#it's such a long book. and part of a series too. but somehow it doesn't feel heavy at all

[lesamis]

What is the hands of the emperor and where does one find it? :L

it's a sci fi/fantasy novel about the most untouchable, revered, beautiful, friendless and powerful person in the world going on a little beach holiday w his coworkers 😌

thematically, it's about loneliness and belonging and the things that make us human. the emperor (whose "hands", his secretary, are the closest thing we have to a protagonist) can Literally not be touched and it's highly taboo to even look in his eyes. the main drive of the novel is to uncover bit by bit just how miserable that's made him through the ages, and how desperately he's in need of friendship. it's exactly the type of character-driven, psychological fantasy i want to make a nest and live forever in. you can buy a digital or physical copy on the author's website!

[heartswithinreach]

The reader running towards them with her book in her hands jumping, hugging them, kissing them and screaming with happiness and they don't understand anything, when they ask what happened, she says "the enemies just became lovers 😁🥹"

LaDS when you’re excited about a book

Xavier

Confused and startled by all the screaming but once he realizes it’s screams of joy, he just waits for you to calm down with a completely adoring smile on his face.

He thinks it's the sweetest thing you get so invested in stories that a character's joy becomes your own.

If the book is a part of a series you've been following for a long time, odds are he's reading it too so he can share in your interest and he's thrilled your hopes for romance came true.

If this is a new book, he'll ask to borrow it and read the whole thing in one night to understand why you like it so much.

If it's that kind of book, he cheekily suggests recreating a few scenes he's bookmarked. Xavier knows you two could do it better.

Rafayel

All he knows is one moment he was peacefully painting by himself and the next, you’re all over him but not in the fun way.

Rafayel thinks something really amazing must've happened if you're this excited and then thinks you're a total dork for being so happy for a fictional couple.

He teases you for it in the moment but when his mind wanders before he falls asleep, he wonders if you're so excited by fictional romance because he's lacking somehow.

He actually gets jealous and he's not shy about you knowing it. It's stupid and childish but that's never stopped him before.

Rafayel will pout until he realizes he can outdo a character from a book. You will either be adorably flustered or laugh from how hard he’s trying — either way, it’s a win for him.

Zayne

When you burst through the door with a book in your hands and a smile on your face, Zayne experiences some powerful deja vu.

He suddenly remembers how much you loved stories when you were little — he saw it firsthand when he would read to you himself. He knew you still read as an adult but he thought you would've grown out of how emotionally involved you could be.

He's glad to be wrong.

Regardless of whether you've told him about this book before, Zayne asks you to tell him again so he can see your eyes light up and listens to your rambling with the most subtle yet softest of smiles.

He'll happily spend his evenings quietly reading alongside you.

Sylus

Oh. This is new. He's never seen you like this before.

He likes it. He wants it to last.

Sylus almost doesn't care what the reason is so long as he is the recipient of your violent happiness. He soaks it all in while marveling at how far you've come.

You never would've been so open with him a few months ago, even with something as trivial as a book you like. Sylus doesn't have much time or interest for novels but you've intrigued him. You will should read aloud to him sometime, if only he can see what the fuss is all about.

"'The enemies just became lovers'? I don't remember you being this excited when you decided I wasn't the enemy anymore, sweetie."

[simjaexy]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙔𝙤𝙪 | 𝙋.𝙎.

Pairing ⇀ Popular Boy! Park Sunghoon x Fem! Reader

Synopsis ⇀ Sunghoon is the enigmatic and talented ice hockey player, captivating everyone with his skill on the ice and his mysterious aura off it. He's the guy who doesn't say much but leaves a lasting impression. Sunghoon's dedication to his sport and his quiet confidence make him a true heartthrob, unfortunately he just can’t get your attention.

Genre ⇀ Smut

Warnings ⇀ MINORS DNI!!, Sunghoon is toxic (so is Jake a little), Making Out, Cum Eating, Hair Pulling, Mean Dom! Sunghoon x Sub! Reader, Pain Kink, Semi Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms

A/n ⇀ This is part 2 of the Wanting You Series.

Read Jongseong here.

Sunghoon was known for his icy demeanor and striking looks. He wasn't the type to show his emotions easily, and that made him even more intriguing. His friends often joked about his ability to make anyone fall for him without even trying.

But when one of them decided to make a challenge on who could pull you, Sunghoon didn’t even try hiding his smirk. He accepted the challenge, though he viewed it as just another game.

When Sunghoon heard about the challenge the first thing he did was ignore you. Not because he didn’t like you, but because he knew his friend, Jake was gonna have you first.

He knew Jake always loved being first in things, so it wasn’t a surprise when a few days later Jake said that Sunghoon can go for you.

“She’s pretty chill so I wouldn’t worry much.” Jake said.

Sunghoon grinned at him, “So why’d you take so long to get her?”

“Because she’s the kind that likes to play hard to get. Nothing too big though.” He replied.

Unfortunately for Sunghoon, you seem like you weren’t interested in him.

Students whispered and giggled as Sunghoon walked past them, unfazed that they’re talking about him.

It’s not the first time he’s got this attention, and it won’t be the last either. But when he walked past you, you didn’t even acknowledge him and just shut your locker and head the other way.

Sunghoon didn’t show and expression though. He just simply continued walking to his next class, he wasn’t gonna stop and beg.

If there was one thing Sunghoon hated about this class, is that there was always that one teacher that pissed him off.

He listens to his teacher talking his brains off about something he did over break, but why the hell would he care?

Sunghoon sighed and looked out the window. The view wasn’t all that either. He looked to his side and noticed a specific person walking past his classroom.

Immediately, he raised his hand, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Before the teacher could respond he quickly left the class. He was not trying to hear his teacher give him a lecture.

He scanned the hallways, but didn’t see any signs of you, that was until he heard a voice and saw you coming out the library.

You had two of the same books in your hand which left him confused, but didn’t ponder much.

Now that he thought about it, Jake’s been getting into books again. He rolled his eyes, thinking that Jake was still trying to keep you on hold while he tries to get you.

He knew Jake was a sucker for romance m, though he didn’t know he’d fall this fast. Sunghoon ignored his thoughts and went up to you shamelessly.

You bumped into him without seeing him and stared up, “O-Oh sorry.”

He looked down at you, “It’s fine. Have you seen Jake, he was with you the last time I seen him.”

He lied about the wanting to see Jake. He saw him not even that long ago but who cares. He has to get your attention somehow.

He did see you two together at one point today even though he wasn’t supposed to interrupt Sunghoons turn, but Sunghoon let it slide.

“Uh I think he went to a soccer game, they got called out early in the speaker.” You replied.

Sunghoon hummed and thanked you, walking away without a thought. You watched as he disappeared from your sight.

You and Jake haven’t been really talking as much since the incident in the library, sometimes he’ll just plain out ignore you when you tried talking to him in the halls, but texts you apologizing that he didn’t see you.

You’d sigh and would leave a message saying it’s fine. You’d still give him a book though, at least it’s one way to keep in touch.

He’d grab it in a secluded hallway and thanked you, kissing your forehead. He wouldn’t kiss you though, but you thought he just didn’t feel like it.

The next day Sunghoon got up extra early. Jake told him that you were going to the library so he decided to head there too. He already had a plan fixed.

He has to talk about something that’ll keep you interested, and he doesn’t think Jake won’t be offended if he used him as bait. The plan was quite simple.

He would talk about Jake and how he’s been ignoring you since Jake said it was for Sunghoon to get his game up.

You’d feel sad and disappointed and that’s when Sunghoon will come into view. His plan was simple and yet perfect.

As he made it to the library, he noticed that there barely anyone there. The librarians working on books while some students were reading or doing homework.

He averted his gaze to a specific hair color and walked his way towards you. You looked engrossed in a book. He approached you, his cold aura unmistakable, "Is this seat taken?" he asked, his voice smooth but distant.

You glanced up, slightly taken aback by his sudden presence, and shook your head. He sat down, barely sparing you a glance as he pulled out his own book.

The silence between you was palpable, but there was something about his aloofness that piqued your curiosity.

You wondered why he randomly wanted to sit with you. Maybe it was because you were talking to Jake?

It was silent for quite some time, the only thing heard were the sound of Sunghoon flipping pages of his book. You didn’t know he was interested in books.

“Is there something on my face?” He suddenly asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly turned back to your book, “S-Sorry.” You stuttered.

Sunghoon suddenly closed his book and stared at you, “Have you’ve been talking to Jake?”

You looked up from your book surprised. You didn’t know if he knew that Jake was ignoring you, “Not really, no. He’s been busy with practice I guess.”

Sunghoon hummed and leaned on his hand, “He doesn’t have practice on the weekends.” He spoke. Your eyes widened.

But he told you he had practice everyday? You felt your chest sting and took a deep breath, “He told me he did?”

“He doesn’t.”

The way Sunghoon cold honestly somewhat made you snap into reality. Jake lied to you. He always cancelled your plans on the weekends saying he had practice.

Sunghoon continued staring at you. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the way you looked.

Brows furrowed, lips parting, concentrated in thought. He definitely hit you where it hurts, “Jake has always been like that with girls. Lying to their faces. It’s in his nature.” Sunghoon chuckled.

But you just stayed silent. You slowly closed your book, “I-I think I should get going.” You muttered. Sunghoon doesn’t stop you when you rushed out the library.

Instead he yawned, closed his book, and headed out the library too. Plan a worked perfectly. Now all he has to do is put on his comforting character and care for you.

Class was just as boring as he remembered. Currently he had his head down, it was break and students were talking to each other. Sunghoon didn’t really have friends in that class.

He just talks to whoever comes up to him. Aside from girls, he ignored them or just give out short answers.

While feeling in the verge of falling asleep, he heard a group of girls speaking, “Yeah it’s tonight so I went to buy a cute dress yesterday!” A girl voice squeaked.

He then heard another girl talk, “You think Sunghoon and his friends will go?” A girl muttered, but Sunghoon heard loud and clear.

They began whispering while it suddenly clicked in Sunghoon mind. Today was the gathering of students good attendance.

Sunghoon and his friends did have good attendance, but never went to those. It was cringey and not worth their time from practice.

He then had an idea. You must be going to it, he knows you had good attendance, he won’t lie and say he doesn’t pay attention to you everyday entering your classes while he talked to his friends.

He lifted his head up and looked at the group of girls, “When does that start?” He asked them. They gasped as two of them squealed that the Park Sunghoon was talking to them.

“O-Oh uh it starts at s-six thirty!” One of them squeaked. Sunghoon got up and left the classroom as soon as the bell rang, not even thanking them.

He guessed he could skip practice if that means you’ll go.

He found out you were attending a small gathering and made sure to be there. He dressed up a bit formal and had his hair gelled. There’s no way you won’t fall for his looks.

As the night went on, you found yourself alone on the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze.

Suddenly, Sunghoon appeared beside you, his expression as unreadable as ever. "You look like you could use some company," he said, his voice low.

You were surprised by his sudden approach but nodded, feeling a strange comfort in his presence.

“It was too loud.” You said.

“Hate loud crowds?” He asked. You nodded and stared down.

“There aren’t really my thing.”

“I don’t like loud crowds either.” He admitted. You gave him a smile, but he didn’t really smile back.

As the conversation flowed, you realized that beneath his cold exterior, there was a depth to Sunghoon that was intriguing.

He spoke about his passions, his dreams, and his fears, all while maintaining that distant aura. It was as if he was letting you in, but only just enough to keep you wanting more.

You suddenly thought about Jake, the only thing you knew about him was that he’s talkative and likes to play soccer, and not to mention he’s pretty good at sex.

Your mind suddenly drift to Sunghoon, with his cold personality, you had a feeling that he was still good in bed. His strong biceps could practically choke you while he fucks you from behind.

Your eyes went wide. Why the hell were you thinking about that? You’re talking to Jake. You gulped hard and bashfully looked away.

Sunghoon suddenly noticed the shift of the air and smirked. You’re finally falling for his schemes.

“S-So Jake didn’t come?” You questioned. Sunghoon shook his head.

“None of us go to these gatherings.”

“So why’d you come?” You curiously replied. Sunghoon stared at you with an unreadable expression.

“Didn’t feel like a bad idea to see you.” He said. You felt your heart beating fast. Why were you feeling like this?

Maybe it was because Jake left you hanging these past few weeks that you forgot what it was like to have attention.

“Why’d you want to see me?” You mumbled. Sunghoon smirked and went next to your ear.

“I thought your dress would look good on you. Turns out I was right.”

You felt yourself gasp and stared up at him. He slowly cupped your face and stepped closer, “I know Jake hasn’t been giving you the attention you deserve. So use me while you can.” He whispered.

His breath hitting your lips. You didn’t know what to do. You knew that if you did something right here you’ll regret. But the way Sunghoon pulled you closer made you have other thought.

And just like that your lips connected. The kiss was slow and sensual, feeling every part of his lips. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

Sunghoon knew he shouldn’t be doing this, the challenge was just to make you like them, not giving you a satisfaction, but the way you looked so helpless to him made him want to ruin you in other ways.

He gripped your neck and entered his tongue in your mouth. You let him in so easily. He gripped your waist with his other hand.

You felt yourself getting dizzy just from kissing him. Your thoughts on Jake long forgotten with the way Sunghoon pushed you against the railing.

You suddenly remembered you were in a public area and broke the kiss, saliva connecting your lips.

“W-We shouldn’t do this. Jake-“

“I don’t care about Jake. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction you need.” He said. You felt yourself lowering your head.

Sunghoon lifted your head up with his finger under your chin, “You deserve someone who’ll treat you right. So what are you waiting for? I’m right here.”

And that was all he needed to say for you to kiss his lips again. You moaned when he put his hand under your dress and rubbed your cloth core.

He grinned, feeling your wetness damp your underwear, “Already so wet? You’re a curious one.”

You whined when he pulled away and dragged you back inside. You didn’t know where you two were going, but you were excited to say the least.

You both entered the family restroom as Sunghoon locked the door. He turned back around and kissed you again.

He picked you up and settled you on the sink. He pulled your dress over your body. He began trailing kisses down your body causing you to sigh.

He moved your underwear to the side and prodded at your hole, but stopped when he realized something, “Did Jake fuck you already?”

You stared at him dazed, but slowly nodded your head, “A while back.”

Sunghoon fucking knew it. He knew Jake fucked you the minute he saw Jake the next day. His ego was high that day. But Sunghoon knows how to ruin it.

“I’ll show you what a real fuck is.” He commented. Before you could say anything he entered not one, not two, but three fingers in your hole causing you to scream.

You felt your hole burning, but you were so wet that you couldn’t help but grind down on his fingers.

He began fingering you at an animalistic pace making your eyes roll back in pain and pleasure.

“You love that fucking pain don’t you slut?” He groaned. You frantically nodded your head, feeling your orgasm coming.

“A-Agh, I’m cumming, oh god-“ He cut you off kissing you and that’s when you felt your orgasm crashing.

Your legs shook in pleasure when he slowly grinded his fingers in you. He took them up and faced them towards you, “Suck.”

You sucked on his fingers, tasting your sweet cum on them, it made you feel wet again. He took his fingers out and harshly kissed you, biting your lip making you cry out.

He suddenly flipped you over, your pussy on full view for him, he cursed when he took out his hard dick, stroking it a few times before slowly entering.

You sighed feeling him fill you up. You began grinding back, missing what it was like to have a dick in you. Sunghoon let you grind back in him.

He knew that Jake wasn’t gonna satisfy you like this. He gripped your waist and started moving. You felt your eyes roll back, feeling him fill you up with his long dick.

He gripped your hair and pulled your head back, groaning feeling you clench on to him. You whined when he grind his dick in you slowly before going fast again.

He stared down seeing your ass jiggle when he made contact with your pussy. He felt himself getting hard even more if that was even possible.

You were a moaning mess, tears running down your eyes, face flushed in embarrassment and pleasure. Sunghoon wanted to fucking ruin you.

He felt a pang of jealousy that Jake fucked you before. If anything he should’ve been first to fuck you. But he thought it was okay, cause you’ll remember his dick whenever you fuck someone else.

You felt your orgasm coming again and lowered your head, “I-I’m gonna cum S-Sunghoon.” You whined. He smirked and kissed your back neck.

“Cum on this dick slut.” He whispered. That was all it took as you squeezed tight around him, you orgasms making squelching sounds as he continued pounding into you.

You felt overstimulated as he moaned and didn’t stop his pace, “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Was all he said and took his dick out, stroking it on your back, spurts of cum landing on you ass and back.

As much as he wanted to cum inside, he didn’t want a risk to get you pregnant, but he won’t lie and say you guys wouldn’t have beautiful kids.

You panted hard while Sunghoon breathed deeply behind you. He grabbed paper towels and wiped your back and ass.

“You okay?” He asked. You nodded your head and smiled sweetly at him. He felt his heart pang against his chest. You looked beautiful ruined.

“I’m perfect.” You replied. You got up and made a quiet noise, feeling your legs wobble. Sunghoon chuckled.

“I’ll take you home. Think you could walk?”

You nodded your head and out your dress back on, you fixed your face a little so it didn’t look like you just got fucked from behind (which clearly you did).

You both exited the bathroom and head to Sunghoons car. Driving as the sun slowly began setting down.

You felt at calm with Sunghoon hand on your thigh, occasionally rubbing it, soothing you. You felt your eyes getting droopy and soon enough you were asleep.

Sunghoon noticed and for the first time, he smiled softly. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way towards you, unfortunately he can’t help but feel his heart swell with warmth.

He looked back to the front. He’ll just have to see what his other friends will do to make you like them. For now though, he’ll enjoy what he has.

[leconcombrerit]

This thing had been rotting in my files for a year (minus three weeks but that's basically a year). It was a redraw of one of my first ever pieces for this fandom, and I still find it quite okay if a little stiff in places, so I thought I might as well share it since I don't draw that much anymore.

And then I had second thoughts, which obviously led to me posting it anyway, as you can see, but I realized I've almost made it a point not to draw anything related to Sasi anymore. As in at all. I can't, and I don't want to, and even sharing old art feels a bit 'meh'. It's too directly linked to my long going art block.

What I mean by that is that if I took all the followers I have out there and asked them what they know me or initially followed me for, you might have a fair amount of Lis 2 and the occasional Desert Bluffs afficionados, but you'd get an overwhelming majority of Sanders Sides. Sanders Sides fashion posts even. I was by no means famous for it or anything, but at my small artist scale, it was the biggest success I had.

And it makes it much harder to go back to it at all now. One, because I don't give a damn about the show anymore. Two, because I haven't been properly obsessing over anything in a while (there was a series early this year but given the actual emotional distress I get thinking about it I'm ruling it out). I haven't had real engagement from my own brain, nor real engagement from a broad audience -which makes sense, I'm not posting for anything that will reach a broad audience. But it takes its toll regardless.

Even when I finally finished writing a long fic, I couldn't help but feel 'all this for what ? Ten people or so and two hundreds have dropped it ?'. Which is a bad way to think about stuff you write for your own enjoyment but, you know, the brain gets happy with external validation even if you pretend really hard you don't care.

And so it feels tempting to go back to the golden goose just the time to get the creative juice pumping back, and I try, and I always end up frustrated and angry and feeling even less like making art that before. I'm not having fun with Sasi. Like an old friend you have nothing to say to and yet you have so much to say otherwise, so you get a bit frustrated, you know ? Not sure I'm making much sense, but that's how it feels. I want to have something like that again, but it won't be with Sanders Sides, and I somehow just want if off my radar.

