularly the trauma and healing process. I’ll be frank in that I’m probably projecting my own mental health issues but that’s neither here nor there.

Castles strikes me as particularly interesting and unique because it delves into Ginny’s trauma from the war as much as Harry’s. Very often in other post-dh fics we see that Ginny is the stable one, she is Harry’s anchor, they show her understanding and forgiving him without question. Which I understand and love but your fic sheds a new light on other possibilities. When I say devastating i mean the internal turmoil, the truth that recovery and healing and growth are agonizing processes. (This is me projecting again, that last three years have been A Lot). And i really appreciate that, personally and narratively. The ordeal of healing and healing alongside people you love and at the same time hurting and being hurt by those same people, and the harsh reality that none of this is linear is something that I just find so compelling in your writing.

Man that’s the most coherent I’ve been in a review in AGES - not just feral screaming. Needless to say, I am very very excited for your update and I will literally wait however long it takes, because you can’t rush genius.

Aw thank you so much for your kind words. I'm glad this fic is resonating with you. This is going to be long, so buckle up under the cut.

Thanks again for what you've said, I truly appreciate it. Without blowing my own horn too much, I will say that castles does seem to "speak" in that way to a lot of people in terms of trauma and healing, which as a writer is immensely flattering. I think as authors, all we ever want to do (or at least all I've ever wanted to do) is to write things that are faithful to human emotions and human experiences (as Sally Rooney puts it, we want to write books about "people"). When we get that right that's honestly the most rewarding thing in the world.

To tell you the truth, though, I never really set out to write about that. To give you a little bit of backstory on Castles, it's a story that's been more of less brewing in my head since I was 14 years old, which is when DH came out. I remember sitting there at the end of it and even then I couldn't stop thinking about the 'what now?' question. Obviously there is the epilogue (and I will come back to that in a bit) but I always had a question mark drawn on the direct aftermath of the battle. I think most HP fans have their own little corner of obsession, right? Like, some people are obsessed with Marauders, some with Next-Gen, some with the Death Eater side of the fight. The Post-War world has always been mine.

I believe that the reason for that, as much as I hate to admit it, is that as humans, when something bad happens to us, we have a very easy way out: death. I'm obviously not trying to encourage anyone out here to kill themselves and if anyone who reads this is having thoughts along this line, please seek help, but the truth of the matter is that in the human experience, death is always a possibility. We could choose it, embrace it, and end our own suffering. Yet, like Harry at the end of DH, most of us don't. For the most part, we tend to hang onto to life. Because, truth be told, it's full and wonderful and deserves to be lived, despite the fact that, objectively speaking, it's bloody hard. And, as a writer, that's the space I want to be in. I want to understand and describe why we make that choice, every day, to get up and carry on, rather than giving up. I find that absolutely fascinating. I'm not a writer for the sensational stuff (some people do that much better than me), I want to write the quiet and the silence and the dirt and the blood that's dried and the grief and the powering through and the not giving up. To me, choosing life despite trauma is the epitome of bravery which, as a Gryffindor, is probably the character trait I value most in people.

Obviously, from a narrative perspective, this interest of mine lands itself to a post-war exploration very well. There's an old interview of JKR where she says she insisted on the epilogue being included at the end of book seven (even though she knew it was going to piss people off) because she wanted to show that they made it through. That, as I put it in Castles, 'They lived, for better or for worse.' And, in that interview, she talks more specifically about soldiers and PTSD, and says that 'getting over that kind of war, that's the hard part.' I remember watching that interview and thinking: yes, exactly. And, that's the thing about the epilogue. It's not so much about the content of it, the who-ends-up-with-who rather than the symbolism of it. It's not only about the fact that they fought in a war and won it, it's about the fact that they fought another war afterwards, a quiet one with the world they were trying to rebuild, along with rebuilding themselves, and they won that one, too. It's about showing that bravery isn't always this sparkling, flashy thing. It's also overcoming the silences and the grief and the struggles and making it to the other side.