It was left hanging, then lost its spark, and then I stopped caring altogether and I most likely won't even watch the finale when it does come out. I'm over it. I wish I wasn't though, because it does feel like the artistic spark won't come back all on its own this time, and the buzzing community made it so much easier to bounce back and do shit when your brain got wired all wrong.

It sounds like I'm just bawling after love and likes and stuff, and I guess that's part of it, in a way ? Like I'm in no place to do things for myself, and seeing the one thing I used to use to get back in the flow giving me a bored sense of dread doesn't feel too great.

Yet this drawing is still good ! I find it good ! I don't remember everything, but I can tell from the looks of it that I spent a while on it ! It's nice ! I should celebrate that. So I'm sharing it. I think it will be the last piece of Sasi I ever share, though. I'm not watching the finale when it comes out. I don't care about it. I'll just keep doodling my OCs and characters from cool books every once in a while. I'll write little things.

I just really, really need to stop trying to go back to it when it's clearly not working and not even for good reasons. It was a fun ride though ! So yeah. Basically. A whole ass rant for a one year old piece of art. I'm in my bi-annual depresso mood, nothing too surprising there.

[pedgito]

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Teacher’s Pet

Chapter Summary: First day woes and a difficult semester ahead, you find solace in your caring, attentive creative writing professor who shows you just a little more attention than everyone else, or so you think. [5k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), mentions of infidelity (not by joel), sarah doesn't exist here, background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, talks of literature and lots of random writing topics, dream smut, gratuitous descriptions of mr. miller's body and personality.

note: thanks to @planet-marz1 for the last minute beta.

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There’s a deafening silence that surrounds you when you step into the lecture room, not nearly as big as your other main course classes, it’s intimate. Close. If you kicked a foot out from the chair you were sitting in you could touch the professor’s desk. 

Part of you wonders if you were the only person taking this class, sitting for a few minutes alone, not another person in sight—until one files in, then another, until there’s about ten of you seated sparsely in the small space. It’s mostly bare aside from the few books shoved away on a nearby shelf, antiquey books that, no doubt, had a thick layer of dust. 

The problem with the class was that you weren’t sure if it was ever going to be a real thing—applying you had the expectation of who your teacher would be, what you could expect from the coursework, and just how manageable it would be amongst the rest of your classes. But, there was little known now. 

All you did know was that they had to find a replacement quick, which they did, and you were sure that a sign of their lacking punctuality was a great start, tucking your chin over the bag placed on your desk as you waited in silence amongst simmered voices, feeling starchly out of place.

You didn’t know this place—it was new, Austin. You moved clear across the country on a whim, wanting a new start in a place you’ve never seen before. You’d plucked a community college out of the bunch, not worried with the semantics of applying to some big, ivy league school. You wanted something manageable, something attainable. This seemed like the easiest option, unsuspecting and unknown, you could slink by and go about your life peacefully. 

That is what you wanted, after all.

Until you meet Mr. Miller.

Joel could’ve pursued music, or carpentry, or about a billion other things he was skilled at—yet somehow, teaching seemed to be the easiest option. It gave him the familial feeling of caring and guiding that he did enjoy, molding young minds and helping them bloom. He worked at a local high school in Austin for years—fifteen good, long years. 

But, he too needed a change. His life was slowly crumbling in on himself.

He sees the job opening on the last weekend of summer, still teetering with the option of returning to his teaching job at the high school—it isn’t as manageable as it used to be, finding that in his older age that dealing with the behavior and arguments with ill-managed kids was more of a hassle than it needed to be for the pay he was receiving. 

So, fuck it. He applies.

He gets a call the following Monday and he’s officially added to the staff by the end of the week—and of course, he’s never stepped foot on the campus until his first day. So, he’s lost. Joel realizes how unprofessional it looks, scrambling with his bag as he throws it over his shoulder and haphazardly adjusts his tie, hoping that his hair wasn’t too askew and wild, despite the wind flying through his hair in the chilly bite of the autumn weather.

Things couldn’t have been off to a better start.

-

There’s the slightest trickling of a thought that you should leave, give up that this class might be an ultimate failure but then he’s walking through the door. You knew his name, but that was as far as your reach extended. Mr. Miller. J. Miller, to be specific.

James. Justin. Jonathan. It was all a mystery to you.

You find that his appearance is less than prepared, mostly disheveled and he seems breathless as he offers a subtle nod of awkward acknowledgement as he slings his bag onto the desk. Thankfully, he seems to understand that there was a tinge of urgency with him being late and he quickly reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of papers.

Class syllabuses. He hands them off silently to the person on the farthest side of the room and hoping they would get the idea, pass them off until they reach the final person. It’s crisp, stark white paper covered in a boring black-inked text. Nothing seemed out of the norm—different methods of writing you would try over the course of the semester and specific assignments that would pop-up throughout. You enjoyed the predictability of it. Though, there is a significant surprise when your professor begins to speak, pulling your attention to the front of the room.

He’s gathered himself rather quickly, assuming he’s had his fair share of time in the field.

He writes his name out in clear, dignified letters on the board.

Mr. Miller, the screech of a solid drag as he underlines his name.

“I know I’m not who you all were suspecting.” He begins, placing the chalk down, hand wrapping around a balled fist as he cracked his knuckles, walking slowly until he can lean against the edge of his desk, soles of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“And I’ll admit, I’m new to this,” He waves vaguely around the room, “I’m used to public school and the shittiness that comes with that—so I hope that if I can take this seriously, you all can extend that gesture too.”

You notice how comfortable he seems in group settings, relaxing his broad shoulders as he crosses his arm, glancing around the room casually, never lingering for too long.

“I won’t pester you too much today, given I already wasted some of your time,” Someone snickers softly toward the back of the room and Mr. Miller cracks a subtle smirk, seemingly embarrassed but not offering anything to pick at. “But, I’m willing to answer any questions you have while we have the time today.”

Questions flow in easily: what the semester would consist of, more elaboration outside of the syllabus, some of Mr. Miller’s favorite pieces of literature—part of you expects him to inject the usual ‘around the room introduction’ scheme, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans into the more engaging questions asked, answering as freely and as interested as he can.

He loves Robert Frost, which makes sense. You’re not sure why, but it is predictable. 

He is predictable. Sipping on a large mug of what you can only assume is coffee, the smell permeating toward you with where he’s resting against his desk, only a foot or so away. You haven’t managed to catch his gaze yet, which you’re partly thankful for. It allows you to study him, examine his expressions—admire…No.

And while he can continue his talk about favorite authors for days—the class draws to a close sooner than you expect, and you move lazily as most of the class disperses at the first opportunity with it being their final class of the day.

You’re throwing your bag over your shoulder when you hear his voice, addressing the only other person in the room.

You.

“Intimidating?” Your face screws up in confusion, head tilting his way as your eyes connect for the first time. “Oh, uh—sorry, I’ve just been doin’ this a while. I can tell when someone is anxious in class.”

And, while it wasn’t necessarily anxiety—it was more the idea of adjusting. This was new, this place wasn’t familiar and you were just trying to settle in. Mr. Miller seemed like the guy to have deep roots planted into these grounds, familiar with this town like he’s been here his entire life.

He has, but that wasn’t the point.

“No,” You answer indifferently, shrugging your shoulders, “I think your radar might be a little off.”

Joel chuckles softly, tapping his fingers against the leather cover of his bag as he leaned the tops of his thighs against the edge of his desk, “You know—you didn’t partake much in class discussion just now.”

You weren’t sure where he was driving his point, gradually stepping toward his desk, fingers wrapped around the straps of your bag, pulling against the tight material of your shirt as it stretched over your breasts, “And you were about—fifteen minutes late, too.”

Touche. He nods, lips pursed together.

“Just, fair warning—class discussion is a good chunk of your grade, participation and all that. I want you to feel comfortable enough to join in so…however I can help with that.”

Your eyebrows knit together, thoroughly thrown off by his forwardness—or well, so you assumed. He quickly realizes his misstep.

“No—not like…I mean, if there’s anything that you like or are interested in that you want covered over the semester, let me know. I don’t want it to be so focused on stuff that only appeases a few people. Alright?”

You think on his words, chewing at your bottom lip quietly. 

He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s standing on the edge, waiting impatiently for your response—but when you do, it feels like he can breathe. Joel didn’t want to fuck this job up and he already felt like he’s stepped off on the wrong foot.

“Alright.” You confirm simply, nodding politely. “Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

He nods in response, the smallest twitch of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Have a good day.” He bids kindly, waving at you haphazardly as you left.

And now the day felt even weirder than when it started.

-

The first few weeks of class are actually…a delight. You find yourself looking forward to them as the weeks grow on and drag out, slowly making your way through the day and finding that Mr. Miller’s was the only class you could successfully relax in, not so pressure to participate because it was as equally engaging on both ends.

Mr. Miller liked to talk and argue just as animatedly as most students who had a point to prove—and you see why he must’ve been hired on a whim, the ability to charm and wit himself in and out of any scenario he wanted. It was…mesmerizing in a way that intoxicated you and infected your body and mind. He had you locked in every time he opened his mouth, finding your eyes dragging along the planes of his face and his well-kept appearance now that he arrived on time, sharp. Never early, never late. 

He was as punctual as they come, slowly littering his classroom with more and more personalization. More literature books, smaller books of poems, packets of some of his favorite script writings and a few non-fiction pieces he thought to be intriguing. 

But, the most interesting thing you notice is the small tan line around his ring finger. The advantage of the small classroom allowed for such details to be revealed, alongside knowing when he had taken a certain morning to do a fresh shave of his facial hair or spill a small spattering of coffee against his shirt, dull brown staining the white, crisp button-up he usually dawned alongside the occasional navy blue or black.

So, he was married—you assumed. He just didn’t wear his ring.

The more you indulged in him, the more complex he seemed. The ever mysterious J-something Miller, finding that no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t seem to find any information on him or an inkling of what his first name might be.

He must be a private person—no socials, no good deeds leading to news articles about him, or anything of tangible evidence to allow such information to seep out to the public. He was good at hiding, integrating himself in places he might not belong. He was a natural chameleon, much like yourself.

And you’d like to think you were good at writing considering you were attempting to pursue a career in it, mostly focusing on the aspect of screenwriting and film, not entirely sure what you were after but knowing that was where you wanted to go. You were great at convoluting things and empowering your far too creative imagination—often dangerous. You were never lacking in ideas, but your first assignment is a struggle.

It was something pertaining to non-fiction, a boring topic that Mr. Miller wanted to be intrigued by—he wanted something so mundane to be eye-catching and page-turning. Hanging on the edge of his seat, as he’d said so menacingly.

So, here you were, writing about the monogamous lives of certain breeds of penguins and they’re mates—whatever the fuck that was all about. It’s like he picked obscure topics for this very reason, the difficulty and the need for assistance. He wanted to help and you learned that quickly.

You could’ve been stuck with global warming, so it wasn’t all that bad. 

Mr. Miller is leaning against an empty desk as he’s talking to a student a few desks away—yeah, the unlucky one who snagged the global warming topic. His expression is sour, tapping his pencil against the desk rapidly as Mr. Miller talks quietly, nothing that you can make out. He travels around the room gradually, eventually landing on you with a raised eyebrow, seeing that you had some, if not very little outlined.

He looks amused, knowing how you were pulling an absolute fat nothing over this topic. You could sit there and lay out the facts, but that’s not what he wanted. He wanted it to be explained in a way that held you close and dragged you along. It all came down to wording, at the end of the day, and as much as you wanted to prove you were a decent writer, you still had a lot to learn.

“This is so stupid,” You gripe, looking up at him briefly before you continue to stare daggers into the notebook you were scribbling in, “—pardon my language, but what the fuck is this topic?”

Mr. Miller chuckles deeply at that, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll let that slide but try not to make it a habit,” He comments, acknowledging your foul language and understanding the frustration, “—it’s meant to challenge you. The obscurity of it. It’s not complicated, but you don’t want to just write a research paper.”

“Isn’t that…exactly how non-fiction works?” You ask curiously.

“You’ve read biographies, right? Auto-biograhpies and all that?” 

You nod quietly.

“And I’m sure some of that caught your intention, right?” He asks and you respond with another nod, though meeker than before. “Non-fiction work is just as important as story-telling. Do some more research, explain why monogamy is sacred to them, explain their mating patterns, the behaviors—are you following?”

“Yeah—because some penguins mate for life, right?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking him such an obscure question. “At least, I thought they did.”

“Most do.” Mr. Miller nods, “If you find yourself learning enough about the topic and actually finding some interest it won’t come out so…bland. Just look into it and write something you’d find intriguing to read, don’t stress over it that much. It’s just one assignment.”

It eases your worries slightly, but still, the frustration stuck.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Thank you.”

Mr. Miller offers a soft pat to your forearm as he nods silently in acknowledgment.

You were determined to make that assignment your bitch. Plain and simple.

-

Class discussion days are much easier. You switch between a certain selection of poems to snippets of scripts that Mr. Miller has pulled apart for the class to dissect and mince the words, learning how to write screenplays in a way that was both descriptive but directive and still managed to somehow keep the flow. Poems always seemed a little silly, but it was nice to debate the meanings and nuances of it all, always finding that you preferred to sit back and hear the thoughts of others until Mr. Miller decides he’s had enough one day—two months into the semester when he finally calls on you directly.

It was something he didn’t do often, but you find yourself going wide-eyed. He was always so polite to you, even when he’d catch you staring or lingering on his form for a moment too long, like he knew what you were thinking.

He was tall and—as was glaringly obvious, broad. His shoulders were immense and large as he extended his hands out and talked animatedly, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, slacks stretching over taut, tight muscle as he planted a foot in a nearby chair or stretched his stance out slightly as he stood—often finding it hard to stay still the longer class drew on.

You pull your attention to him, an innocent gaze glazing over your features.

“Why don’t you read the next poem?” He asks curiously.

“Oh—um,” Your eyes flick toward the poem book held tight in your grip, flitting to find the the place where the class last left off, so distracted you find yourself scrambling, but Mr. Miller is quick to lean over without much show or way of embarrassing you, pointing out the spot where the class last left of, blunt nail scratching against the paper as you follow the trail of his finger, you clear your throat and start:

“How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.”

The point was to interpret the words and form an explanation for why they were used, what they were trying to explain, but you lose any sense of thought when your eyes drag up to meet Mr. Miller and he’s staring right back, allowing you all the attention in the world.

Like no one else in the room existed. It was all a delusion in your own head, something you weren’t privy to then, but you believed whole-heartedly in the moment. He was just allowing you the floor and sharing you the same attention he had with everyone else. 

At least, that’s what he tried to do.

Mr. Miller clears his throat to subtly bring you back down to earth when he notices your mind fleeing from your body, asking an easy, “So, what do we think about this one?”

No one answered, staunchly disinterested as they stared at you, waiting for a response as you were the only one who had avoided participating all day.

“Uh, it—it sounds like the love isn’t being returned,” You start slow, dissecting the words in your brain as Mr. Miller nods, “but that person is willing to show up and offer more to make up for it, maybe even to their own…undoing, I guess.”

“There’s really no right or wrong,” He addresses the class as a whole but pointedly acknowledges your observation, “and that’s the best thing—you’re allowed to think as individuals and come up with your own conclusions. Good job.”

The final part is directed at you. It makes you feel warm, gooey—like you were being given a star for good behavior or gentle praise under the guise of friendly language.

You despise how hard it is to stay focused some days with how often Mr. Miller likes to pick on you and point you out—but he sees potential there. Real potential. Not to say that it isn’t within the rest of the class, he just sees…more. And it intrigues him in a way that feels dangerous, but he wants to ensure that you are given the proper support needed, even if that means a little extra attention.

It was harmless, after all.

-

Your first big assignment comes three months into the semester.

It’s a simple writing assignment but tactful and heavy, given a week to complete it before you were due to turn it in for a final grade. A collection of self-written poems, the outline for a possible script idea for a scene, and a small creative writing assignment that must include some kind of supernatural element. You appreciate the Mr. Miller never allowed things to lay stagnant with his work, always giving you something to think about.

And everyone loved him, that much was blatantly obvious. He was, easily, one of the hottest professors at the college for someone his age—you could only assume he was somewhere in his late 40s. But, there remained the unknown of if he was married, something people debated often, but you examined in the privacy of your own mind.

There was no indication of another—no pictures lingering on his desk as his classroom continued to collect belongings, no screensaver on his phone or laptop (because yes, you were observant) that gave you any idea of what his partner looked like. And he never mentioned anything outside of his own interest in literature. The curiosity with no discovery was only slightly disappointing, because despite that, Mr. Miller showed his attention toward you like you were the only person in the room.

And maybe it was like that for everyone, but it felt special to you. There was always a little extra to give to you that he didn’t offer to everyone else.

You turn in your assignment a few minutes before it is due, well into the late hours of the night.

-

Mr. Miller, unbeknownst to you, smiles when he sees the notification on his computer as he sits in his office at home, scrolling down the deep troves of porn in the darkened space, quickly clicking away to another browser as he hears the door creak, his wife poking her head through the crack with a smile.

“Hey, it’s late—you comin’ to bed soon?” Tess asks, eyes ringed with a deep exhaustion.

Joel nods, scratching at the side of his face, blinking tiredly. 

“Yeah. In a bit,” He excuses, “Just tryin’ to catch up on these assignments and then I’ll be done.”

It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Things had been rough since the affair—finding that Tess had been sleeping with her boss at her law firm for a few months, something she swore meant nothing, despite how long it dragged on in secret. Joel forgave her, mostly. They were managing, attempting the idea of marriage counseling, but he still couldn’t bring himself to put his wedding band back on, despite how proudly she wore hers still.

He had his own reservations on the matter and while he was trying to work things out, he wasn’t sure they could ever resume the same rhythm they had before, thinking that this was something he had for life, slowly crumbling and falling between his fingertips.

This was why he needed a change of pace, something different.

And maybe he was stupid for entertaining the obvious affection you showed toward him—he definitely was, but he does it anyways. It was playful, so meaningless and harmless that he didn’t even think twice about it. He could see you craved the attention and while he couldn’t be bothered to save that energy for Tess anymore, he could try to offer it to you.

Because you—you had so much potential. It was refreshing, seeing so much of his younger self in you, drive and dedication. The willingness to question stuff without fear.

He clicks on the email notification with your assignment, opening in a separate browser as he rises to lock his office door quietly, before returning to his other browser as he sat and unbuckled the thick leather belt around his waistband, a dignified zip that echoes throughout the confines of the office, reverberates and reminds him of his own loneliness.

And he shouldn’t picture your face as he finds himself aching and fucking deseprate into his fist, soft gunts muffled behind clenched teeth. But, he does. And he loves it.

He’s so fucked.

-

The comments on your assignment come a few days later, curled up in your bed in the small apartment you rented out, scrolling desperately to find out any further information on Mr. Miller but coming up with absolutely nothing. What a fucking ghost he was.

You’re curious, though—so you quickly switch to your emails to check his response and what your grade ended up being after how hard you worked to make sure it turned out perfect. Better than perfect actually. You hoped that with his obvious relationship woes he would appreciate the angst and underlying meanings in your poems, a bunch of bullshit you couldn’t relate to but hoped, on a whim, that he might.

‘Way to press on the idea of heartbreak, well done. Very expressive and real. Thank you for pouring those feelings into your work, though I hope no one has ever broken your heart that bad. Wonderful job.’

And he scores you a 90/100.