And, so, yeah, I suppose that leads me to write about trauma. Although that isn't the initial endeavour, it's certainly part of it. And as you pointed out yourself, that road is full of ups and downs because "living" is fucking fantastic, but it's also fucking hard. I find the phrasing you used about Ginny typically being the "stable" one in other fics particularly interesting. I'd never thought about it that way, but I see what you mean. And, the thing with Castles is: none of them (and I mean H & G but also Ron, Hermione - hell even Kingsley) are particularly stable or unstable. To me, they just are. They exist and they live and they try to put one foot in front of the next the best way they can, with very little sense of plan or strategy. They sort of make do, which to me is the only realistic way I can envision the post-war world. They're kids who've just lived through the apocalypse. It's unrealistic to me that any of them would hold all of the answers, or even come close to having their shit together.

To me, it was and is very important to show all sides of that spectrum. Although they likely all wouldn't have suffered from acute PTSD, they would certainly all have struggled with something. Not everyone deals with everything the same way, and I want to show feelings of guilt, and bravery, and confusion, and fear, and determination which are all as unique as the individuals who experience them. I also wanted to show that not everything has a clear-cut explanation for it. For example, when Ginny breaks up with Harry in chap3, she says some truly horrible things. But, what she does say is also the one percent of everything that lies under the surface. She says she breaks up with him for Reason A but it's actually Reason A. 1, A.2, B, C, D, etc. Because, truth be told, that is what happens in life. People rarely give you a neat little list of all the reasons they do something, especially if, again, they've just lived through something huge. Often, you only truly find out the real reasons for people's actions months later, and often, that's because they themselves don't even know, haven't made sense of it in their heads. So, of course, I think it's incredibly important to write all of them as going through something, because to me anything else would be deeply unrealistic.

And, truth be told, I've thought about this extensively every time I've re-read the books in the past. Throughout the years, I started countless drafts on this topic, which I often gave up and left unfinished, until now. I think what motivated me this time is honestly the pandemic. I re-read the books during the first lockdown, then set out to find The Perfect Fanfiction which would deal with all of that. I'd never been in the Potter fandom before and thought to myself: 'there's like a million fics in that fandom, someone must have written this.' And, to this day, I still sort of believe that? Like, I've had a lot of comments in the past year telling me that they like or dislike Castles because it has a unique "tone" and a unique "mood" as well as themes but I'm always like "really? someone else must have written this," haha. But, despite spending a lot of time looking, I never found it so I suppose that's when I decided to write it, haha.

And, here we are, lol.

[dm2840]

Exceeds Expectations

Hogwarts 7th year, post DH. Ron/Hermione. Rated M.

Sunlight streamed weakly through large dusty windows in a neglected corner of the Hogwarts library. Ron Weasley sat in freshly starched Auror-in-training robes across from a large pile of books that hid his girlfriend who was two hours deep into a NEWT related breakdown. 

Ron’s stomach rumbled, months of being on the run during the war had failed to dismantle his body clock which was timed perfectly to meals. 

“Hermione, its been hours. It’s dinner time-- I need to eat, Merlin knows you need to eat. Ginny says you’ve been here all day” 

He pushed off some of the books from the pile to see her better.

Hermione was rifling through pages with ink-stained hands and with such an expression of intense focus on her face that Ron wondered whether she had heard him at all.  Her curls seemed to have expanded with stress and were pulling away from her wand that was uncharacteristically shoved in her hair as a feeble attempt to hold it in place. 

“Hermione...?” he repeated leaning across the table to gently prod her head with his finger.

She looked up, her bright brown eyes screwed shut in frustration.

“I cannot find the right Ancient Rune texts for this assignment. It’s bound to come for the NEWTs... I feel like I have looked everywhere”. She looked around the table which was scattered with at least two dozen books all filled with complicated diagrams and formulas.  “I wanted to spend time with you at Hogsmeade so badly but this day has just gotten out of hand”, she added apologetically.

“I don’t understand. It’s got to be in this section...” she muttered as she slid out of the chair and turned towards the large bookcase behind her. 

Ron watched her half-amused as she stood on her toes to read the titles before sighing in frustration and bending down to scan the books on the lower shelves. Her skirt rose to reveal several inches of smooth, thick thighs. His throat went dry at the sight. 

He couldn't help but think back to all the times in the library when he had studied her-- his eyes drinking in her full lips, untameable mane, the flash of brown thighs as she readjusted in her seat. 

All those times where all he wanted to do was touch and caress and kiss every exposed inch.

The hunger in this stomach was replaced by another, more urgent hunger as he felt his trousers tighten. He got out of his chair and walked towards her. 

Hermione was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Ron next to her until he slid his hand underneath her skirt to cup her bottom. 