Which—whatever. You could accept it. Still, you wondered if those lingering ten points lied with him and his own bitter dealings. You’re fingers are curled around the laptop, ready to close when you get another notification blaring through your speakers.

You lift the laptop to stare at the screen, seeing an email come in from an unknown sender—though, the name grabs your attention immediately. First name, last name, followed by a series of number you can only assume is a birth year—not the school email Mr. Miller had previously sent you a response from.

You perk up, legs crossing over each other as you take a peek at the contents of the glaring email, seeing that it had links to a few books, followed by:

‘I hope you don’t mind my emailing you like this. But, I have a few pieces I think you may enjoy and would help with some of what you’re trying to convey in your writing. You have a beautiful way of expressing feeling and you should harness that. Let me know what you think. :)’

In hindsight, Joel should’ve never sent it. But, there was an urge there he couldn’t fight.

Maybe it was out of spite for his life and his wife betraying him, his urge to try and do some real good for someone, seeing that potential in you no matter how inappropriate it may be to go around school ruling and message you from his private email.

But, now you had a sliver of information. A peek into who Mr. Miller—Joel Miller, was.

It sends you down a spiral, searching and scouring for any information available online.

You find out that he’s 48…or 49, not entirely sure of his actual birthday. Only going off the year designated in his email. And that he’s a published author, but nothing of significance. He used to be a high school teacher and he was…or is, married. It’s all vague and unassuming, but it has your mind stirring. Wondering what was so interesting about him, what part of him had crawled into your mind and refused to get out.

And him messaging you on a private email—complimenting you with unnecessary eagerness, even when it wasn’t needed. You can’t be this delusional. There’s something there, even if neither of you have spoken on it explicitly.  

The faint touches and smiles traded, the hard-gazed looks and glances over his shoulder as he does a sweep of the room, always spending just a smidgen of extra time over your desk when you ask for help. 

It makes you feel special. And that’s exactly what you need.

-

You fall asleep that night with a wild idea in your head, wondering just how brave you could be in this situation. It burrows into your mind and seeps into your dreams:

You’re pressed against the edge of a desk in a dark office, the solid wood pressed flat against your cunt as you lean forward and capture the lips of the person in front of you, a shaky breath coming from their mouth.

“Want that pretty mouth ‘round my cock.” He says—your heart skips, nearly stops. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised to hear Joel’s voice, but it clears your mind and his hazy face finally comes into view in all of it’s intricate detail, right down to the soft crinkle of skin around his eyes, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls away to look at you, lips puffed from the kissing and seeming so innocent as he spoke in such a depraved manner.

Delicate fingers drag along the shape of your lips, stopping at your cupid’s bow before he’s pressing two fingers inside, grabbing the hand relaxed at your side and pressing it over the front of his slacks, the hard line of his cock pressing against the zipper.

There’s no other word to offer than intimidating, his size morphing any idea that you might’ve had–which, you did. His slacks are well-tailored, form fitting, and if he stretched just the right way in class you could see the head or outline of his cock press against the fabric for a split second….and you observed. A lot.

“Wanna stuff your mouth, huh?” He asks, eyes rolling back as his fingers press down on your tongue, quickly pulling out as he grips your face, spit spreading across your cheek, gasping at the suddenness of his movement. “Think it’ll fit?”

He sounds so condescending, eyeline over you but downcast on your figure from where your perched against his desk, idle hand exploring the soft, plush skin of your thighs as he drags his fingers along the full expanse of your cunt and it sets your whole body on fire, like you’re feeling everything dialed to an impossible level, every nerve in your body coming to life.

You shake your head meekly, gasping when he yanks you forward suddenly.

“Guess we’ll have to train that filthy mouth then, won’t we?” His eyebrow quirks up salaciously, earning a less than subtle grin as he presses his fingers into the wet spot of your underwear, not breaking the barrier but allowing you to feel the pressure.

And just as you feel yourself grabbing onto something tangible, hands gripped in the lapel of his suit jacket, pulling him impossibly closer, you’re startling awake with a gasp.

You could feel your imagination mixing with reality, falling lazily back against your bed as your chest heaved hurried breaths, palms pressed over your chest in an effort to calm down, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The room was hot, too hot to feel comfortable anymore.

Your lip pulls between your teeth, chewing thoughtfully at a bad idea.

You reach blindly for your laptop laid out near the end of your bed, opening the device with a swiftness, squinting at the blinding screen that burned at this time of night.

Nearly two in the morning—this was pointless.

But, you hit reply on his email anyways and slowly type out a response.

‘Thank you for noticing, Mr. Miller. It’s greatly appreciated and I will definitely look into those sources and give you a full, detailed review. :) I appreciate you thinking of me as someone so esteemed. I would love to talk more about literature, if that feels appropriate.’

The lines were already blurred. He’d blurred them. You were just smudging them a little more.

You never said that starting fresh meant you had to stay on your best behavior. Because really, there was nothing innocent about what game was developing between you both.

It was a game of chess and you felt a million moves ahead, nearing a checkmate—and you would do anything to have Joel Miller in the way you craved. Anything.

[transformers-spike]

@yandereskies come get your juice, guess who couldn't take a break without writing a sequel to the G1 Soundwave x reader fic Tw:dubcon

You've grown used to it Someway, somehow, it doesn't feel as bad. A few months ago, you would have rather died than allowed it to happen. But now, you're too tired to do anything about it. Kick yourself all you want, you can't force flight or fight. You've run out of adrenaline.

The human mind isn't designed to withstand constant stress; you notice the threat, you run, you fight, you freeze or you allow yourself to be molded by it. The alarms blaring in your head have shut off, leaving you numb and exhausted with nothing to rely on.

You've been waiting for so long for the Autobots to reach you, but it's like you never existed. Are you this forgettable ? A no-one with the misfortune of meeting Gods? You are no Paris, no Perseus and certainly no Achilles; not even a meager soldier. You're a background character in your own life, meant to be overlooked and eventually forgotten.

“So why…” you want to ask, “why did you notice me?

He handled you gently despite your aggression, even as your insults turned vicious, he ignored your desperate attempts to hurt him.

The dread caused by the mere echo of his synthesized voice has disappeared altogether, lending a new strange sort of comfort that beyond all logic should not exist.

Yes, you are trapped. But is it so wrong to trade your freedom for recognition? He listens to you no matter how boring and one sided your conversations get. He offers you a generous (although limited) access to your favorite media; obscure shows he shouldn't know about, movies on your private watch list, and plenty of books, most from your old apartment. You still recognize their faded pages and worn out books.

You don't have to attend your 9 to 5 white-collar job anymore. Your office cubicle is empty if not outright replaced, your place in the company has never mattered and so does your fate. Why can't you let yourself be happy?

Your basic needs are met, you have more time than ever to focus on what you love, and you have access to much needed social interaction.

At first it was Laserbeak assuming sentry duty, standing guard in Soundwave’s quarters, watching you like a hawk. You must admit , you've made a wild dash for the exit countless times, only to have Laserbeak dive between you and the door, wings spread out and snapping his beak.

But you've mellowed out over time. Laserbeak switched to Ravage. Ravage switched to Buzzsaw. Buzzsaw switched to Rumble and Frenzy. Soon enough , you started watching your series with them; Laserbeak perched upon the edge of the couch, Ravage curled up at your feet, Buzzsaw lying next to you or Rumble and Frenzy casually hanging out on your ouch like roommates.

It shouldn’t be that hard to accept. You're fine. You're part of their fucked up little family – if you can even call it that. Soundwave carries you around like a beloved pet, the other Decepticons treating it so casually you wonder if you're the only human they own. If Megatron is bothered by his Communications Officer’s behavior, he shows no sign of it.

This is fine. Being around Soundwave makes you feel secure in yourself, because he cares about you. And if this is the only love being offered to you, you’ll gladly take it. Past you would have abhorred your actions, but that version of you is long dead and buried.

You let him have sex with you. It started off small; lingering touches, digits ghosting over skin you’d never let anyone else see. When he entered you, you felt complete, like he was your missing piece, and you became at peace with your own being. A single one of his digits filled you to the brim, unlike your old dildo. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt, a burning sensation as he stretched you open, having you clench around him like a virgin. He patiently worked you up until you came, delicately circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs with the tip of his massive thumb.

When you opened your eyes, he was leaning over you, spike fully pressurized. You welcomed it against your entrance, stroking it between your spread legs until your inexperienced mouth brought his overload, coating your stomach in transfluid. “I love you,” you said, unsure of your own reality.

[vivwritesfics]

Shine A Light Into The Wreckage

Chapter Three - Gasping For Breath

Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.

1.7K

Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this (like seriously Ken tries to kill her in this one)

Series Masterlist

The stairs to the apartment were even worse in the dark. If she didn't already have which stairs weren't entirely stable memorised, she would have been falling through the floor. 

The apartment was dark when she pushed open the door. Part of her hoped that Ken had gone to bed, but a bigger part of her knew it would have been too good to be true. 

Hanging her jacket on the back of the door, she carefully placed her bag on the sofa and started moving through the apartment. So far so good, she allowed herself to think. 

But, of course, nothing is ever easy. When somebody cleared their throat, she jumped out of her skin, nearly falling to the floor. "Jesus, Ken," she muttered as she straightened herself up. "You scared the shit out of me."

She looked towards the kitchen, where he was sitting in the darkness. She could hardly see him, but she didn't dare move to turn the light on.

"Why are you sneaking in?" He challenged, his voice calm. And that frightened her the most. 

"I didn't want to wake you up," she answered quickly. "In case you were asleep." 

Still, he stared. His face was blank, unreadable. "So, you weren't with anybody?"

She shook her head. "I just lost track of time at the cafe." 

Suddenly he was on his feet, striding towards the window. He moved the curtain to the side slightly and looked out onto the street below. 

It was fine, she said to herself. Bob was a friend and he was probably long gone by now. 

When Ken laughed, her stomach dropped. "Is that the fucking guy from The Hard Deck? The Hangman guy?" He yelled as he turned towards her, spit flying everywhere. 

(Now, dear reader, I feel as though I owe you some context. You see, Bob was in The Hard Deck on the night that Jake flirted with her. He was absorbed in another conversation and didn't see her, not until this stranger was swinging at Jake and Bob had to step between them. Still, Bob didn't notice her, but she didn't notice him. They were too wrapped up in their own distress. So, when Ken saw Bob looking at the apartment building as he walked away, he got the two aviators mixed up.)

"What?" She stared at her boyfriend with furrowed brows. "Ken, that's not Hangman."

"But you were with him." 

She scrambled to find words, tried to work out what wouldn't get her into trouble. But she couldn’t lie to him. He'd know instantly and it would only make things so much worse. "I mean, we met at the café, but I wasn't with him." 

Ken laughed again, but this was bitter. "Somehow, I don't believe you."

When he strode over, she couldn’t stop her body from flinching away. "I never pegged you as a slut, Barbie," he said as he forcefully grabbed her cheeks. 

"Ken," she tried to say, but it didn't come out right, not with the way he was holding her. "Please."

Her cries fell on deaf ears. He moved his face close to hers, almost like he was going to kiss her, but then he pulled away. "I don't kiss sluts, Barbie," he said and let go of her face, pushing her to the floor in the process.

She sniffed, but she didn't cry. Not when she had endured worse. "I'm not cheating on you," she whispered. 

Ken picked her up. It wasn't loving. It wasn't her knight in shining armour scooping her up off of the floor and carrying her away. No, just as he had done the night before, he wrapped his fingers around her hair and pulled her to her feet. She cried out as she struggled to stand, but Ken ignored it. 

"Bedroom," he said, voice demanding as he let go of her. "Now."

She walked into their bedroom and stripped off her clothes, just as she was expected to do. When Ken came into the room he pushed her down and flipped her over, forcing her to lay on her back and face him. 

"You know I hate having to remind you of who you belong to, Barbie." The way he said her nickname, it was patronising. Like she really was just a toy for him to play with. 

As he undid his belt and freed himself from his jeans, she felt physically sick. He leaned over her, pushing in with no regard for her comfort or pleasure. 

Tears ran down her face, but she didn't sob. She couldn't look at him, and that only made him angry. "Let me see you, Barbie," he growled as his hands wrapped around her throat. 

Ken never squeezed. He never ever caused her harm like that. But today was different. Today his grip was tight as he held her neck, like he was trying to cut off her air supply. Like he wanted her dead. 

Suddenly she was gasping for air.

Desperately her hands clawed at his wrists, trying to get him to release her. "Ken!" She tried to gasp, but he sped up his thrusts. "Ken! I-" 

His grunt grew louder and he moved faster, his hips snapping until finally, he finished, climaxing inside of her. He released her neck and tucked himself back into his jeans, leaving her there, gasping for breath. 

On shaking legs, she crawled to the bathroom and reached into the cabinet for her birth control. As soon as she had swallowed it, she climbed into the shower, where she let herself cry. 

***

"Baby On Board!" Jake shouted the moment Bob walked back into Natasha's condo. "We were just about to send the police out looking for you!" He shouted with a laugh.

He hadn't thought about how much his friends would have worried about his disappearance. His hands were in his pockets as he made his way out to the back porch, where Jake and Natasha already had a beer each. 

"Sorry," he said, accepting the bottle that Natasha passed him from the box beside her. "Got caught up with something."

"And you didn't even bring back the coffees." Natasha and Jake didn't mention that, when Bob hadn't come back for an hour or answered their texts, they had turned to the coffee machine. It wasn't as good as the cafe coffee they had been promised, but it would do. 

Natasha looked at him, eyebrows raised (although it wasn't the easiest thing to see beneath the lights strung up above them). "Is it a girl?" She asked. 

Bob blushed deep crimson, and that was answer enough. "Our Baby On Board has a girlfriend?" Jake called, tipping the top of the bottle towards him. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"She's not my girlfriend,” Bob mumbled as he sat between Jake and Natasha. 

Jake and Natasha looked at each other. "But you want her to be, right?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Bob took his first sip of beer. "I don't know," he said once he had swallowed the mouthful. "I mean, I've only just met her and she's got a boyfriend."

"So?" Jake replied and Natasha glared at him. 

"Tell us everything," she said to the Weapon Systems Officer. 

So, Bob told them everything. He told them about the day before in the cafe, where he had knocked over her drink and ruined her notebook. He told them how she had run to work when he tried to apologise. He told them about the replacement notebook and how she had invited him to sit with her. And he told them that he had walked her to her apartment. 

"She sounds great," said Jake as he finished his drink and reached for another. 

"Yeah, perfect," Natasha agreed. "Apart from the boyfriend."

"We're hating him for you," Jake continued. 

Bob shook his head. "We can't just hate him. What if he's a really nice guy?" He suggested.

A scoff left Jake's lips. "He's with Baby Bob's dream girl. That's bad enough for me," he said, reaching past Bob to fist bump Natasha, who nodded in agreement.

Bob held his hands up in defence. "All I'm saying is, if she's with him, he must be great." He sipped his drink. "Besides, I think she's just looking for a friend."

"Are you okay just being that friend?" Natasha asked, her tone comforting. 

Bob nodded his head. "Yeah, I am."

After the one beer Bob said his goodbyes. He climbed into his truck and set off to his own place. Just like he had said to Nat and Jake, he was okay with just being her friend. Even if he couldn't get their interactions out of his head. Even when he pulled into his driveway he was thinking about her. Thinking about the way she laughed at him, a laugh that lit up the room. The way her eyes seemed to shine when she told a story from her childhood. The way her emotions seemed to get the better of her when she briefly mentioned her story. 

He thought about her apartment. It wasn't the nicest San Diego had to offer , definitely run down and cheap. From the little he had seen of the inside, the stairs would never pass any kind of inspection. 

"Frodo!" He called when he opened the door to his two bedroom house. 

Once Bob had completed his second stint at Top gun and had permanently relocated to San Diego, his mother had been so worried about him getting lonely. So, to ease her worries, Bob got a cat. Frodo had the life of luxury, more toys than he would ever play with and the best food Bob could get. 

He found Frodo asleep on his bed, his black hairs covering the comforter. Not that Bob minded too much; it was Frodo's home as much as it was his. 

She hadn't told him her name, Bob thought as he filled Frodo's bowl (as soon as Frodo heard the cupboard containing his food open, he went running). She hadn't told him her name as he was smitten. 

He just had to hope she was at the café again tomorrow.

Taglist: @biancathecool @not-nyasa @burningwitchprincess @darksparklesficrecs @primroseluna @littlemsbumblebee @wretchedmo

[schoenpepper]

River (Charlie Puth)

Intro: He doesn't understand why you keep getting closer and closer to him, even after all he's done. You don't understand why you love him, either.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread it's too long for me to give a fuck, reader is like simp 100%, book 4-5 spoilers ig, not canon happenings huehuehue, kinda disconnected but like, all my songfics are disconnected so idk, i was half asleep writing the latter parts, so it'll be messy for sure

A/N: Jamil my babygirl~ The people don't enjoy my Twisted Harmonies series, but I don't care because I like writing them. This one went through a couple edits though.

Masterlist

Don't run from me river

Don't run from me river, river

No don't run from me river

Don't run from me river, river

Meeting Jamil was the start of living for you.

Coasting through life back in your old world; everyday was a chore you had to get through in order to continue existing. When you got magically transported to a place with magic and new cultures and new people, it was like you finally got back to the same starting point as everyone else.

But seeing those dark gray eyes and long brown tresses, it made your heart beat for the first time.

A beauty that seems to want to go unnoticed, but how could you ignore him when his radiance filled your very being as naturally as oxygen filled your lungs? When he hid in his mask of incompetence and facade of normalcy, what can you do but trip over your own feet and fall? You see him, and the only thing you want to do is to be closer to him, enough to peel back that visage of mystery, to read him like an open book. Jamil is like a mirage in the deserts of the Scalding Sands, however, you know that the moment you reach out to touch him, he’ll fade away right in front of you.

So you keep watching.

You can’t do anything but watch.

You watch him plot and plan and fall victim to his own schemes. You watch him boil together the mess of feelings he doesn’t know how to release. You watch him bathe in his misery, you watch him drown in it.

You keep your hand to yourself instead of offering it.

You know he’ll never take it.

Look, you can play it cool

Act like you don't care

River don't be cruel

You're pushing me away

You’re interesting.

Jamil doesn’t care about much, and he certainly doesn’t care about you.

But a magicless human barreling into his world (literally) at orientation? You’ve got his interest peaked, at least. That’s it. He doesn’t care enough to give you a second glance. The only thing he knows about you is that you’re from a different world. But rumors always spread like wildfire, and suddenly, you’re the talk of the school. Riddle overblotted and you, somehow, are on center stage. In the Spelldrive tournament, he doesn’t know too much about what transpired, but what he does know is that you’re involved again somehow.

You could be useful.

You could be an asset to him, a boon if used correctly.

1, 2, 3, pieces fall into place.

Kalim is powerful, even if he doesn’t know it. But you, you’re Crowley’s little helper, aren’t you? You can make the headmaster look at the problem head on, instead of cowing to the Al Asims’ money. When everyone in Scarabia, and even Ramshackle’s prefect themself, is saying that Kalim is no longer fit to be housewarden, then wouldn’t the headmaster need to listen?

Stay.

Stay for another dinner. Another night. Another training session.

Stay until you’re useless to Jamil.

Don't want to get hurt

So you hurt me first

With the words you say

Maybe you should fall

Hah. You ruined his plans.

He lays on the floor, soaked in ink and sweat and tears, the forbidden taste of freedom lingering on his tongue. Azul and the twins are looking at him with mild amusement, even though he could clearly see they were just as injured, just as tired as he was. But he can’t read you. Even under snake whisper, he never understands what’s in your mind. You’re looking at him with an expression he can’t place, you give him a feeling he can’t shake. He’s lightheaded, he doesn’t really know where to go from here—when the adrenaline runs out and blood returns to his veins, Jamil has no idea what to do.

He hurt Kalim.

He hurt his dorm.

He hurt you.

Is that all he can do? When the chains that bind him are momentarily unlocked, is hurting other people the only thing he’s good at?

He meets your eyes.

There it is again; an emotion he doesn’t get. Are you pitying him? Is it empathy, sympathy? What do you want from him?

There is nothing that Jamil Viper can offer you.

Not when he doesn’t even belong to himself.

That's what rivers do

'Cause when you're in love

You don't mind a different view

Things are looking up

You think it’s unfair how beautiful Jamil is, even defeated and down on his knees. You ignore Grim for a moment to skirt around the black substance on the floor, making your way to Jamil. He looks at you warily, reminiscent of a wild animal that’s cautious, and rightly so, of a strange being entering its territory.

You hold your hand out.

You should know better than to hope that today is finally the day that he takes it.

But he does.

It’s more than what you imagined it to be. In your dreams, the boy that you love takes it with a flustered face and an awkward smile, hands clammy with sweat. In reality, the very first time that Jamil ever takes your hand, there’s a determined look on his face and sludge on his palms. He’s tiredly glaring at you, likely internally cursing you out for ruining his evil plans. With the way his pretty eyes are slightly squinted, brows furrowed and lips curved downwards into a frown, you think it’s so much better than your fantasies.

Because it’s the real Jamil.

And his grip kind of hurts when you help him up, but he doesn’t complain when you make him lean on your shoulder for support. You help him back to his room.

Everything’s over. For now.

But for you and your poor heart, it’s all just begun.

Maybe this is the step you’d needed to get closer to him? Maybe this is the part of the cheesy romantic movie where he lets you in after troubles and tribulations? Maybe this time, you can get to know who he really is.

Strip away the practiced incompetence. Take off his cloak made of calculated errors.

So, it’s decided.

From now on, you’ll find out everything about Jamil, and you’ll give and give and give and give, if only to replace the parts he’d had to give away over the years.

You’re both broken.

But maybe if you give him the parts of you that are still working, at least one of you can be fixed.

Oh river (river, river) don't run (run, run)

Don't run (river, river)

Don't run (run, run)

Oh river (river, river) don't run (run, run)

Don't run (river, river) from our love (run, run)

He wakes up in the infirmary. It’s still you.

Why are you still here?

Leave. Leave him alone. He doesn’t deserve your gentle care, not when it’s his fault, not when he’s the reason both for your and his own injuries. You never say a word, but you redress his wounds so carefully, making sure not to hurt him in the process.

What do you get out of this?

He genuinely doesn’t understand.

Jamil has never been kind to you, no, he’s always done what he needed to do in order to get you to move according to the script he’d written. He’d toyed with you, manipulated you, don’t you understand? He lied, because lying is his nature, because you’re just so gullible, you never even thought twice before believing any of his words.

Why don’t you get it?

You hand him a packet of cookies. Cheap ones from the school store, but judging by the way you’re dressed, and what little knowledge he has of your financial situation, he knows it’s all you have on you. He takes it with a soft ‘thanks’ and opens it. It tastes like cardboard, he can make better ones.

But you smile at him.

Your smile reminds him of the sun back home. It’s unbearably bright, he wants to turn his eyes away, but it’s also so unbearably stunning. And your voice, it’s akin to the nectar of blooming flowers in the spring when they travel through the air in all their sweetness. “Eat up, you need to regain your strength.”

If you refuse to be his enemy…then what is he supposed to do?

Look, darling don't give up

When the water's rough

Where you gonna go?

My heart is your home

You are persistent, if nothing else. In a corner somewhere, in a low whisper that no one other than you or him would have heard, he’d apologized. You accepted his apology. He thought that would have been the end of it. You’d return to the state of strangers, as you had been before the winter vacation. But you’re like honey, sticking to his fingers and leaving a saccharine residue he just can’t wash off. You’re in the cafeteria and you choose to sit next to him, in the hallways where you greet him a cheery ‘good morning’ and ‘good afternoon’, in the parties in Scarabia that Kalim invites you to.

You pull Jamil away to a hidden balcony to escape the noise. You laugh and chatter away even when he doesn’t reply.

You hold his hand.

He lets you.

He doesn’t know why, but he lets you do whatever you want. He never stops you, even though he knows he should.

You show up to basketball practice and every single game. He tries, he really does, to convince himself that you’re there for Ace. You guys are best friends, right? So of course you’d be there to support him. Hell, you could even be there for Floyd, with how close you seem to be with the merman.

(Jamil is a liar, after all.)

He tells himself you’re not there for him.

Even when you run up to him after a successful play, passing him a cold bottle of water and a fluffy towel for his sweat, he swears you’re not there to support him. Why would you? He’s the guy that threw you all the way to the other side of his dormitory.

(You only give Ace an eye roll when he brags about the win, and Floyd, a high five.)

(The best liars fool themselves.)

Nothing is as cold

As running on your own

So river don't you rush

Maybe you should fall

You have…what was the expression again?

Jamil watches on with Kalim from the corner of the court.

Two left feet, that’s it. Your dancing is, quite frankly, hilarious to watch. A mess of uncoordinated limbs flailing about, but it’s certainly better than Grim’s or Deuce’s. Kalim interrupts with a well-meaning comment (rude, but it’s true), and somehow, Jamil’s volunteered against his will to teach the clumsy first-years how to dance.

Ace knows enough of the basics, Deuce is remarkably stiff, Grim is a hopeless case.

But you can learn.

You want to pass the auditions too? Vil’s rather stringent with his requirements, though Rook is certainly not. But if you want to have even a shot at this, maybe Jamil can teach you more thoroughly, one on one.

Sevens, even he doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore.

You agree.

(Why did you agree?)

That's what rivers do

'Cause when you're in love

You don't mind a different view

Things are looking up

One hand on your waist, the other gently fixing your leg in place by your upper thigh.

(He wonders if you can hear his heart beating when his chest is to your back.)

“You should be more relaxed. The song isn’t aggressive, so you shouldn’t be so stiff.” Jamil speaks lowly into your ear, and he feels you shudder but never pull away. Instead, you nod and try to follow his instructions the best you can. Your body melts into the posture he’s veering you towards, molded by his palms. You’re warm, and the way you’re nervously looking back over your shoulder to gauge his reaction makes him think of the stray cats that occasionally circled him for food.

“Sorry, I just, don’t really dance,” you admit in embarrassment.

“Then why do you want to audition for the SDC?”

“Hm? Because my friends are auditioning. They think that if enough of us are in the team, they’ll be able to replace Epel. He doesn’t seem very willing to compete, after all.”

And there you are again.

Saving another stranger, as if kindness itself is melded into your bones. Jamil finds that he was wrong; it’s not just your smile that’s evocative of sunlight, it’s you. Your eyes meet his with a warmth that doesn’t burn, yet touching your skin makes him feel like he’d just come in contact with red-hot lava.

If you’re this kind to everyone, was he just another charity case to you?

Oh river (river, river) don't run (run, run)

Don't run (river, river)

Don't run (run, run)

Oh river (river, river) don't run (run, run)

Jamil pushes you away like it’s routine.

Everytime you think you’ve managed to dig deeper, you’re met with another blockade, each stronger than the last. He’s confusing, because everytime you think he’s letting you get closer (every time, you’re given hope that your feelings have come through), you’re disappointed again and again and again. You manage to graze the edge of his fingers before he flinches away like your touch burns him like hot metal.

And you keep trying.

What else are you supposed to do?

You continue your efforts and hope and pray that one day, he’ll see you. 

But for now, you watch out for his lines and redraw them without his knowledge. You do what you can to be his friend, because even though every bone in your body is begging for his love, you know it’s impossible when he won’t even let you be his confidant. You sit next to him and stay, even when he tries to scoot further away from you. Is it healthy? Probably not. You know better than to do what you’re doing. But you don’t stop.

(Jamil is like a drug injected straight into your veins.)

Don't run (river, river) from our love (run, run)

Don't run from me river

Don't run from me river, river

No don't run from me river

He thought that distancing himself from you would be the right thing to do. He doesn’t know if it’s right, but what he does know is that it’s impossible. You’re a thought always running through his mind; a dream flowing through his reality.

When did it start that, even when he knows you’re not near, he still searches for you?

Jamil almost feels relief when he arrives at Pomefiore and realizes that you didn’t make the cut. Almost. He’s not relieved though, it’s overshadowed by a feeling of restlessness he doesn’t understand.

Anything concerning you, Jamil’s never quite understood.

Then you arrive anyway. When he’s managed to calm his heart down, you rev it up again like an engine. Vil announces you to be the team manager, and you agree quickly to let the team stay at Ramshackle at the notion of the prize money.

(You certainly weren’t looking at Jamil when you agreed.)

How is he supposed to avoid you now?

He moves in with the rest of the group, when you insist that you’re one bedroom short and thus, regretfully, Jamil would have to stay with you for the duration of his stay. He’s a liar, of course he knows you’re lying. He can see your gleeful smile you’re desperately trying to hide, in the small giggles that leave your lips when you think no one’s paying attention to you. He can decline, of course, and just room with Kalim instead where he can make sure that the heir survives the night without too much distance.

Instead, he agrees, only asking for Kalim to room nearby.

Don't run from me river, river

No don't run from me river

Don't run from me river, river

No don't run from me river

Your very smart and well thought-out plan worked.

Hm, maybe a little too well.

Jamil didn’t say anything when you basically forced him into sharing a room with you. Now he’s in the bathroom, and you’re shaking in your pajamas (from fear? Excitement? Withdrawal symptoms?), tucked into your cheap cotton sheets you’d bought at Sam’s for a couple thaumarks. It is unfortunate, but true, when you say that these are the nicest sheets you have. Jamil exits the bathroom fully clothed (sadly), hair wrapped in a towel and a hair dryer in hand. “Let me help you.” There is no way you were letting an opportunity like this slip through your fingers.

Surprisingly, he complies.

He’s sitting on your bed while you’re kneeling on the mattress behind him, plugging the device on and getting to work. God, it’s divine, he’s divine—his hair smells fruity and floral, and it moves through your fingers like he’s in a shampoo commercial.

(Don’t be a freak. Don’t sniff his hair.)

It takes a long time for it to dry, but when it does, it’s smooth and shiny and absolutely gorgeous. He tries to get up and says he can put his hair oil on by himself, and you take out the pushiest, most blunt sides of you in order to convince him to let you do it too.

Safe to say, sleep escapes you when you’re next to a five-foot-seven beauty in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants.

Maybe you should fall

That's what rivers do

'Cause when you're in love

You don't mind a different view

Jamil has come to the conclusion that he can’t avoid you.

Perhaps it was a realization that should have come long ago. But as the days pass by and he’s in your dormitory, it only further cements in him the feelings he’d been running from. Seeing you everyday feels right, spending every waking moment with you is more than just comfortable. It’s freeing in a way, like he’d just arrived to the countryside from the smoke of the city and he’s taking his first whiff of fresh air.

Practice is enjoyable.

He dances and he sings, and he can feel your eyes on him, roaming up and down but never to anyone else. For the first time in his life, someone’s chosen him, someone’s looking at him with every bit of their attention and focus. Not Kalim, not anyone else. Him. Jamil might be addicted to the feeling of you so openly lusting after him, almost begging for his attention.

(He can’t recognize the other emotions, but physical attraction is easy to read.)

You desire him. Really?

When he looks back at you, catching you in the middle of your act, he enjoys seeing your flustered face and avoidant gaze all the more. Vil calls for a break, so he stretches before taking the sports drink you’re offering.

(It reminds him of when you’d visit him during his basketball games.)

Jamil lightens the mood by deciding to make small talk with you instead of calling you out on your behavior. He takes a sip and laughs with you when Ace and Grim get in a scuffle in the middle of the dance floor, Vil breaking them up with a well-thrown bottle of apple juice. He watches you laugh at Ace clutching a forming bump on his forehead. It sounds like something he can’t quite place, but what he does know is that he’s dreamt of it before—

He’s…dreamt of you.

Multiple times.

The realization hits him harder than the bottle that Vil had thrown at Ace.

Things are looking up

Oh river (river, river) don't run (run, run)

Don't run (river, river)

Don't run (run, run)

Oh river (river, river) don't run (run, run)

Don't run (river, river) from our love (run, run)

Practice was useless.

You watch the reaction of the crowd in response to Neige and his team’s rehearsal. It was a fine performance (if it had been done in a kindergarten recital). Yet you see Vil seething and Rook sighing like the both of them had already seen defeat before it even arrived. You feel annoyance, frustration, injustice (why should the cutesy dance win when it was poorly put together, nothing but a mockup of an actually talented number?). None of that helps. 

Vil overblots.

It’s familiar, though it probably shouldn’t be. The fight saps all the energy you had in your body, and you rush to your friends before the dust even settles, thankfully, no one has a serious injury. They still perform despite everything that had just happened, on the stage that your friend Tsunotarou had rebuilt with just a flick of his wrist. Predictably, they lose.

Well, who said the majority of people had good taste?

(You find Jamil packing in your room right afterwards. You convince him to stay, just a little longer. You wonder what you would need to do to convince him to stay forever.)

Oh river (river, river) (don't run from me river)

Don't run (run, run) (don't run from me river, river)

Don't run (river, river) (no don't run from me river)

Don't run (run, run) (don't run from me river, river)

Jamil thinks he finally understands.

Not you, exactly, rather, the combination of emotions he always finds whenever he looks into your eyes. It was love, a deep adoration that seeped into your soul and made you vulnerable to everything he did. It makes him rethink; was it his unique magic all that time ago, or was it just you fully willing to submit to his whims? No, when did this even start? You’ll likely never give him an answer to that question, but he’s smart enough to figure it out on his own. Retrace the steps, right? All the way back to the first time he met you.

(It’s not quite love yet. But something is there, and he doesn’t know why.)

It’s incorrect for him to assume that just because he found out what your feelings for him were, he’d automatically unravel who you are as a person. It only serves to deepen the enigma; what had he done for you to notice him so early on?

(He crosses out the possibility it might be love at first sight. How boring.)

You must be some tactical genius, and every action leading to this moment must’ve all been a trap. It was as if every step he’d taken since the day you met had only led him spiraling down, deeper and deeper into you. You’re a master at this game he’d noticed too late, you’d already gotten him stuck in your well-woven web of deceit.

How unexpected.

And yet, thrilling.

As Jamil lays his head on your lap, drifting off to a peaceful sleep under the shade of the apple tree, he takes in the feeling of you gently massaging his scalp and thinks of only one thing.

He’d lost to your machinations.

(If you want it so badly, Jamil will give you whatever is left of him that is his. He will trust you.)

Oh river (river, river) (don't run from me river)

Don't run (run, run) (don't run from me river, river)

Don't run (river, river) (no don't run from me river)

From our love (run, run) (don't run from me river, river)

No

His eyelashes are remarkably long. You gently trail a fingertip over the edge of its fanned-out shape, taking note of the shadow it leaves on his cheekbones.

He doesn’t wake up when you kiss his cheek.

Jamil is a mystery you want to keep trying to read every single moment of everyday. He’s a person you want to keep next to you, even if you’ve already gotten to the bottom of all his plans and ideals. You were attracted to him because Jamil is a shattered mirror, all its pieces still reflecting you.

He was barely existing too.

You saw in him what you know is present within yourself; a creature of self-doubt and hatred, wanting to know its place in this world, needing to know its purpose for existence. But unlike you, Jamil took steps to find a way out of his own personal hell, while back in your own world, you were only ever stuck in the same place. He’s everything you never thought you needed, but did.

Now, he’s breathing.

You wonder if he feels safe with you.

You wonder if he feels the same way that you do. Does he look at you and feel alive? Just like how Jamil was the beginning of your living, are you his?

You don’t need to know the answer.

(You couldn’t fix him, and he couldn’t fix you. Isn’t it great, then, that your broken pieces slot right into each other?)

[cynthiav06]

Do you ever feel like Percy just can't Say No To Annabeth? Like has he ever realized that she isn't good for him? I mean I believe that Annabeth is definitely a Toxic partner and not a good Gf for percy and people say "Oh Percy would no what abuse is because he lived with Gabe" but that is what abuse looks like from an Adult. but Percy has never had a Gf so he would have nothing to compare Annabeth too, so he wouldn't know what a abusive/toxic relationship is, Cause an abusive relationship isn't all about how many bruises the victim has, it's about the control and Power the abuser has on the victim and tbh some of the parts in the book make it seem like Percy is in abusive and toxic relationship and the stuff Annabeth does or how she acts towards Percy and as a Character regardless just doesn't sit right with me and made me not like Percabeth at all

Your question speaks to my soul. Thank you for asking.

Personally, I believe Annabeth as a character devolves as the series progresses, and her worst character flaws are somehow never addressed. The worst is this sense of codependency she projects on Percy.

The Fandom, for some reason, has her put on a pedestal even though it's Percy who gets himself out of most trouble, who makes the most strategies, and takes the most efforts. Even Rick's demigod life updates say Percy scores higher in studies than Annabeth.

Yet for someone reason everyone degrades Percy while they worship Annabeth. Nothing ticks me off more. The only thing Annabeth has on Percy is her extensive knowledge and nothing else, yet every character behaves as if Percy would be nothing without Annabeth. Nothing nothing could be more wrong.

The Fandom is so eager to call out every character's flaws, yet Annabeth's are never addressed. The toxic and possessive way she acted throughout the Battle of Labyrinth towards Percy, treating him as if she owned him and her repulsive behavior towards Rachel, should have been Percy's greatest Red flag.

Not to mention Percy gets taken to Romans, his memories taken and altered by Hera left to fend off for himself and Annabeth shows no lick of understanding or supportiveness to Percy's troubles not just then but ever.

Not only that, she had the blatant audacity to criticize Percy for leaving her as if it were a choice on his part.

Annabeth literally spends the start of The Last Olympian in which Percy is dealing with the immense pressure of his looming death and the fate of the world being oh his shoulders and she is neither supportive nor understanding when he is reasonably panicking but also instead gets mad at him.

All in all, Annabeth spends the entirety of their relationship complaining, projecting unreal expectations on Percy, being controlling and toxically possessive.

I could rant all day about it, but essentially, Percy's first intimate connection with any woman other than his mother was with Annabeth.

Everyone knows Percy's deep deep seated self esteem issues, so in his mind Annabeth is too good for him, and he doesn't deserve her. Annabeth should be proving to Percy how awesome and great he is, how they both are equally deserving of each other instead of further worsening his self-esteem.

But Percy is so afraid of losing her that he goes by whatever she says. Rick himself literally writes how relaxed and better Percy feels with Rachel yet never mentions it ever again.

I agree that Annabeth was understandably terrified in Tartarus but by what right does she make Percy promise to not use a power he would obviously need for self defense, a power that just got them out alive from a Primordials clutches?

There's not one thing Annabeth has done that is truly selflessly for Percy. Yes she took a knife for him which is very good of her but honestly are you telling me anyone who has traveled with Percy for so long for whose sake Percy has frequently risked his own life wouldn't do the same?