“Ron what are you doing?” she squealed looking round at him “this is the library”

He snorted as he pushed her into the shelf. Something about taking Hermione in her sacred space made goosebumps erupt at the back of his neck. It didn’t help that her breath had quickened, causing her chest to rise up and down in anticipation she wouldn’t yet admit. He leaned his arm against the case, blocking any chance of escape. 

“You haven’t even noticed my new Auror robes” he grumbled jokingly, “so busy looking for Mystics and Ayans” his lips brushed her nose and she let out a repressed giggle. 

“Aztecs and Mayans” she murmured fondly running her hand through his hair before caressing his stubbled jaw. She eyed his dark blue robes before letting her hands stroke the fabric on his chest. 

“You look so handsome, I can’t believe I didn’t notice, before,” she said softly her face turning pink as he leaned forward to kiss her. But she turned her head away apparently resolute in her decision to not snog in the library, his lips clumsily crashed against her neck instead of her mouth. Incensed by her denial, Ron dropped his arm to her waist pulling her closer as he planted hard kisses laced with small bites along her neck. She bit her lip to suppress a moan. His other hand ran from her knee up into her skirt. Despite herself, she spread her legs giving him access.

“Ron.its.still.the.library” she gasped even as her eyes rolled back in pleasure, “someone will find us”

Ron paused, pulling away from her. “You are the only Hogwarts student in over 50 years to take the Ancient Runes NEWT,” he said grinning down at her “nobody is brilliant enough or mad enough to sit for it.”

Hermione blushed deeply not only from his sincere praise but from the sudden realization that she needed him to be as close to her as possible. She needed to let him know how much she wanted him...

He grazed his thumb over her knee, “ We can stop. If that's what you want”

“No,” she said in a small voice pulling his towards her, their lips crashing against each other. He kissed her hard, with so much earnest passion that she couldn’t help moaning out his name.

His hand traveled further up her thighs before pausing to squeeze the flesh. He let out a low growl of desire. The war had left them emaciated and so finding Hermione regaining her rounded thighs brought him sharp, unexpected pleasure. 

“You’re. so. fucking. sexy” he gasped in between kisses, as his hand stopped short of her center. “Ron...” Hermione demanded impatiently. Her lips were swollen her shirt half-opened with freshly planted marks staining the smooth skin on top of her breasts.

Her eyes were heavy with desire and rolled back as he finally stroked her through damp panties. Her hands were in his hair pulling it with just the right amount of force. One of his hands gripped her breast, the other working her through her panties till she was begging him.

He finally acquiesced moving his fingers past her underwear to the enlarged nub in between her folds. Hermione sputtered incomprehensibly leaning back against the shelf with such force, she sent a couple of books flying across the room.

“Oh noo” she whimpered as she absentmindedly looked round.

Books weren’t going to fucking ruin this. He slid two fingers inside her, curving at the spot that would undo her entirely.

“I’m going to...” he felt her tighten. He knew.

She buried her face in his chest to soften the guttural sound. He wrapped her in his arms until he felt her stop trembling.

“I love you so much” he whispered into her hair. 

She stood on her tip-toes, her lips brushing his jaw-- “I love you too”

They finally broke apart and appraised the scene of the crime. The next few minutes were spent tidying up the section that looked like the remains of a small hurricane. 

“So what grade do you think I will get for that” Ron asked slyly as he watched Hermione attempt to discipline her hair with her wand. 

“I think ‘Exceeds Expectations’...” he continued as he put the last of the books away.

Ron draped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him tenderly as they walked out of the library.

“An ‘O’ should be most fitting” Hermione finally replied primly with only a trace of a blush.

“For orgas-” Ron quipped barely able to contain his laugh. Hermione punched him in the arm this time turning bright red.

“For Outstanding. Now let’s get you that roast beef.”

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 17

Amazing art by @raspberrydreamclouds​ 

Masterlist of all chapters

******

At his desk, Marshall shoved his hands through the mess of his hair, irritated. The parcel sat in front of him in a clear evidence bag, not yet opened. He couldn’t decide what to do with it. It hadn’t exploded. It made a soft sound when gently shaken. All the worst possibilities had skated through his mind when he’d seen it.

A body part.

A dead animal.

A bomb.

Rosie had gone, with some hesitation, to the deli. She’d decided to start her shift a little early and be around people. Marshall didn’t blame her. He wanted to pick her up, but tonight was his night with Faye, so he planned to ask Rachael if she’d stay with Rosie, make sure she was okay.

He’d already been in touch with the super of Rosie’s building to ask for any cctv tapes from the entrance and the hallway. It was 50/50 between whether he’d get the tapes and whether they actually existed. Many companies installed fake cameras, or never bothered to fix busted ones.

He growled in annoyance and shoved out of his chair, then finally snapped on evidence gloves and eased the prettily wrapped box from its bag, then tore the ribbon off. The lid lifted off easily, and Marshall felt himself wince before looking inside to find-

A sterling silver bracelet sat looped on a soft pad of silk. His pulse raced as he shucked off the gloves and slid open his file cabinet, snatching out the Whiskers file, flipping through it, to find-

This was the missing silver bracelet from one of the classy NYC homes that the cat burglar had hit.

He lay the case file down next to the box Rosie had received, to double check. Yep. The same fucking bracelet.

His phone chirped and he dug it from his pocket, absently flicking the screen on.

FAYE: Can I still come over tonight?

DAD: Sure, sweetheart. What do you want for dinner?

FAYE: You cook now?

He smiled at himself. She had her mother’s smart mouth, all right.

DAD: Not if you keep that up, I won’t. How about lasagne?

FAYE: With garlic bread?

FAYE: Mom says I can have garlic bread.

He smirked. No way even his daughter could have asked and gotten an answer that quickly.

FAYE: When will I meet your girlfriend?

His throat went dry just as Rachael poked her head around the door of his cupboard-sized office.

“Marshall, cctv tapes just got dropped off.”

He was out of his chair like a rocket, locking the door behind him.

Rachael led him down the corridor towards the cybercrimes unit - well, unit was a generous word for a large room full of servers where their tech guys, Quinn and Glasgow - and sometimes Glasgow’s baby, when his wife had to work, a situation that everyone pretended not to know about - could be found.

“Oh, forgot. Rach, are you free tonight?”

She glanced up to him as they walked. “Oh, I - no, shoot, I have a date. But I can cancel. What do you need?”

He thought about the hope on her face when she’d spoken about the date. Rachel needed some happiness. Who was he to piss on her cornflakes? “Ah, nothing. I’ll sort it.”

If she was curious, she didn’t have time to question him, because Quinn, all floppy hair and soft eyes, opened the door; he had obviously been waiting. 

“Got ‘em queued up ready.”

Quinn dropped back into his chair, motioning at Glasgow who hit play on the tapes. “We’ve both been working on them, forwarding through. A lot of nothing,” Quinn narrated as the static flashed past, but then…”

He hit play and Marshall leaned over his shoulder, mouth in a thin line as he concentrated. “I know him. How do I know him?”

Rachael moved over. “Rewind ten seconds. Wait. He’s the kid who works at the deli.”

****

After an hour at work, Rosie had just about managed to stop her hands from shaking. She made herself think only of her favourite things as she built sandwiches for a buffet order from the office across the street. The work was comforting, kept her from wringing her hands and screaming her frustration.

Worrying was about as useful as a chocolate sunshade, after all.

Her colleagues, especially Christie, were concerned, kept asking if she needed to go home. She did not, wasn’t even sure if she would feel safe there alone. Christ knew what she’d do this evening. 

One problem at a time.

Marshall had been the consummate professional after the box was found. He sat her down, got her sweet tea, called the station. Two officers arrived within minutes and took the box in an evidence bag to the station while Marshall double checked her locks and escorted her to the door of the deli.

Christie said nothing but raised an eyebrow, smiling, when Marshall dropped a kiss on her forehead.

She looked up as the door bell tinkled, amazed to see the object of her thoughts headed inside, that swagger making her mouth dry. Even though he had more than satisfied her, she was beginning to think she’d never get enough of this particular flavour of tall, dark and handsome.

“Rosie,” he started, as she put down the batch of roast chicken baguettes she’d been slicing.

Christie looked up from her paperwork in the corner, but didn’t say anything.

“Is everything okay?” He looked tired. She wanted to reach up and cup his cheek, feel the gentle tickle of his beard on her palm, but he looked like he was on official business, and besides, she still wore chicken covered hygiene gloves.

“It’s probably best if I speak to your manager. She in?” His gaze held hers, and in his eyes she read a million things he wasn’t telling her.