Aside from that one action, Annabeth has never never done anything purely out of consideration of Percy's comfort , his trauma, and his insecurities.

She plays by fear as Percy says he has a healthy fear of her. There's no such thing as healthy fear. No healthy relationships should contain a hint of fear.

So yes Percy can't say no to her because he fears no one would love him if Annabeth doesn't, he never wants to lose her believing her to be the only person that would accept him despite all his flaws. And these delusions make him agree to everything Annabeth says. This is both wildly untrue and extremely toxic and unhealthy in a relationship.

[jasntodds]

Penance [1]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,340

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, mentions of death, mentions of injuries, a little blood, a little bit of violence

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: It's finally the last book!! I'm honestly so excited lol You don't have to read the previous books to read this one but if you want context, feel free to ask!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Everything is different. Somehow, everything has changed so much over the last month and a half everything that happened before almost feels like some sort of sick fever dream. It's all very real and all of it happened but everything is different today. At least, to Jason it feels different.

Gotham itself is pretty much the same. Bruce has been back and doing his whole Batman thing. The only difference is he doesn't have a Robin now but his methods remain the same, it's the same routine for him, same big bads. It's the same for him. The businesses that were boarded up during Crane's reign are up and running, everything looking to be the same just as it was before. The air around the city is still smoggy and the rain is still cold and wet. The streets sound the same just as they always did and the gargoyle keeps Jason company just as it did before. So much is the same but he feels like everything is different.

Instead of him and Bruce butting heads over him being Robin, they're butting heads over his methods. Bruce has no issue with Red Hood but he does have a problem with the killing part of it. And Jason won't budge. He swears he's not bitter about what happened but he is firm in his belief that change needs to happen. It stops with him and Bruce can either fight him or get on board. They are trying to come to some sort of agreement which is significantly better than how it would have went before. Bruce keeps the Robin suit in the case. He won't tell Jason why.

Their relationship is different now. Jason thinks it might be for the better.

He hopes it's for the better.

His living situation is different than it was before. He has his own place, the main safe house he used while Crane ran the city. It's not anything too special yet and Jason doesn't have too many things that are his but it's coming along. And that is his. It almost feels like it did when he was on the streets but this time, it is his choice. It is his choice to be alone here. And he owns it. No one can come and kick him out, no one can come and arrest him for trespassing and breaking and entering, it is his. It might feel lonely sometimes after living with Bruce and the Titans for so long but it is his and it brings him some sort of pride in a way.

He works with Barbara mostly now. Whenever something a bit more dicey pops up or Bruce is busy, she calls Jason. It's his literal job now and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. Him and Babs get along better now. Actually, him and the Titans get along better now. There's still plenty of work to be done but his relationship with them has been on the mend, something he is eternally grateful for. He still owes them.

Then there's you.

Things are different with you.

"I will be back as soon as the threat is taken care of." Bruce states as he grabs a few things from the Batcave. "Are you sure you can handle this?" Bruce asks, not because of his lack of confidence in Jason's abilities but rather his general mental health.

"I got it, man." Jason brushes him off. "Nothing I haven't done before. You've gone with the Justice League plenty of times." Jason holds back his snippy attitude, trying his best to level with Bruce and not let his anger get the best of him.

"Before you were..." Bruce trails off in a way that makes Jason shift his weight off his bad leg. "Robin." He nods once, sternly and hard. "That was before."

"I'm fine." Jason nearly whines, desperate to not get into that. They don't talk about it. "I got it." He gestures his arms out casually.

"Okay." Bruce states with a sigh. "Do not blow anything or anyone up again." Bruce warns.

The touch of a smirk pulls at his lips. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

There may have been an explosion near Harbor last week with some gun runners inside. Jason may or may not have been in the area patrolling. And that group may or may not have been the group Jason had been tracking over the last few days. Jason does think the explosion really helped though. They got all the guns and all the people involved in one sweep. Seemed efficient.

"I know it was you." Bruce states easily.

"Nope." Jason shakes his head but the grin is tugging at his lips, knowing damn well he's guilty.

Bruce lets out a sigh, not bothering to argue with him over it. "Just...keep it down, Jason." Bruce states and he's gone out of town a hundred times but something about this being the first time since Jason died and has been brought back almost makes him nervous.

Jason can handle himself. He's been doing it. This is only his second time in the Batcave over the last month and a half and only his third time back at the manor. He's doing well on his own, all things considered, but he is Bruce's son and Bruce does worry even if he doesn't show it.

"It'll be fine, just go. I got it all handled. Pick up your job you're working, almost got the one from Babs and..." Jason pauses feeling his mouth run dry. "Molly said y/n's got a few she's working."

Bruce eyes him, knowing very little but knowing enough about the situation between the two of you. "You should call her." Bruce tries to say it casually.

"No." Jason states simply. "And you're not allowed to give me advice here. The one that got away? Seriously, man?" Jason lets out a scoff.

Of all people, Jason does not want relationship advice from Bruce. Bruce had a solid chance with Selina and apparently, he's still hung up on her and is doing nothing about it. He could have had something great with Talia, too but that didn't end well. Jason is not looking to take advice from Bruce and he's thinking he shouldn't be taking much relationship advice from anyone he knows. No one seems to be getting that department together anytime soon. The way he sees it, this is fine.

It's fine.

"How did Tim know that?" Bruce questions Jason plainly.

"He stalks us." Jason nearly chortles.

"Well, that is all my advice. Call her, Jason." Bruce nods once at him.

"I'm good." Jason shakes his head. "Now go before Clark shows up and drags you back with him."

Bruce lets out a sigh, making his way through the living room. Bruce offered to let him stay at the manor which Jason declined. He's on his own. He can't come back here. If he's even being honest, he's only thinking Bruce called him to "look out over his jurisdictions" just to check up on him, make sure he feels useful as if Jason doesn't have his own work he's doing. Somewhere in his chest he wants to be mad and fight back over it, swear it's because Bruce doesn't think he can handle it so he's setting him up to prove a point to get him back. But Jason bites it all back, deciding to tell his mind to shut up for fucking once and let this just play out.

He sees Leslie once a week and that helps. He thinks he'll just tell her about it.

Jason finds himself back at the place he's calling home, enabling the alarms once he's safe inside. It's messy and somewhere in the back of his head, he can hear the echo of your voice telling him he should clean because he's not busy now. And he looks at the stuff on the floor, almost willing himself to listen, and then he heads upstairs anyway.

If Jason Todd is good at anything, it's being alone. He's been alone almost his whole life. Even when his dad was around, he was drunk or mean...so he was alone. Even when his mom was alive, she was usually high. She wasn't really with him very much. He adapted to what it's like to be alone. To fend for himself always and somewhere deep in his broken heart, he wishes it weren't this way but he's good at it. He has always pushed until he was alone. He is a natural disaster ripping through the hearts of people who love him so maybe being alone has always been better for him. At least the only thing left to destroy is himself.

Even if being lonely is some of the worst kind of hurt. But this is his penance.

One day, he swears, it won't be like this. That's the point of talking to Leslie and getting along with Bruce and being himself today. One day it won't be like this. A day will come when he won't have to punish himself for all the hurt he's caused. He won't have to punish himself for all the scars he bears at the hands of others and himself. One day he won't have to punish himself for the person he could have been. It just has to be like this today. So, Jason goes up to his room where he keeps his training equipment and monitors and he starts to work on the cipher until it's time for patrol.

The city is warm tonight. Cars are crowding the streets while people walk home from their Saturday night out and a smile pulls at your lips from under your mask as you watch the people below you. Patrol has just started and you're mostly waiting and listening, knowing something is going to happen because it always does on Saturday nights. But, you'd be lying if you said you don't like the view from where you are. Something about Gotham always being pretty at night.

The smog isn't visible, it doesn't look dreary as it usually does during the day. It's just street lights and busy people walking about. A part of you can't believe just a few months ago you were terrified of heights and now you actually enjoy the view.

Things have changed a lot since then.

You live with Molly now, probably how it always should have been. You share a small apartment, this one has better locks on the doors and windows. And every night you teach Molly some self-defense, just in case. If you've learned one thing, it's that you cannot save everyone but you can help them. At least if Molly is somewhat prepared, she has a chance though you could tell by how she moved and certain things she already knew that Jason had taught her a few things before San Francisco. Living with her is nice though. She understands you and there is no judgment. You aren't alone.

Gar and Tim talk to you every single day, updating you with whatever is going on. At first, it was fun stuff on the road trip like sightseeing and museums and bowling. Now, it's the hell Metropolis is currently under. You've never been so happy you stayed behind. You do not want to fight a demon. You'll never admit it, but you wouldn't stand a single chance against Rachel let alone Mother Mayhem and Brother Blood. Though, you are disappointed you missed the whole zombie situation. You're just glad the boys keep you up to date with everything and you talk to Dick and Kory all the time, too. That doesn't feel too different. It feels almost like it did when you first came back to Gotham and you like it this way.

And then there's Jason.

Things are different with Jason.

"Robbery in progress in the East End, convenience store." Molly says through the comms.

"Got it, send the address." You grin wildly behind your mask before you use your grappling hook to lower yourself down the backside of the building.

Molly helping out has been new. You aren't too happy about that part but...Molly was insistent and to tell her no would make you a hypocrite. Molly stays back and is youe eyes in the skies kind of deal which has been very helpful when it comes to patrol. At least that's nice.

You take the bike and head to the address Molly sent you. Patrolling is different now, too. You've always patrolled with Bruce or Jason or the Titans. Even when Jason died, you weren't patrolling. You had set targets and that's who you went out to grab. This is patrol. This is different. You're alone with Molly in your ear. You thought maybe you wouldn't like it, Iike maybe you'd actually be really bad at it being alone. But, if you were being honest, you're really enjoying it this way. You're good at it. And it's fun and you don't have to worry about anyone else. It's just you. Your life. That's it. And you like the thrill a little bit.

Jason shoves the last of four men to the ground, his hands zip-tied behind his back and the man lets out a groan. He glares up at Jason with blood streaming down his nose, his friends all a bit battered but have learned to keep quiet. This one is annoying.

"You broke my fucking nose!" He screams up at Jason.

Jason never quite understood why people committing crimes who get caught, like in this instance for example, are confused by their injuries. They showed up to rob a local small business and expected to get away with it. They're here to possibly ruin something that someone has earned and worked very hard for just because they can. A broken nose seems to be a pretty good deal.

He's not even a stranger to robbery but these guys walked in there armed and prepared to shoot anyone who wanted to get in the way. Jason was also a teenager and desperate. These four men don't seem to be in the same boat and the way Jason sees it, there was no reason to hold a gun to someone's face for a hundred dollars in a cash register. These are not master criminals.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood or your nose would be the last of your worries." Jason says casually through the modulator.

"Good mood?!" The man yells back as if he's the real victim in this situation.

"Yeah, good mood." Jason echoes back about to make another smart comment until he hears the sound of a motorcycle pulling up.

Jason turns around just in time to see it stop and he'd recognize the bike anywhere because it's the same one as his. He'd recognize the blue and black suit anywhere because it's yours.

You pop the helmet off and Jason swears his very heart just burst into flames into his chest and it might just burn through his ribcage. The corner of his lips starts to tug into a shielded smile at the sight of you and his only thought is that he misses you. He asks about you to your friends, not too often but...often enough for them to know. All of them say the same things, you're doing okay but they're worried. You're working with Barbara, too, running different jobs for the PD and you check in on Tim's parents every single day.

Molly always says the least about you.

Every single bone in his body feels hollowed seeing you. But when you lock eyes with him and you don't look happy, the guilt comes back baring its teeth and digging them right into his jugular.

It has been a month and a half and he is trying his best. It hasn't been easy and some days he doesn't try but generally, he's trying. It's hard whenever every breath he takes is haunted by the day he took his last. It's hard trying to figure out his footing. Jason Todd is Red Hood. He knows that. He is Red Hood. Red Hood protects innocent people and uses any means necessary to make sure they stay safe. But he is not a hero. He is doing what must be done and that is all. Jason Todd is Red Hood but outside of that, he doesn't know yet. Instead, he wraps himself in a straightjacket of guilt and remorse and agony and hopes that'll be enough to repay his debts to misery and happiness.

You eye him and it's like you're being exposed to the entire city in an instant. It's as if your suit and mask have been ripped from your body and every scar and insecurity and vulnerability is being displayed in some sort of sick museum as you see him. You have separate sections of the city. You, him, and Bruce. This is Bruce's section but he's out of town with the Justice League. It would have been Jason's to pick up but you didn't even question it when Molly mentioned it.

You wish you would have questioned it.

It is almost a relief he wears a full-face helmet because you aren't entirely sure what you would do if you saw his face, saw his expression. Would he be happy to see you? Disappointed? Mad? Would there be anything left at all or would he just look at you like he would any other vigilante showing up a little too late to help? You aren't sure which of those would be easier to swallow.

Something builds in the space between you, something hard and damaged, sucking the air out from between you. It snarls back at you both almost daring you to go ahead and try to move. Try to make the space less and see just how badly the teeth of grief will hurt this time. Go ahead and tempt death for old time's sake and guilt. Go ahead and try to mend this and pretend it's some sort of coincidence, as if fate has any hand in this. It bites and gnaws at you both as water brims in your eyes, every emotion bubbling over to the surface and grief screams out to you both.

Go ahead and try again, see just how badly this will all end again. It will only end in bloody hands and shredded agony. Guilt laughs in your faces, a devious crackle as if you are not worth the other. The both of you do not deserve forgiveness for the torture you've caused the other. Walk away. You both can hear it over and over again, guilt and grief and resentment and loneliness, walk away.

So, you do.

You pop the helmet back on your head just as Jason turns back to the robbers.

"Where are you going?" Molly asks through the comms as she watches the tracker on her screen start moving.

"You can see him here." You seethe. "I know you can see him, too."

Molly has all of your locations. She shares them with Bruce. It was part of an agreement with her doing this eyes in the skies thing and you being able to keep patrolling. It's how you all keep your sections of the city. Molly knows Jason is here.

"He wasn't when I sent you, I swear." Molly defends softly. It's not a lie, she just didn't mention when Jason happened to be moving towards the robbery. "He showed up but you were already on your way—"

"So you didn't tell me?!" You yell. "Seriously?"

Somewhere in the last month and a half, grief has metastasized into something resembling resentment. It's not him. You know that. But, seeing him just now brings back too many feelings you've yet to deal with properly, you're trying but you haven't gotten that far yet.

Grief bubbles back and transforms into something like resentment because you should be together. You should fucking happy and you aren't. You are, generally, but there is this void echoing in your chest. A burning pain right on your heart where his name was stitched. It sucks to be blind-sided into seeing him even if the resentment is towards yourself. You just would have liked some fucking warning about it.

You need to be prepared if you're going to see him and you aren't entirely sure you're ready. There's still a lot of shame even if missing him makes you feel like Atlas. Half the damn time it takes everything in you not to call him. Something will happen and he is still the first person you want to tell. But, you're not talking. Instead, you get updates about him through Molly and Gar and Tim. All of them have said he seems okay while sounding worried about him. It's hard not to worry about him. He's Jason. You think that's your only relief, knowing he's at least doing okay.

You just wish you had it in yourself to check in but he said space and you said space. You agreed and guilt and shame suck the very air out of your lungs to the point where you think this is your way of punishing yourself for everything you've done to him. Forcing yourself to not contact him first and check-in. You're punishing yourself but keeping to what you know and staying away from him. Maybe it was him who was always better off.

Molly sighs. "You have to talk to him eventually." Molly rolls her eyes on the other end and decides to drop it. She can hear the engine of the bike roaring louder than usual. This conversation is not one to have at the moment. "Mugging two blocks from you, take a right."

She is thankful the two of you have not put her in the middle. The most that happens is you both asking about each other. Other than that, you don't ask. You don't mention each other. It's as if you only know of each other through your mutual friends. Molly thinks that might actually be worse sometimes.

Jason gets back to his safe house and strips from the Red Hood gear. He heads right for the shower. Seeing you tonight, it feels like a lot. He never tried to kill you but somehow, you're the person he betrayed the most and dealing with that has been a lot harder than most of the rest of it. Your dedication and loyalty to him he thinks has made it so hard. To have someone so loyal and love him the way you did, sends his head fuzzy with regret knowing the pain he caused you.

At first, Jason thought it'd be a week or two. You'd both cave and talk again and then one thing would lead to another. Maybe it wouldn't be the healthiest way to deal with your shit, but you'd be together and you'd figure it out. But then a week or two turned into three and then four and then six. The more time that passes, the harder it gets to pick up the phone. Maybe that's why he asks Gar and Tim and Molly about you. They all say you're good but they're worried about you. They're always worried about you. But at least you've been good and Jason is grateful for that. He just wishes he had it in himself to suck it up and just call you. But, he doesn't so he showers away the thoughts of you and drowns himself in his guilt and regret.

By the time he's out of the shower, his phone is ringing and he's drying his hair with a towel, the white streak staring back at him in the mirror and he's still mad Dick didn't get the same thing he did.

"Yeah?" Jason answers the phone.

"I need your help." Dick states on the other end.

Jason pulls the phone from his head, looking at the caller ID before he puts the phone back to his ear. "With?"

"Training Tim." Dick states.

Jason almost laughs at the very statement. It's not that Dick is asking for help in the training department, he has before. That's fine. It's that Tim is supposed to be Robin out there and Jason knows they are actively fighting demons and zombies. Tim should absolutely be getting trained in between all of that.

"You haven't trained him yet?" Jason scoffs in surprise before he walks out of the en suite and into his bedroom.

"We've been busy." Dick scoffs back knowing damn well Jason knows what's been happening. Dick has mentioned it and Gar gives Dick updates about Jason meaning Gar talks to him plenty. "Between everything that's been going on since we got to Metropolis, we haven't had time."

Jason chuckles softly on the other end. "Yeah, uh, Gar was telling about me about the zombie shit. Fucking Deathstroke? Glad I wasn't there." Jason laughs softly and he can't see it but there might even be a faint smile on Dick's lips. He sounds good.

"Yeah," Dick huffs, running a hand through his hair. "You gonna be able to help?" Dick asks.

"Yeah, I owe you anyway." Jason agrees. "Not gonna go easy on him though. I'm gonna make sure he's ready when he comes back."

It doesn't take Jason long to have his decision. There's something...weird with someone replacing him in a way, as Robin. But, if someone is going to be Robin, they have to be prepared, more prepared than he was. Jason doesn't want someone else to end up like him and he knows Tim, kind of. He owes Dick for everything Jason has put him through and Jason did always like helping with the training. It's not a difficult decision.

"Good, that's what I expect." Dick nearly chuckles. "If he's going to be Robin, he needs a good teacher."

"Wouldn't go that far, man." Jason shakes his head, still getting used to Dick being nice.

"You trained y/n and look at what she can do. That is mostly on you. Do the same for Tim. I'll have him in Gotham tomorrow."

"You just gonna send him to me?" Jason's brows pull together as he puts a hand on his hip.

"No, I'm going to send him on a mission that is all just a ruse to get him there. You'll find him and go from there. Don't tell him." Dick explains simply as if Jason should have known Dick would have a...ruse?

"So, you're gonna send him here on a fake mission with no training as Robin?" Jason lets out a laugh. That's ridiculous and somehow Jason finds himself not entirely surprised. "Why not just fucking tell him, man?"

"I want to instill confidence in him." Dick states, almost defensively. He's trying his best and he also knows that Tim is very confident and maybe he needs to see he needs the help. "Should have done it with you guys. Not making the mistake again."

Jason clears his through. "Yeah, okay, deserved that." Jason shakes his head. "Alright, just let me know when he's on his way and where I need to be. I'll get him ready to actually be Robin."

"Thanks, Jason." Dick's voice is sincere.

"Yeah, don't mention it." Jason lets out a sigh before he hangs up.

He plops onto his bed, his eyes falling onto the helmet resting on the dresser on the opposite side of the room. Right after leaving the manor from talking to Bruce, this is not where he saw Red Hood being. Being a vigilante is now something Jason feels like he has to do, he likes it but he is trained to do it. He's trained to help people and if no one else is going to help them, Jason might as well. It's taken a little getting used to, rebranding Red Hood in a way. Red Hood is not a murderer. He kills really horrible people for the greater good. He targets people like Black Mask and Penguin by working his own circle to steal their business. He sabotages their work and steals their shipments. That part is always a bit fun. Red Hood patrols Crime Alley. He helps them. He is not a murderer.

He's still getting used to it but it's better than it was. Even if the blood on his hands burns from time to time.

This is kind of nice though, the ability to train Tim. He does miss that part a bit, training with someone. Training alone only does so much sometimes. Jason liked helping train the other younger Titans. It made him feel important and now he gets to train Tim. He'll never tell Dick, but it means a lot for him to ask for help here even if it's just because the Titans have been busy.

This is the last one for the night. You've been tracking this group of people who work for a pretty bad pimp in the city. You've gotten a couple of the women to turn and Barbara has put them into protective custody, immunity from any and all charges. It's not them they want anyway. It's the pimp and his right hand but when women stopped showing up, he got wind and went into hiding. So, did most of his men and women. Until tonight when Molly grabbed one of them on a camera in Gotham Heights. You wasted no time in trailing him.

The second this guy sees you, he takes off like a bat out of hell and the only thing you can do is roll your eyes and go after him. They always run. It's like they really think running is going to work for them. Between the cardio and the grappling hook and the bike, why do they think they'll actually get away? They always run.

The guy thinks he's smarter and quicker. Well, maybe he's quicker but he is not smarter. Molly is tracking him through every traffic camera he hits while you stay a good distance behind him until the opportunity comes for you to get onto a rooftop and continue the chase that way. He's heading somwhere, it won't be toward his boss. There's no way he's that stupid but he is heading into the perfect spot for you to grab him.

You turn off and then jump a few more buildings before ducking down into an alley. You walk to the very end and then wait a few seconds for the running footsteps to come closer. You grab a knife from your belt and then just as he goes to run past, you grab him, spinning him and pinning him against the alley wall.

You hold the knife to his neck and press it into his skin, not enough to cause serious damage, just enough to let him bleed. Blood gets people talking quicker and you're tired and hungry.

"Where is he?" You demand.

The man gulps and the blade presses into his neck further, his breathing heavy and shallow. "I don't know who you're—"

"Your boss. Yes, you do. You're all in hiding but you came out and for what? Where he is?" You question again, not in the mood to even let him think for a second he's smarter than you.

He looks at you with terror. Somehow, he wishes it were The Bat that grabbed him and yet he finds himself thankful it's not The Red Hood. The Bat won't kill him but Red Hood would make sure his death was painful if he really wanted to. You're not one to be messed with either. But his boss? That's just signing his death certificate.

You pull the knife away, kneeing him in the stomach before you land a punch to his face. You don't want to kill him. You read his record. Wrong crowd at sixteen. He was probably manipulated into this, too. He's a victim, too. But, he needs to give up his boss.

The man groans, sliding down the wall as he holds his jaw. "Fuck!"

"Tell me." You grit your teeth.

"He'll fucking kill me! I'd rather you just send me to Arkham or Blackgate! I'm not a fuckin' rat." The guy seethes but there's a quiver in his voice.

You roll your eyes. "Yes, I'm aware he'll kill you."

"What the fu—"

"So tell me and give me a reason to make sure he doesn't." You offer. "You think I'm here to kill you? If I wanted you dead, I'd kill you myself. Tell me and we'll protect you." The offer is genuine even if it comes out snippy.

"I don't believe a damn thing you say." The man gives you a weak scoff and diverts his eyes to the street.

"That's a you problem then. I'm trying to help you while you help me." You offer. "It's a real offer."

"Immunity then." The man fires back without even thinking.

You scoff. Does he not realize that the whole vigilante thing is still a crime? You can't promise that. "No. And I don't have the ability to promise that anyway. Work out with the DA. I can get you into protective custody though if you give him up."

Barbara has you working this case involving some sort of ring with sex workers. It's definitely more than just some guy calling the shots and dividing up money. Missing women, bodies turning up, drugs, it all seems to lead back to him. Your argument was that half the people working under this guy are victims, too. Some of those people are given the opportunity to flip and if they do, they're given protection. Barbara said the DA isn't too happy about it and some of the civilians will probably be pissed but you don't care. Not all of them have to go down with the ship.

"Look, he's going to find out you were with me and he's going to think you flipped or you're thinking about it. You're a dead man the second you walk out of this alley if you don't help me and we both know it."

The man lets out a sigh. "Crime Alley." He finally caves. "I don't know exactly where. I heard there are only a few women who know and then his right hand, that's it."

You nod accepting the response. It's way better than nothing. "Thank you."

"You're really gonna help?"

"Yeah, of course." You get to your feet.

"Why?"

You shrug. "You're not the big problem here." You answer casually. "My advice though, take whatever punishment is dealt to you and serve it and then get out. There's a program. The commissioner will give you information about it if they decide to try you."

"Thank you." The guy nods.

"Mhm." You hum, pulling out your own zip ties before you zip tie his hands together but before you get Molly to call Barbara, Molly comes in through the comms.

"Hey, I've got Dick on the other line, you wanna take it?" Molly asks.

"Yeah, actually, I'm done here. Let the commissioner know he flipped and I got info on him so he's good." You answer.

"Got it." Molly answers before she patches Dick in.

"I need your help with something." Dick starts without wasting a single second.

Your brows pull together. "Uh, hello to you, too?" You question as you get back to your feet. "The fuck do you need my help with? I do not want to go to Metropolis." You let out a chuckle before you look out onto the street and then back back into the alley.

"Superman?!" The guy on the ground yells.

"No, Nightwing." You scoff. "Shut up. You're done talking."

"Are you on a job right now?" Dick almost yells and at this point, he expects nothing less.

"Oh, yeah, just wrapping up." Your voice is almost cheery on the other end.

"Okay..." Dick holds the bridge of his nose, not even wanting to unpack that. "I need you to help train Tim."

You cackle on the other end. "Okay, hold on, let me wrap this up. This shit needs my attention." You laugh looking back to the guy. "Alright they'll be here in a few to arrest you but I gotta head out so...sorry about this." You pull your fist back, punching the guy and knocking him unconscious. "Anyway," You start before you shoot your grappling hook at the roof and start your jumping and walking to your bike. "You need me to do what now?"

"I need you to help train Tim to be Robin." Dick repeats.

"Is that not your job?" You quip back with a laugh.

Dick sighs, seeing as he is clearly going to have the same conversation twice. "We've been busy."

"Yeah, Gar and Tim said something about Zombie Deathstroke. Sounds fucking insane. Glad I'm not there." You laugh before jumping onto a neighboring rooftop. "Wait, okay hold on." You shake your head. "You're gonna send Tim here?"

"Yes. On a fake mission to build confidence." Since he's already had this conversation, Dick knows exactly what to cut out and include in his response to get this conversation over quickly.

"Uh-huh." You nod, getting the feeling there's a bit more to this than Dick is leading on. "Right, yeah, got it. Fair enough, I guess. And why are you asking me?" You ask knowing Jason is right there in Gotham City as well.

"You're good at this, you're the newest member besides Conner but well..."

"Superboy." You finish. "Unfair fight."

"Exactly. You also have your combat clairvoyance. Jason always said you were a good sparring partner because you fit." Dick's voice is casual and simple, you know there's something he is not telling you. He's nicer than he was before. The stick is no longer up his ass, but he's being too nice.

"Yeah, he did." You roll your shoulders before jumping to the next rooftop. "And uh, why are you not asking Jason?" You ask before it goes completely silent. And you know immediately. "Oh, you did." You state.

"I did." Dick answers simply.

Of course, Dick asked Jason first. You aren't offended or hurt by it. Asking Jason to train Tim is smart. But, not immediately telling you means one of two things. Either Jason said yes and Dick is setting you both up which makes you want to jump off this rooftop or Jason said no and Dick just wasn't going to tell you. Unfortunately, you're betting on the first option just because you know Jason wouldn't send Tim to the wolves.

"And he said yes, didn't he?" Your voice is a little snippy this time.

"He did." Dick keeps his voice level, unsure if you're going to start yelling or not.

"Okay so you're asking me to help Jason train Tim but Jason doesn't know you're asking me and you weren't going to tell me but because I asked you were obligated not to lie to me in fear I'd be pissed off enough to walk out and so would Jason?"

"When you put it that way." Dick states. "Look, I know it's complicated right now." Dick tries to reason with you.

"We're not fucking talking, Dick like..." You let out a breath. "He probably doesn't want to see me, ya know?" You nearly whine at the thought because you really believe it.

You hurt him.

"I know but this is for Tim." Dick urges.

You might be giving Dick a hard time but you both know you'll agree. Not only is Dick asking for a favor but it's also Tim. You would never not help Tim especially with everything that's happened. You owe Dick and Tim for everything. But, that doesn't make the situation any easier for you.

"Jason is gonna be pissed if he finds out, ya know?" You ask.

"Yeah." Dick answers. "Tim will get the best training from the both of you though."

"Yeah." You roll your eyes. "Fine. Yeah, I'll help and I won't tell Jason. Just when and where?"

"Tomorrow, I'll text you the rest." Dick answers. "Thank you."

"Mhm." You hum.

Dick feels bad for you and Jason. You've both been through a lot individually and together. It's two of the things that brought you together in the first place. You two always seemed to make each other happy and you actually seemed really good for each other. Dick knows first hand it's not easy and it is always complicated. It's always going to be painful trying to work out the romance department while being a vigilante. It's why it didn't work with him and Barbara. It's why it didn't work with him and Dawn. It's not easy. But, he feels bad for you both. It feels like you weren't given a chance.

"Talk to him." Dick states carefully.

You groan as you look to the sky. "You're not giving me a fucking choice are you, Dickolas?"

"You know what I mean." Dick says right back.

While you appreciate the sentiment, you are not taking dating advice from Dick Grayson. As far as you know, Dick's been in love with Kory for almost a year, at least and he has not said a single word to her about it. At least you told Jason. The way you see it, Dick should be taking dating advice from you.

"You tell Kory how you feel about her and I'll have a conversation with Jason." You offer in a higher-pitched voice, offering a bit of bite in your words.

"Okay no—"

"Yes." You quip back. "Don't give me advice if you're not going to take the same advice." You jump to the last rooftop. "She feels the same way anyway." You mutter softly.

"Alright, thank you." Dick cuts you off. "Talk to him. Tim won't know you're helping him."

"Gathered. Just let me know. I know to keep my mouth shut. I got it." You assure him.

"Thank you."

"You owe me." You laugh softly on the other end before ending the call.

After the run-in earlier tonight, you weren't sure when you'd want to see Jason again. At first, you thought about it all the time. Maybe you'd run into each other just as you did earlier and he'd make some quip about you being in his territory and you'd make fun of him for needing your help. Something would click and you'd be back to normal and it would feel good. The void in your chest will fill again and it would be normal. But that's not what happened because more time passed and you think about how maybe he's mad at you. He should be mad at you still. The more time that passed, the more you convinced yourself it was what you deserved. So, you keep your distance on purpose from him. Maybe that's your penance.

But now, you have to face him.

So, you head back to the apartment to mentally prepare. Jason Todd is still the Jason you always loved and you have to act like you're fine. You have to act like it is not eating you away inside to think about him. Everything has been going okay and you're finding yourself in this city. You think your feet are starting to land on solid ground for once. But, the thought of seeing Jason makes you feel like the earth is being pulled from under your feet. It's the one thing you have deliberately not dealt with. So, you know you have to act like it's all normal. If you're going to be able to do this with him, it has to feel normal. You have to feel normal otherwise it'll be sad and awkward and painful. Maybe he won't want your help anyway.

In no way did you expect your first time speaking to Jason again would be because Dick asked for help. But, it looks like that's exactly what's going to happen. And maybe your bones are starting to vibrate with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. You might feel guilty and you might be worried but you miss seeing him. You miss the way his voice sounds. You miss him more than words could ever describe.

Maybe you hope he misses you, too even if you don't deserve it.

Maybe as the night goes on and you get ready for bed and tell Molly about it, maybe you can't wait to see him.

next chapter

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[burninblood]

guys, I sense a lot of tension about this whole buckynat situation XD ... there is even some hate going on on "X" saying they should have stayed broken and stuff... and, listen, I understand, this kind of reunion wasn't what we was hoping for after all these years (10 years?!?!) and of course we had better scenarios in our mind and we were hoping for more good character work (or any characters work at all!), and we want to hear Nat's version (eheh) and these writers are, let's say, uhm, not so good...

BUT

these are american superhero comics for you in 2024. No greatly written for most part, action focused all the time, little or not at all character development, aiming to reach big sales or them get cancelled, flowing with the MCU synergy and stuff. And I tell you as someone who has read comics her whole life (and I had a loooong life, ok XDDD): bad moments in comics come and go, and poor characters run through a lot of shitty writing, and this happens all the time.

Are Lanzing and Kelly good writers? No. HELL NO.

Do I think Cold War was the worst thing written in the media in the maybe last 5 years? YES with a cherry on top! 100% YES.

Is Thunderbolts a good mini series? ... Well, not really. Better than SOL and CW, but still, we're not quite there yet. It was basically random, with a stretched plot that I can't even recall, and really not a team book since it doesn't focused on any of its characters for real. 'Cause you know, I said it before: no character work, just action action and more action.

Is Bucky written by L&K good? No. He isn't. But to be honest he wasn't good in a lot of other comics too, sadly. He has been worse, he has been better. He will improve at some point, that's the cycle.

All this said, am I happy they brought buckynat back? YES. I AM SUPER HAPPY 'cause it opens for possibility!!!

If they gain some more audience as a couple there are more opportunities for them to get more exposure, to be feautured into other comics (in the current cap run written by Straczynski for example?) more and better content, not only together but on their own too! I think them both didn't have a good comic since... 2018??? Nat even earlier probalby, but it's important they somehow stay relevant in the stories 'cause this is how this whole circus works (sad): the characters who sell better get more stories, more comics, better comics from better writers (... hopefully!)! It's bad, but that's the comic market guys.

Idk, it just feels so sad to me that we have waited for so long for buckynat reunion and when it happened finally it left us with just a bittersweet aftertaste... I think this is inevitable 'cause we had so many hopes and we pushed it bigger than life into our heads, and this is reality XD...But realistically speaking, I was never expecting their reunion to be that different from what we got in the end.

It's good to be disappointed, it's right, but let's turn this into a good occasion then, let's try to stay positive and maybe try to exorcise the bad in it by taking a creative angle on the matter: let's write meta about Natasha's pov, let's write fics, let's do edits, fanarts, let's discuss it. But wishing it never happened and dragging them badly...

I know we all feel like they deserved better, and I agree, but let's consider this just THE BEGINNING. It's a starting point and we should keep our fingers crossed for something good to come!

Let's not give up!!!

I'm sorry if this is so long and a whole lot of useless blablabla bhubhubhu, but some of the stuff I'm reading around is starting to be really depressing and a bit too negative considergin the whole situation, and it's a shame 'cause I feel like we should be at least a tiny bit happier here around <3 :D

Let me know what you think of all this mess (or not, lmao) if you want! <3

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The way I am EATING up your “Hand Her Over” series ahdkdjaklsdj 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 your Ran parts are so SO spot on, exactly how I envision him dealing with it, we need moreeeeee!!!! (please🥺)

Hand Her Over I (Part 6): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: lots of fluff

masterlist

Hand Her Over Megapost

It's quiet.

Ran awakens right before dawn, his arms around your body and his face nuzzles your neck. With a deep inhale, he takes in your sweet scent before gently disentangling himself from you.

It's difficult - undoing himself from his protective posture - but somehow, he's able to do it without waking you. You don't even stir, and Ran's feet press against the carpet gently. It isn't until he's unfolded himself and crept into the bathroom that he realizes...

She slept through the night.

The realization doesn't blow him away at first, but then, as he stands in front of the mirror, he feels his entire body un-tense. By some miracle, the weight that used to sag on his shoulders day in and day out has lightened a bit.

Ran racks his brain for any memory of what he did last night before you went to bed. You both read a novel you'd picked out, creating a sort of book club for two. He'd massaged your feet as you told him about your day, and then put on the white noise you love so much as you fell asleep in his embrace. Nothing out of the usual was done. He'd even ordered takeout for dinner, nothing special.

So, maybe... just maybe...

Ran doesn't let his hope bloom too quickly, though. His hands turn the knobs of the tub's faucet, and water trickles out before becoming a more substantial - but quiet - stream. Making a bath for you is a treasured ritual, one that has given Ran a very easy start to the morning.

In a few minutes, the white noise would fade away, and you'd awaken before joining him in the bathroom. You'd give him sleepy kisses and whisper your daily greetings, and he'd repeat them back to you as he helped you out of your clothing.

He remembers the hurried mornings when he was in Bonten; the mornings that were filled with hisses of stubbed toes, stumbling into the kitchen to find something to eat, the urges to leave without kissing you goodbye so he could make it to the never-ending slew of meetings...

But now, he doesn't have to do that anymore. And he's fucking glad.

Your grunts and moans tear Ran away from his thoughts, and he peers at you, stretching and grumbling and perfect. But you're still sleepy. He can see it in the way your head aches to lay back on the pillow, in the way your eyes are still closed and praying for a few more minutes of rest.

"Good morning," Ran murmurs and you turn to him, eyes still closed. "Did you sleep well?"

"I slept so good," you croak, and Ran grins lazily. "Want some more sleep, though."

"I can stop the bath," he offers, then turns to shut the faucet off. That never really mattered anyway. Ran joins you in the bed, letting your head rest on his crease of his elbow. "You slept straight through the night," he notes, and you open your eyes, shocked.

"You're lying."

"Not," he replies, tapping your nose with one finger. "You didn't even wake up when I got out of the bed." Ran can see the hope blooming behind your own eyes, and he tries with all of his might to stuff his back down. This could just be a fluke. You might go back to the crying fits tonight, and then, he'd be right back at square one. Still devastated.

"You think," you begin, but it's cut off by a long yawn. "You think we can go to the bakery downtown for breakfast?"

"Of course," Ran whispers, kissing your forehead and pulling you close. "Whatever you want." You hum and fall back asleep, your hands bunched up in Ran's shirt.

"You should grow your hair back out." Ran stops mid-bite.

"Huh?"

"Your hair," you murmur, pointing your fork at his head. "You should grow it out again." Ran chuckles, trying not to think about himself with long purple hair.

"And have a purple, long-haired husband?" He shakes his head gently, Rindou's hair flashing in his mind. They only had a similar haircut one time for a reason. "I don't think so."