“Ah, sure.” She swallowed back the wave of anxiety threatening to bring up her coffee, and called Christie over. 

Marshall touched her shoulder. “See you later?”

Some of the anxiety waned. “You bet.”

Tagging: @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @watermeloncavill @dr-kayleigh-dh @brokenthelovely @lokimostly @dancingwendigo @constip8merm8 @maggotzombie @abehn250 @littlefreya @wanderinglunarnights @mrsaugustwalker @townmoondaltwhistle @captain-rogers-beard @ayamenimthiriel @rayofdawnworld @alyxkbrl @stxphmxlls @mary-ann84 @the-jer-bear @boiled-onionrings @peakygroupie @pinkzsugar @wildwavehc @andahugaroundtheneck @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira @cavillhavoc @promptandpros @screamingrennergasm @ravenpuff02 @chook007 @omgkatinka @radaofrivia @trippedmetaldetector @mitzwinchester 

After posting all this I realised I haven’t sent it to my brilliant beta, @ly--canthrope , so all the errors are my own!!!

[isidar-mithrim]

Tag game

Thank you for the tag @fightfortherightsofhouseelves and @clarensjoy!! 

Also, I’ll take this opportunity to apologize for all the tag-chain/game I ignored lately! I’m quite busy this period and while I do still check tumblr almost daily – especially now that I can’t wait for new @giblimort‘s amazing portraits *_* – it’s more like a few-minute scroll in the homepage and maybe read the occasional ficlet so I might miss the tags or more probably I might be lazy about answering them ^^’ But it always makes me smile that someone thought of me, so be aware that it’s appreciated and it makes my day lighter <3 @narukoibito @sybill-the-seer @ballerinaroy and I’m surely forgetting someone ^^’

Fandoms: Harry Potter, the one and only ;)

Where you post: Tumblr and Ao3, but I also have an account on the italian fan fiction page EFP (but my last stories are missing and most of the old ones that I’ve translated needs to be changed/edited, so I would kinda beg any passing italians to read them in English or ask me what version I would suggest XD). And one on Wattpad that I haven’t updated in a long while...

Most popular one-shot: Well I’m not sure what defines “popular” here, so I’ll kinda cheat and check the Ao3 stats I think for the first time ever and give you:

one for “most hits”: Fantasies [NSFW and basically Hinny PWP, so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised it’s the one with most hits XD]

one for “most kudos”: Standing on tiptoe [whoa, hadn’t seen it coming!]

one for “most bookmarks”: Letters for beyond (featuring the Potters)

one for “most comment threads”: so there are 4 with the same number, two of them are the two above, and between the remaining two I’ll pick A new beginning, a post-war chat between Harry and Neville ^^

Most popular multi-chapter: among my only two proper multi chapters, of which one is incomplete so far and with just 2 chapter and the other is complete with just 3 short chapter (what an achievement XD), Better than fireworks  is the one among all of my stories, including one shots, with “most bookmark”, “most subscriptions” (by far) and also “most comments threads”: [all this support is absolutely amazing, but I admit also kinda make me feel guilty because it’s almost been a year since I posted it and promised to finish it, ups ^^’ And the ironic thing is that I still plan too. One day. Maybe XD]

But I’ll also cheat a little bit again, naming a4 one-shots series, “Have a biscuit”. If you like Neville and McGonagall, I’ll be honored if you’d give it a try ^^

Favourite story written so far: Ahhh that’s a tough one, I tend to be quite fond of my stories (yay for the modesty, lol – I swear that when I’m not that thrilled I always admit it, though XD)... Let’s say “As though by a mother” but I might give a different answer in a week XD

Fic you were nervous to post: I’m not sure I’m never actually “nervous” before posting (more like, afraid that the story won’t appreciated as a I hope/that it won’t interest people), but I guess I must have been a bit nervous before posting my first ever pic translated in English, which also happens to have a not-so-usual writing style: And yet it tastes good

How you choose your titles: Ahhhh, good question. I guess it depends. Tbh I’m not that good at titles, or sometime I have a (supposedly) great one in Italian that doesn’t really translate (or isn’t that good) in English or viceversa. [Example: the “Have a biscuit” serie has English titles that I like way better than the italians, but a story like “Souls of Ink”, while having a good ring in English, to me it’s way more powerful and poetic in Italian, “Anime d’inchiostro”].