"You don't have to dye it again," you add, shrugging. "Could grow your roots out and cut it like you have it now." When you shrug again, Ran watches the straps of the sundress slide around on your shoulders. And he can't help but think - mid-conversation, no less - how beautiful you'd look if they inched down a little, and--

"Would you two like anything else?" Ran's gaze moves to the waiter, and he looks between the two of you.

"Can I have another strawberry smoothie?" you ask, and the waiter nods before looking at Ran.

"I'm alright, thanks." Once the waiter is gone, Ran looks back over to you, and he watches the way your red lips curl around the straw. It's not sexual in any way but Ran can't help but think about how lucky he is.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" You look up at Ran in surprise, and your face brightens immediately. And it takes his fucking breath away.

"You tell me all the time, my love," you reply sweetly. "Why? Are you forgetting that you love me?" You're teasing, but Ran's heart still skips a beat.

"No," he breathes, taking your hand in his. "I'm just making sure I tell you often." He kisses your fingers, noting that they're a little cold, then he warms them up with his own fingers. You smile even more.

"Can I tell you something?" you whisper, a mischievous look in your eyes.

"I love secrets," Ran jokes, leaning forward. You lean forward and Ran expects you to whisper something scandalous, but you kiss his lips instead. The waiter comes by right at that moment, but if he hadn't, Ran would have said something absolutely scandalous.

He's still considering it as you both walk out of the bakery hand in hand. "You know what," he begins, looking at the colorful window display in a boutique shop. "We could make a few stops on the way home..."

"Yeah?" You follow his gaze, and smirk. "Shopping?"

"Maybe..."

Ran's devious plan comes together in the dressing room of the boutique, his hands roaming up your thighs in an exaggerated way. The garters brush against his fingers and he shivers, delighting in this image of you.

“This reminds me of better times.”

“Does it?” You look down at him, and he chuckles, taking in your lusty expression.

"Why don't you do this..." Ran takes his credit card and slips it between the lace of the belt. "Buy this one. Then buy another one that makes you happy. I'll be waiting outside for you."

Goosebumps follow the brush of his fingers across the tender flesh of your ass, and Ran leaves the store, a twinge of excitement settling in his stomach. You emerge minutes later, holding your items with pride.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

"Of course," you answer, kissing his cheek and slipping his card into his pocket. "Would you like to see it?"

"Do I like to breathe?" Ran jokes, and you take his hand, lacing your warm fingers through his.

"Ran!"

"My hair's still wet," Ran answers when you call his name.

"I need you," you call out, and Ran tosses a towel over his head, rubbing it back and forth hurriedly as he leaves the bathroom.

"Coming," he replies, stepping into the dimly lit room and expecting something other than what he's met with. "B-babe?" You're lying in the bed, covered in a blush pink lingerie set Ran's never seen before. It must've been the one you bought when he wasn't in the store, but flashes of your wedding night come back in quick bursts.

"I thought you'd like this since..." You run your hands up the garment and smile coyly. "It might remind you of 'better times'." Ran's towel drops from his head and lands on the floor behind him. "You looked just like that, too. All awed and..." You point a swirling finger at Ran's body. "Aroused." His eyes look down at the towel around his waist, and of course, there's an indication of his enjoyment of the moment. You crook a finger at him and whisper,

"Come and get it; if you dare." Ran's hesitation lasts for longer than it should have. When he doesn't make a hasty path toward you, he knows he has to ask. He knows he has to make sure.

"I..." He pulls himself together, and his brows furrow. "We can take things slow."

"Never said we couldn't," you murmur back, propping your head up on an open hand.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Never said you would." God, Ran feels so childish saying these things; he knows you know he loves you and wouldn't dare hurt you, but... The breath catches in Ran's throat, and he's unsure of what to say. And for all of the tears he's shed in private, he's not sure why he's crying. Everything's better now, right?

"Oh," you coo, watching Ran tear up and scrub at his face furiously. Ran hears you get up from the bed and feels your hands wrapping around his wrists, leading him toward the comfortable sheets and pillows. When his cheek rests against your skin, Ran can't contain himself. Crying is not his thing, but when he feels you, touches you, and remembers all of the years he's spent by your side, he's overwhelmed.

"I'm... sorry," he hiccups, tucking his face into your body in shame. "I shouldn't be crying."

"That's bullshit," you whisper, stroking his hair lovingly like his mother used to. "Cry whenever you feel like it." Ran doesn't add how he's felt the overpowering need to be strong for you always, but he senses that you understand and you love him despite it.

He finds himself curling into your embrace and lulling himself into a night of sleep he's unable to fight. It's warm, it's comfortable, almost exactly like your wedding night when you both collapsed in the bed, utterly exhausted... but full of joy.

[heli-writes]

Seven summers, part 1.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

Summary: Every summer, Draco and y/n meet. First, by pure coincidence, then intentionally. Unbeknown to Draco, y/n's a muggle who has no clue he's a wizard. With the rise of the dark lord, how long can this go well?

Part 1, Part 2

Series Masterlist

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

First summer

I can't wait for summer to be over, y/n thinks. Y/n just turned eleven and after the summer, she starts at a new school. Her family just moved into the area and she can't wait to get to know kids her age. Today, her parents took her to London to get some school supplies. Her mother dragged her to Waterstones to get her school books but y/n managed to get away and to wander into the fantasy section. She loves nothing more than fantastic stories about fairies and evil witches.

She's engrossed in a book about an elven princess when she suddenly hears: “Pah, stupid smugglers!“. She looks up and sees a blond boy her age who holds a fantasy book in his hands. Maybe he goes to my new school, she thinks. Being desperate to finally find a friend, she says: “Yeah, you're right. They're so stupid.“ Y/n has no idea what a muggle is but hopes the boy doesn't notice. The boy turns around and looks her up and down. “Are you going to school at Hogwarts then?“, he asks. Y/n tries her best to hide her disappointment. Of course, it was too good to be true. “No, unfortunately not.“, she says. “Durmstrang then? My father wanted to send me there.“, he continues. “No, my parents are sending me to-“, she starts. “Ilvermorny School. You're American, right? I notice your accent.“, the boy interrupts her. Y/n is taken aback. She thought she practiced her English accent really well. She doesn't want the other kids to make fun of her accent. “Is it that obvious?“, y/n blurts out. The boy laughs. “Yeah, you sound like there's a potato stuck in the back of your throat.“, he says. Y/n feels her ears burning up. “I'm Draco Malfoy. And you?“, the boy asks. “I'm y/n l/n. Nice to meet you.“, she answers. Y/n is glad that the conversation goes in a different direction. “You wanna get out of this muggle shop?“, Draco asks. Y/n thinks about it for a second. Her mom is still somewhere in the school section. Whatever, she thinks, I can call her on my phone late. “Sure.“, y/n says, “You wanna get some ice cream? There's a truck down the road.“ Draco agrees and the two of them exit the bookshop.

“So, what kind of flavour do you like?“, y/n asks Draco. “Chocolate.“ he immediately says. Y/n orders for both of them and hands Draco both cones so she can pay. “It's 3 pounds and 60 pence.“, the vendor tells her. Y/n starts digging in her purse and puts some coins in her hand. Being used to American dollars, she has to turn around every coin to see its value. It takes quite a while to count the money together and she gets embarrassed by the line that forms behind her. “Don't worry“, Draco tells her, “The muggle money confuses me too.“ Draco's cryptic use of the word 'muggle' confuses her, but she decides it's probably a British word that she doesn't understand yet. Like hoover or flat. “So, what are you?“, Draco asks. Y/n takes a

lick from her ice cream. “What do you mean?“, she asks. “Your blood. Pure or mixed?“, he asks. Y/n thinks it's a weird question. Does he want to know if both of her parents are American or if one of her parents is British? I guess it's somehow a valid question, y/n thinks, what other reason does an American have to be in Britain? “Oh, I'm a pure blood. My parents are only here for work. They work at the embassy, you know.“, she tells him. Draco nods as if he expected such an answer. “I see.“, he says. “When does school start for you?“, y/n asks him. “First of September.“, he tells her. “Same for me.“, she says. Suddenly she gets really shy. “Do you... Like... Would you like to hang out before school starts?“, she asks him. Draco looks a bit taken aback as if he didn't expect someone to want to hang out with him.

Before he can answer, a loud and somewhat shrill voice yells: “Dracooo! What are you doing? Let's go!“. A woman with black hair and a blond streak waves from across the street. “That's my mother. I got to go. See you around, l/n.“, he tells her and turns to leave. He seems eager to not answer y/n's question. “Wait! What about hanging out?“, y/n yells after him. Draco turns around for a second. “I'll send you an owl.“, he quickly says before taking off. Y/n looks after him dumbfounded. An owl?, she thinks. Is that an app the Europeans use that we don't? Like whatsapp? She thinks about it all the way back to the bookstore where her mother scolds her for leaving without telling her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Second summer

Y/n's early. Way too early. Usually, she's always late and only catches her train to school by the second. But today she's early because her dad has a work thing and dropped her off at King's Cross early. Having a couple hours to kill, y/n wanders aimlessly through the train station. There's so much to see. One of y/n's favorite hobbies is people-watching. Some may call it being noisy but y/n doesn't care about that. Currently, her focus is on an old, fat guy who is picking his nose. I wonder what he's going to do with it, she thinks. He puts it into his mouth. Ewwww, she thinks and quickly turns around running head-first into someone.

"Watch out where you're going, you filthy muggle!", someone says in a disgusted voice. A voice that sounds all too familiar to y/n. "Draco?", she says in disbelief. "Oh, it's you.", Draco answers while straightening his jacket. Y/n takes a good look at him. He has grown a good few inches taller. But not yet taller than me, she thinks proudly. Other than that, he pretty much still looks the same. His blond hair is still glued to his forehead and he works that same disinterested facial expression as the last time he saw him. "I thought you wanted to send me an owl.", she points out reproachfully. Suddenly, Draco looks embarrassed. "Yeah... my parents didn't want me to send a stranger letters.", he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I guess I understand that.", y/n replies. After all, she hadn't told her parents about meeting him last year. "So, how's life? The new school?", she asks him. Draco scoffs. "School could be better. The place really is going down. My father already wrote the ministry about it.", he says dismissively. "I see. What about friends? Did you get to know some people?", she continues to ask. "I guess. At least they're loyal.", he replies. Y/n nods excitedly. "That's so important. I became friends with this girl, Becky, at the beginning of the school year but later, she made fun of my backpack behind my back. Obviously, we're not friends anymore.", y/n chats happily. Draco shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to answer to this chit-chatty nonsense. "Well, did you get revenge on her?", he asks. An evil grin spreads over y/n's face. "Well, what do you think? Of course, I did! I collected a bunch of bugs and put them into her shoes during P.E. Never heard a person scream so loudly.", y/n chuckles. That puts a grin on Draco's face. "Good. Don't let others take advantage of you.", he tells her. Y/n nods. "What is taking you to the station today?", she asks and points towards his suitcase, "Are you going on a trip?" "No," he answers, "School starts today." Y/n is a bit confused. "Why are you taking a suitcase then?", she asks. Draco looks at her as if she's asked what color the sky is. "Hogwart's a boarding school.", he points out as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, that's cool. Must be fun, having a sleepover with your friends every night.", y/n replies cheerily. "Right...", Draco says. "Draco, where on earth were you? Didn't I tell you to stick around?", a man says behind y/n. He's tall, blond and carries a strange-looking cane. That must be his dad, y/n thinks. "I'm sorry father. I just ran into y/n, the American girl from last summer.", Draco says and y/n thinks he suddenly looks a few inches smaller. His father scoffs and musters y/n from head to toe. Suddenly she's glad she's not wearing her school uniform yet but one of the new dresses her mom got her during her summer holiday in Italy. "Ah, so you're the American. What does your father do for work again?", Draco's father asks her. "Oh, he's working at the embassy.", she answers uncomfortably. "I see.", Draco's father answers. "Actually, would it be okay if Draco and I write each other letters from time to time? It'd be nice to know how things are at other schools.", she quickly asks him. The man ponders on the question for the moment. "I guess it'd be good to know how things are at Ilvermorny since we are considering transferring Draco.", he eventually answers. Y/n gives Draco a booming smile and he gives her an oppressed smile.

"Father, we still have some time. Would it be alright if y/n and I go to that muggle café around the corner?", Draco asks his father. "Why would you want to do that? Why don't you take her to a proper place? Like the Leaky Cauldron?", his father answers appalled. "It's just closer to the station. That way we don't miss the train.", Draco quickly adds. His father sighs and waves him off. "Fine, fine. I have business to attend to. Just see that you are in front of the platform in time.", he says. Y/n quickly says her goodbyes and quickly follows Draco to the 'muggle café' which turns out to be a Costa. They order some tea and make themselves comfortable on the couches close to the window. "So, tell me about Ilvermorny.", Draco demands once they sat down. Right, Ilvermorny, y/n thinks, the school I don't go to. "You see, actually I don't...", she tries to explain when Draco suddenly spots someone outside the window. "Potter! Look at that who's arriving with that blood-traitor family. Unbelievable! How low can one person sink?", he exclaims indignantly. Y/n quickly looks out of the window and sees the back of a raven-haired boy alongside a family of redheads. "Who's that?", she asks him. "Oh, just Harry Potter. My archnemesis.", Draco replies in a bored tone. "You have an archnemesis?", y/n gasps, "How did that happen?". "Well, y/n, you see wealthy and powerful people like me always end up having enemies.", he boasts. Y/n thinks about Becky who keeps spreading rumors about her after the whole bug situation. "I guess Becky's my archnemesis then.", she says, "You should try putting bugs into his shoes." Draco scoffs. "Unfortunately, we're not in the same house, so I don't really get an opportunity to do that.", he tells her. When she asks about the houses, he explains the system to her and y/n decides that it's the same thing as being in a different homeroom.

After finishing their teas, Draco and y/n part ways at platform 9. Draco tells her that he needs to catch the train at platform 9 3/4, which y/n doesn't really understand. She doesn't worry too much about it since a lot of things that Draco says don't make sense to her and a lot more things he says are kind of rubbish in her opinion. Considering he was technically her first friend when she moved to England, she lets it slide. They wish each other a successful school year and Draco promises to send her an owl as soon as he sets up his room at Hogwarts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dearest y/n,

Life at Hogwarts is annoying as always. The food's still terrible and the education less than adequate, at least according to my father.

However, good news are that I've achieved to become the seeker for my house team. Finally, I can show that Harry Potter what it really means to play this game.

I hope things at Ilvermorny are well for you.

See you soon, Draco Malfoy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Draco said he'd send an owl, y/n did not think he'd literally send an owl. It probably should've concerned her when the feathered fellow landed on her windowsill with a bright red envelope in its beak addressed to Ms. Y/n L/N. But when you're 12 years old and an owl brings you a letter, you'd think it's super cool and something straight out of your favorite book. Y/n's mother probably would have lost it at the sight of the bird sitting on y/n's desk.

Y/n immediately wrote him a letter back and gave it to the own alongside a piece of her peanut butter jelly sandwich that was meant to be eaten during lunch break. Over the year, sending letters back and forth became a regular thing for the two. Y/n often didn't understand what Draco was talking about (A seeker? Like in hide and seek?) and filled the gaps with her imagination. Draco often didn't understand what y/n was talking about and shrugged it off with the excuse that y/n's American (Angry Bird? That must be a magical beast native in America!).

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Third summer

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Draco,

My mom's taking me to London next Friday. She visits a friend from the office. I've asked to tag along so that I can do some shopping in London.

Are you in London that day by any chance? Maybe we can have some ice cream again.

Hopefully see you soon, Y/n

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Y/n, are you listening?", y/n's mom pulls out her headphone out of y/n's ear. "Seriously, you kids and your technology!", she sighs, "I've told you to get some school supplies while you're out with your friend, did you get that?" Y/n rolls her eyes at that. "But mom! I'm out to have fun with my friends, not to go school shopping.", she whines. "C'mon, y/n, you're going to hang out at some shops anyway. Might as well get something useful.", y/n's mom says and shoves a few pound bills into y/n's hand. Y/n shoves the money into her bag and hops out of the car. "I pick you up, here, at 5 o'clock, y/n. You'd better be here. I'm not gonna go looking for you.", y/n's mother says sternly. "Yes, Mom.", y/n says obediently while rolling her eyes again on the inside. Then, she takes off to meet Draco at Trafalgar Square.

When she spots the blond-haired boy, she starts waving both hands above her head. "DRACOOO! I'M HERE!", she yells and grins widely. When Draco notices her, he walks towards her. "Why are you being so loud? Seriously, the muggles are already noticing us!", he hisses while grabbing her arms and pulling them down. Y/n gives him a mischievous smile. "Let them watch. What are they gonna do about it?", she says. Draco lets go of her hand and scoffs. "I guess you're right.", he says, "Let's go, though. Can't stand to be around them for too long." "Alright," y/n says, "Where do you want to go?". "Diagon Alley, of course.", Draco points out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Y/n, not wanting to look stupid in front of her friend, says: "Oh, of course! Lead the way!".

The two make their way to the entrance of Diagon Alley. When they stop in front of a brick wall, y/n thinks for a moment that Draco got them lost. But when the bricks start to move and an entry to a hidden street is revealed, y/n's jaw is on the floor. Draco doesn't seem to notice this and grabs her arm without looking at her. "C'mon, before a muggle sees us!", he says and pulls her into the alleyway by her arm. When the brick wall rearranges itself behind her, y/n has to swallow and a pit starts to grow in her stomach. "I want to go to Sugarplum's first.", Draco tells her while pulling her through the alley by her wrist. Y/n barely can keep up with him, mostly because her head is turning in all directions at once. There's a person in a pointy head and there's a broom sweeping the floor by itself. There's a small man with pointy ears and there's a small cage with little dragons in it. Y/n's head feels like it's about to explode when Draco stops in front of a bright pink shop door. Y/n is still questioning her sanity and everything that's real as Draco pulls her into the shop.

"What kind of candy do you like?", Draco asks her while letting his eyes run over the shelves of different candy jars. Y/n releases a breath that she didn't notice she was holding. Finally, a sentence that makes sense to her. "Chocolate.", she tells him. "Then you should get these chocolate frogs. Do you know them? Do you have them in America, too?", Draco asks. Y/n looks at the packaging he put into her hands. "No, sorry, we don't have that in America.", she tells him. She's pretty sure also the British kids in her school wouldn't know what this type of candy is. Y/n slowly starts to realize that the misunderstandings Draco and her tend to have, do not have something to do with culture and more to do with... well what? Y/N's still not sure what this place is or what is going on this street. The only thing she knows is that everything in this street is absolutely normal for Draco, while for y/n, it's something totally out of a movie. Draco starts to fill a paper bag with different types of candy that he takes out of glass jars. "So, uhm, Hogwarts, eh?", y/n tries to cover up her insecurity. "Ugh, yes!", Draco sighs dramatically. "I swear, you wouldn't believe what happened this year!", he tells her. Y/n relaxes a bit and is glad that Draco is utterly oblivious to the y/n's shock. "Why? What happened?", she asks him. "The so-called chamber of secrets was opened and a bunch of people got turned into stone!", he boasts as if that was a good thing. Y/n swallows. Just what kind of school does Draco go to? "Uhm... and did they die?", she asks him carefully. "No.", Draco says unbothered. "But Potter got to play the hero again. My dad told me to stay on the low which is what I did. However, if I investigated the whole thing, the whole issue would've been solved way earlier.", he tells her. Y/n has to snicker at Draco's arrogance. "What you don't believe me?", Draco grins at her. Y/n raises her hands in defense. "I would never, I'm convinced you're the greatest guy at your school! Certainly greater than the boys at my school.", she tells him truthfully. During the last part, she has to think of Connor O'Sullivan who tried to impress the girls in her class by snorting a line of sherbet powder which resulted in a visit at the school nurse's office and a school-wide ban of sherbet powder. Draco puffs his chest at that and tells her: "I know! I'm gonna be one of the greatest wizards ever!". At that, things fall into place for y/n. A wizard! Of course! The owl, the broom, the guy in the pointy hat. Things make a lot more sense now, y/n thinks to herself. At the same time, she comes to the realization that Draco must think she's a wizard, or witch, too. An American witch, at least. Suddenly, y/n feels really bad. I need to tell him, she thinks.

While y/n is deep in her own thoughts, Draco pays for the candy and leads her back outside. "So, Draco... Thanks for showing me this place. I've never seen anything like it...", she starts, trying to ease Draco into the conversation about how she's not a witch. "Ha!", Draco laughs, "You've never been to Diagon Alley? Your parents must suck if they only ever showed you the muggle side of...". Draco stops midsentence and warily stares at a girl their age and her parents on the other side of the street. "Muggles!", he swears under his breath. "What?", y/n asks him. He blatantly points towards the family. "They're muggles. That's Hermione Granger. She's in my grade level. Her parents aren't witches.", he tells her. "Oh.", y/n just says and immediately feels great sympathy for the couple that looks around quite awkwardly. "I don't understand why they even let people like that in here and into Hogwarts. They should be banned!", Draco continues his rant. "What do you mean?", y/n asks stupidly. "Well, clearly muggles like the Grangers shouldn't wander this street. They don't belong here. And Hermione Granger shouldn't be allowed to attend Hogwarts. After all, her magic doesn't come from witches.", Draco explains. Y/n crooks her head. "She's got magic. Doesn't that make her a witch?", she asks him. "Well... technically, but she's still a muggle-born!", Draco defends himself. "You keep saying muggle as if it's a bad thing. It's not their fault that they don't have magic.", y/n argues. She notices how she gets offended and angry by Draco, now that she knows that the word "muggle" includes her too. "Well, you're right, it's not their fault they're muggles. However, being muggles, they're still oblivious to magic and the real world. We wizards could wipe them off the face of the earth if we wanted to.", he talks back. Y/n thinks about this for a second. "So what you're saying is the following: muggles are born without magic, which isn't their fault, but they're still inferior to wizards and that's why they should be grateful that you let them live?", she points out. "Yes.", Draco says and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "That's bullshit.", y/n concludes. "How so? Didn't think you're such a great muggle defender.", Draco provokes her. "Well, all people are different. Some people are stronger or smarter or prettier than other people. For every weakness you have, I have a strength, and the other way around. Together, we can do anything.", she tells him. "Aha.", Draco deadpans, "And what do muggles bring to the table when it comes to 'together we can do anything'?".

Y/n thinks about that for a second and lets her gaze wander through the scene of Diagon Alley. Everything looks like it comes straight out of the Middle Ages, she thinks. "Technology.", she suddenly blurts. Draco rolls his eyes at that. "No, seriously. For example, you send me an owl to communicate with me. Your owl takes several days to send messages back and forth. If you were a muggle, you could just send me a message on your smartphone. Your message would reach me within seconds.", y/n explains. Draco stays quiet for a while. Seems like I've got you, she smirks to herself. "Well, I still think muggles suck.", Draco tells her. Now he's just being petty, she thinks. "Well, I think you suck, too." y/n tells him equally petty. Draco turns around and looks are her offendedly. "What? Why? What did I do?", he asks her. "You are being a prick, Draco. You judge people based on something they can't do anything about. It's as if I would judge you because of your hair color.", she tells him. Draco gives her another offended side look. "What's wrong with my hair color?", he asks her. "It's the same color as your face.", y/n snaps at him, "It makes you look like a ghost." Suddenly, Draco's face has a different color than his hair, namely red. "A ghost? I don't look like a ghost. Ghosts are transparent, you know! Or have you never seen a ghost?", he takes a swing at her. Jesus, are ghosts real, too?, y/n asks herself but quickly answers: "Of course I have! But you still look weird like that! More dead than alive!" Draco huffs and tries to answer: "Well and you look like... like...!" Desperately, he tries to find a fitting insult to y/n's appearance but he doesn't come up with anything. Probably because he actually finds y/n very pretty. Y/n has to laugh heartedly at Draco's dumb face. She slaps his arm. "I guess I'm too gorgeous to be insulted by a ghost.", she giggles and the tight atmosphere around them loosens up a bit. Draco secretly agrees with her and is glad that the argument is over. "Let's just not talk about muggles anymore.", he proposes and y/n agrees. She decides to keep her being a muggle a secret for a while longer.

The two of them continue their stroll through Diagon Alley and y/n takes her time admiring all the magical things around her. The street gets fuller and fuller, too. Soon so many people push themselves through the small space that y/n is worried, she'll lose Draco in the masses of people. She quickly latches onto his hand. Draco grips her hand firmly and leads her through the alley. Y/n is so distracted by everything that's around her, that she doesn't notice how the tips of Draco's ears turned a bright red ever since they started to hold hands. Eventually, they turn around and come to a stop in front of a tavern which has a big sign over its door which reads "Leaky Cauldron". "Let's have a butterbeer before heading back.", Draco tells her. Y/n agrees and they go inside.

Y/n is immediately in love with the place. It's cozy and spooky at the same time. The couple sits to rest at a table close to the bar and they order their drinks. Y/n observes the people in the tavern. Some people look exactly like y/n would imagine a witch or wizard to look like, others look like people you'd meet in the normal world as well. Y/n takes a closer look at Draco and ponders whether or not he looks like a wizard. The ghost aspect clearly gives him supernatural plus point, she decides. "Why are you staring at me?", Draco asks her uncomfortably. "I just decided you do look very wizardly.", she tells him. Draco sits up a bit, clearly content with that. "Well, I am a wizard.", he tells her. Y/n nods. "True, but that guy over there does not look like a wizard.", she tells him and points to a boy their age which sits a few tables behind Draco. Draco turns around and then lets out a loud laugh. So loud, that the boy and his friends turn around to them. "Shhh!", y/n tells him and grabs his arm. Draco turns back to her with a clearly amused expression on his face. "That's Harry Potter.", he tells her. "Your archnemesis?", y/n asks dumbfoundedly and Draco nods. Y/n takes a closer look at the so-called Harry Potter. Not only he doesn't look like a wizard, but he also looks like he's never seen a barber shop from the inside. "So, what do you think?", Draco asks her. Y/n supports her head with her hand and stirs her yellowy drink. "I thought he'd look more intimidating.", she tells him truthfully. Draco snickers. "Yeah, he looks like a pathetic worm, doesn't he?", he says proudly. Y/n doesn't agree with his choice of words but lowkey agrees with him. "Why do you even bother with him?", she asks him. Draco shrugs. "He's annoying and thinks he's better than me.", he tells her. Y/n doesn't think that Harry Potter looks arrogant. She thinks he looks like an average, maybe even below average, boy their age. She doesn't like his round glasses. They make him look silly, like a grandpa, she thinks. "I wouldn't worry so much about him. You said you're in different classes, didn't you?", she asks Draco. Draco nods. "Yes, which means we're constantly competing against each other. For the house cup, you know?", he tells her. Y/n doesn't know. "We don't have that at my school. We barely have anything to do with the other classes in our grade. We only see them during the break at the schoolyard. That's it.", y/n replies. "Geez, you're lucky.", Draco tells her, "Even my dad constantly wants to know what that Potter guy is doing, and beware he's better at something than I am." Y/n finds it weird that Draco's father, a grown-ass man, is so interested in a minor's life that is not his own child. Yet then again, y/n also thought Draco's father was weird the second she saw him. "You shouldn't have to compare yourself to that guy.", y/n says softly, "Remember how we all have different strengths? You're definitely better than that guy in some things, I bet." Draco's face lits up. "Potions!", he tells her. "I'm really good at Potions but he sucks. To be fair, our professor also hates him. He still sucks, though." Y/n nods in agreement. The two of them continue to chat a bit and Draco tells her all about Harry Potter and his gang of three. Y/n should feel strange that she gets to know so much about people she's never met. Then again, she does love some juicy gossip.

Eventually, y/n takes a look at her watch and notices that it's already half past four. "Oh, no! It's already so late! I need to get back! My mom will be furious if I'm not punctual.", she says as she jumps up and scrambles together her things. Quickly the couple gets up and hurries through the wall that rearranges itself. Draco walks with her to the agreed pick-up point with y/n's mother. Luckily, her mother hasn't arrived yet. "I guess that's it then.", Draco says and puts his hands into his pockets. "I guess so." she replies. There's an awkward silence between them. "Hey Draco?", she asks, "Are you still mad about the conversation earlier?". Draco shakes his head. "No, it's okay. Muggles are a controversial topic. It's okay if you think differently than I do.", he tells her. Y/n sighs in relief. "That's great. I really would have hated it if we stopped being friends over this." Draco chuckles in relief, too. "Yeah, that'd be stupid.", he agrees. Y/n clutches her hands behind her back. "You know, Draco, I'm really gonna miss you this school year. It's always funny with you", she tells him. There's a faint blush on his cheeks. "Yeah, uh... I'm gonna miss you, too. You're silly. Most of my friends are too stern and serious.", he replies. Y/n chuckles and then opens her arms. Draco awkwardly steps into her arms and she gives him a bear hug. He shyly hugs her back. "You promise to write me?", y/n whispers into his ear. Suddenly, there's a lump in Draco's throat. Only now he realizes that he's never been so close to a girl before. "Y-yes. I'll write you.", he says hoarsly. Y/n gives him one last squeeze and then steps back. "Meet again next summer?", she asks. Draco gives her a loopsided grin. "Meet again next summer.", he agrees.

[plutoslvr]

so i'm rereading trc with my friend and we're currently on bllb and i just read chapter 30 and in it blue's asking malory what gansey used to be like before he moved to henrietta and the gansey that malory describes to blue is so different from the gansey she currently knows and i just cant stop thinking about it.

first off, malory describes gansey as "small" as in not just his height but as in gansey was young and it makes sense because at the time gansey was 15 but it just kind of does something to my heart when i think about young, small gansey trying to figure out why he's still alive.

malory then goes on to say, "He was still trying to prove that he hadn't just hallucinated. He was still quite obsessed with the event [his death] itself." gansey first died when he was 10 and to be obsessing over your death for FIVE years trying to convince others but mostly yourself that you didn't make it up that you actually died and not some part of a childs imagination it must've fucked with him so bad???

then malory tells blue exactly how obsessed gansey was with his death and was to the extent that he was always drawing bees and hornets and "Got screaming nightmares over it- he had to get his own place since I couldn't sleep with it [...] Sometimes these fits would happen in the day, too. We'd just be toddling through some riding path in Leicestershire and next thing I knew he'd be on the ground clawing his face like a mental patient." the gansey that blue currently knows doesnt act like that but this was only two years prior its fucking INSANE and it's here blue starts to think about the facade gansey had learned to throw up since he was a kid.

AND IT GETS WORSE SOMEHOW?? earlier in bllb in chapter 3, gansey talks about how he felt like running and how it had been a long time since he had felt that way. at the time it didn't make sense like wdym by that gansey but then back in chapter 30 malory tells blue how gansey just disappeared one day. left most of his bags and left without a word to anyone not even his family who then called malory to ask for gasneys whereabouts. "He picked himself up and moved on so easily, so quickly. He had done it so many times before England, Jane, and it was old hat to him."

it makes blue rethink every conversation she had with gansey previously, similarly to when adam heard gansey's voice of fear in the cave in chapter one where gansey had the panic attack because its around this book where the gangsey start to figure, as blue puts it, "It was more like the Gansey she'd seen was a partial truth."

it's so very easy to pass off ganseys insecurities and his feelings about how he should comfort other people but they shouldn't do the same for him because he's had it the easiest (his words not mine) because he himself skips over it so fast. like he'll mention something and then act like he's never thought or said it, like its something normal which really isnt and then it slowly makes sense that gansey throughout the series, starts to lose that mask (there's multiple masks but thats a conversation for another time) and the readers and the gangsey get to see what the real gansey is like instead of the bulletproof, untouchable gansey they're used to seeing.

the idea of gansey running is insane in a good way because its nothing like the gansey we know, plus paired with the fact about how young gansey has me clawing at the walls because he's just this kid desperate to prove he wasn't hallucinating, trying to find some purpose to his life before he finds it in henrietta. a kid who was still terrified of his death who relived it, screaming every night who still had panic attacks anywhere and everywhere and would end up clawing at himself because there's hornets everywhere. a kid who doesn't stay in one place too long who learns to put on an easy smile to convince everyone okay and gets so good at it that it works and people think that hes normal and okay when he's anything but.

idk pre canon gansey is something that i need to inject into my bloodstream and analyse in a lab.

[dotster001]

Yandere Chevalier headcanon please 🥺

Summary:Chevalier x gn! Reader

CW: yandere,physical harm to reader, murder, psychological harm to reader, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, blood, isolation, food and water deprivation, probably more but consider yourself warned

A/N: idk how dark you expected it to be, but this is the brutal beast we're talking about so.... also! I have an in progress series where I look at the Yan journey of ikepri characters after their routes, so if eventually there is a fic that is very similar to this, think of it as a rough draft

When he falls, he falls hard. Not that you'll ever know. To you, he'll always look unfeeling and cruel. Most days you can't help but wonder if he hates you. But it's so far from the truth. For the first time, he's filled with love and warmth. And it's so overwhelming that he doesn't know what to do with himself.

He tries to let you live free for a while. After all, he would fight to the death if someone held him under lock and key. For a while he's successful. Until one day, in his distraction over you, an assassination attempt gets a little too close to you. You aren't hurt. But you find yourself drenched in blood as Chev runs the assailant through. Your haunted face is revealed as the body in front of him crumples. And he realizes that he can't leave you on your own. Not if he's going to be a part of your life.

He thinks he is fine with your hatred. After all, he loves you, and that's what matters. He can't expect you to love him back, not when you're chained to the headboard of his bed. He's used to people fearing and hating him. And yet he's beginning to feel a new feeling. A new, nasty, aching feeling in his chest. When he holds you and all you do is whimper, the ache worsens.

And people begin to notice. Chev, king, and master of his countenance, is cranky. Only Clavis and Sariel know the truth, and while Clavis is initially amused, eventually, even he needs his boss to get back to normal. So, it's not very gentlemanly, but he places a book, that's been secretly popular in the town, on Chevalier's desk unceremoniously. A dark romance, where the love interest succumbs to Stockholm syndrome and falls for their captor. It wasn't an openly popular book, but someone had to be purchasing all those books.

Chevalier had scoffed at his brother's gift, initially thinking it was a joke. But upon further inspection, he realized it was a piece offering. A genuine gift. A piece of advice. If anyone could psychologically break a darling into submission, it would be him.

And he does. It's not perfect submission, he still wants you to be you, but it's enough that you grow dependent on him. Just as before, you can't be sure if he loves you or hates you. And that's the crux of his control over you. If you're good, he'll heave a heavy sigh and give you affection. If you're bad, it will be like you don't even exist in his world. You are dirt. Dust. A bug beneath his feet. Only good darlings get love. Just like every other fool in his life, you're a pawn in his game. You just happen to be a fool that makes him feel butterflies in his stomach.

He doesn't like to hurt you physically. But he will if he has to. Nothing too damaging, part of your appeal is your aesthetic, after all. But if you do something stupid like think you can escape (and all you have to do is think it. He always knows) he might slap you, or hit you with a riding crop. If you make it a step outside of the room, he won't hurt you. But someone you love will be killed right in front of you. And you will be tasked with cleaning it up. If you somehow make it farther than step outside the room (aka, he lets you as a trust test) prepare to be isolated in a cold damp dungeon cell for as long as it takes for you to pass out from lack of food or water. Then he'll nurse you back to health so that all your mind sees is how kind and doting he is.

You can't win against the brutal beast. Geniuses have tried and failed. And one day, when you no longer have the foolish urge to fight him, when the prey finally recognizes it has lost, he might tell you he loves you.

[joefangs]

There are so many discrepancies if we compare season 1 Louis' memories and season 2 recollections of his. He made Lestat look almost bad, devilish in season 1, blamed everything on him, and stayed clean with Claudia. In season 2, we can finally see the issues with his memories of Lestat. Even in season 1 Louis changed his words in front of Daniel. In S2 it kind of proved that Louis' collections were muddled. He changed his memories way too many times. At last he admitted to go on with Lestat's version. I mean, I know and I can confirm that Lestat has always been good as far as the definition of "a good vampire" can go, and all the things Louis said about him are not all true.

If I go according to the books, Interview with the vampire and The Vampire Lestat are two different books with different Lestats to be precise. TV Louis said that Lestat didn't hesitate to kill, but the book Lestat from the second book, said he made a grave mistake of making Claudia ( About who, he said that he loved his dark daughter, and he didn't want that fate for her. He regretted making a young fledgling because Marius warned him about his mistake of creating Armand that young) and other than that he vowed to never kill any innocents. He only killed the damned ones, and the ones who were about to die. Also, got me thinking, how can he kill innocent people, when he took care of his family in France, who were all human. Even his mother opposed his actions, but Lestat didn't listen. So, how can a century old vampire, who still cares about his human family, gives them financial support all along, can kill mercilessly. It just didn't add to my wits. Most important of all, he loved Louis, more than Nicki even and admitted it over and over again. He longed to be with Louis, not because he always felt lonely, but because he loved Louis the most, so much that he rejected Armand in the book.

Louis' recollections of Lestat in season 1 is filled with somewhat hatred, because at that moment he thought Armand was his saviour. In S2, he started to have some clarity, mostly thanks to Daniel, and finally we know what happened.

In the book, Lestat was there at the Theatre the Vampire, he did accuse Claudia for his attempted murder, but let me tell you, he wasn't even in his right mind at that time. Even so, at that time he didn't accuse his Louis, and looked for his love, asked Armand, who (the B***h he is) lied to him about Louis' whereabouts. Lestat was somehow tricked by Armand, his thinking didn't work, as he mentioned that everything went in a trance, and after he accused Claudia, he was taken away forcibly, and he screamed Louis, Louis but with no avail, and they again fed him blood, and he forgot everything. I think Armand used magic, or he fed something to Lestat so he doesn't protest. After all of these, Lestat looked for Louis, and asked Armand to help him, and that BHole said he will not.

So, what I can surmise is, whatever you watched in S1, do not entirely believe it. This is mostly because, Lestat wasn't the one who lost his mind and hurt his Louis entirely. Louis was the pioneer of trouble in their home. He wasn't satisfied, he didn't accept the dark gift completely, and despised Lestat for that. That physical fight between them you can see, Lestat was hurt the most, both physically and mentally. And now I understand, why Louis kept seeing Dreamstat over and over again. Because, his guilt made him conjure Lestat everytime he thought he wanted a "home" with Armand.

Finally, the last episode depicted almost what The Vampire Lestat book has. They didn't show it, but Louis came back to Lestat, which he said was 'you came back to me'. Here, Lestat talks about a world tour, which is his rock concert in San Francisco. Here, Louis asks him to take him, and Lestat complies ecstatically. Also, they hugged compassiontely after meeting each other, just as they showed in the series. However, TV version displayed it as a part of Interview with the Vampire book, which is in reality from the book The Vampire Lestat.