Sometimes I don’t have a title until the end and I kinda throw something there, sometimes I have the title from the very beginning and it could be a big part in inspiring the story. I tend to use title that are neither too short nor too long, and I don’t usually use songs quotes or the like. Plus, I’m very happy if the words/phrasing of the title recur literally or metaphorically in the story! I also try to match the “feeling” of the title (and the summary) with the “feeling” of the story. Like, I’d go for a more poetic/dramatic one for an angst story, and for a more comedic-like one for something more fluffy or silly.

Complete: Well, that’s easy, since I mostly stay away from multi-chapters XD (and for good reasons – see above XD) All my one shots, and most of my “closed” series, as in, series that I imagined with a beginning and an end or something like that (so, series like “Next Generation” don’t really have a complete/incomplete status) 

In progress: Again “Better than Fireworks”, and I’ve also just realised that I’ve yet to finish translating (despite being at a decent point) the second and last chapter of “Of Matilda, war and Peace” [speaking about being bad a title, lol XD] Ups ^^’

Coming soon/Not yet started: ahhh coming soon probably nothing, ehm, but I’ve at least 4 one shots in the making and that I want to finish one day (most of them started months if not a years ago... I’ll list them below), plus the draft for the rest of Better than Fireworks, plus several random missing-moments or AUs ideas and a long Hinny post-war story started few years ago in Italian (roughly 100.000 written) that needs to be heavily rewritten, translated and possibly finished ^^ Same for a shorter bit of a Jily seventh-year story, if we have to say it all...

“Ghost of the past”, a Hinny one shot from Ginny’s pov with a difficult conversation – I’m very fond of this one, but I have to work on the second part/end. The first/main part is finished and even betaed by the amazing @narukoibito! <3

“Of those who stayed”, a silver trio one shot – again from Ginny’s pov – during DH, when they try to steal the sword. I’ve the first (long) chapter done and again, even betaed by the wonderful @floreatcastellumposts but knowing myself I want to finish it first. I might decide that it’s okay like this (in Italian I’ve already posted it a one shot), but since I had a sort of sequel in mind for now it’ll stay in my drafts ;)

“The man who lived” – This one is all in just Italian so far (I’m rewriting an old piece – I’d probably restart it directly in English now); again Ginny’s pov (wow, hadn’t realised it!), again DH, this time since she (in my head canon) realise Harry might have gone to Voldemort during the battle, until the end of the battle

A one shot that’s it’s a series of Hinny snippets about James Sirius Potter coming to life (from the very start). Old one written in Italian and never posted, that a again needs to be finished. Same for a collection of snippets around Hinny’s wedding (but this is “draftier”)

A one shot of Harry and the Potters waling Teddy at King Cross; I’ve just a very little bit of it written + most of the draft, and it would be the sequel of the one shot “What parents would want”

The random Missing Moments that I’ve have in mind are: a conversation between Bill and Ginny in the hospital wing in HBP, plus maybe a bit more from Ginny’s pov in that period (like going back home from Hogwarts); a conversation between Bill and Ron in DH, not sure if during Ron’s first or second stay and Shell Cottage; Hermione finding out about Arthur’s attack; Dumbledore taking Slughorn’s memory (when it happened, how he found out... I’ve several head canon about it!)

The random AUs moments (and I say moments just because I wouldn’t really be interested in writing a whole story, I only imagine few moments of it): Hermione brining Harry at the Burrow at Christmas after Godric’s Hollow, with is locket attached to his chest (I think I stole the idea from Flo’s!); the trio finding Ginny in the cell in Malfoy Manor as well; and some dumb “Lily and James are resurrected post DH” trash XD Oh, also a real muggle AU with Harry as a self-defence coach and Ginny as trainee!

Do you accept prompts? As you can imagine especially in this period I’m not very good at commitment ^^’, but if you have a specific idea and want to give it a try (maybe during the winter holidays?) I’d be honored, if not able to make any promises!

Upcoming works you’re most excited about: definitely “Ghost of the past”!

I’m tagging @ballerinaroy again, @remedial-potions, @thedistantdusk, @thebiwholived and whoever wants to join ^^

EDIT: Ehm I got caught up with the stats when I wrote this and without realizing it I put a multi chapter in the “Most popular one shot” section, lol XD Problem fixed ;)